When Trust Turns Into Scrutiny
Lately, I’ve been feeling the weight of too many eyes on my life. My roommate told my care coordinator that I had been smoking on the balcony — something he had promised to keep to himself. He told me he “had my back,” and then turned around and told her anyway because, in his words, he “wanted to.” That simple act changed how I see him. I no longer feel I can trust him with sensitive information.
That small betrayal spiraled into much larger consequences. I missed a mandatory Thanksgiving dinner, and although I wasn’t punished outright, I was given a “strike.” It will stay on record and be considered when my probation ends in December. Even though no direct punishment was issued, the message was clear: my actions, no matter how small, are being monitored closely.
They also discovered I wasn’t taking my medication perfectly on schedule. My care team began keeping photos and logs of each dispense, tracking exactly what I did or didn’t take. Now I’m required to pick up my medication daily from the pharmacy. They found I was sometimes skipping night doses, or slightly ahead on my daytime ones. Since then, Vanessa — my resident care coordinator — has become increasingly strict, delving deeper into my personal habits and routines.
It’s invasive, and honestly, dehumanizing. The amount of oversight feels less like care and more like surveillance. I can feel my dignity eroding under their constant observation. I once believed this non-profit was meant to help me rebuild my independence. Now, I feel like I’m being managed, examined, and judged for every misstep.
They also found out I’ve been using cannabis oil to manage anxiety and stress. At first, they let it slide after a conversation about it. But now Vanessa says it’ll be discussed in their next team meeting, and that they’ll be creating a policy for it — a policy that will likely classify it as a “drug.” I already know what’s coming: another strike, another search, another invasion of my space.
If they try to search my belongings again, I’ll refuse. I will not consent to another search or seizure. They’ve already done it once this year, and even Vanessa admitted it was invasive. I’m reaching my limit with this place.
Meanwhile, life outside these walls continues to spin. Kibo is leaving Sebastian’s place tomorrow to head to New York, since they can’t get their hormone therapy in Florida. It’s bittersweet — they’ve been helping Sebastian take their meds, clean up, and keep things stable, but now they have to move on. Sebastian’s health has been declining. They’ve had a sleep study, constant pain, fainting spells, and worsening symptoms that doctors keep dismissing. It’s painful to watch someone you love be gaslighted by the system that’s supposed to help them.
All of this — the pressure, the violations, the betrayals — has left me mentally overwhelmed. I’m afraid of how my stress might affect how I treat the people I love, especially Sebastian, who doesn’t deserve any more hardship.
My roommate, the same one who reported me, recently told me he hears a voice — one he calls his girlfriend. He claims she’s sending him a hundred million dollars on his birthday and that he plans to give me a hundred thousand. It’s unsettling. I don’t know how to live with someone so unstable while also being scrutinized by an institution that refuses to trust me.
I can’t even relax in my own space. I have to smoke at the front of the building now. I’m forced to attend weekly meetings I don’t want to be part of. I’m told where I can eat, what I can store in my room, and even had to defend keeping unopened cans of soda in my closet. Everything feels infantilizing — like I’m being treated as incapable of basic self-governance.
Even my doctor has stepped in, saying too much “support” is actually holding me back. He’s stopped allowing Vanessa to drive me to appointments, insisting I take the bus instead — despite how far away his office is. His reasoning is that I need to reclaim independence. Ironically, that’s exactly what I’ve been wanting all along.
At this point, I don’t see the benefit of trusting those who have only proven why I shouldn’t. I’d be happier without this intrusive, overreaching version of “help.” What I want now is peace, autonomy, and the ability to start my next chapter on my own terms.
It’s time to plan my way forward — carefully, quietly, and with the conviction that I deserve a life where dignity and privacy still matter.