u/vishwachoksi219

Last night I finally turned it off once he was asleep. From the hallway I heard him whisper “Thank you…..now it can’t see me anymore."

For the last three years my roommate has been the one constant in my life. After my brutal breakup I was a wreck, drinking too much, hating myself, the whole thing. Mike was always there, late night beers on the balcony, listening to me rage about how my ex destroyed me, hyping me up when I started dating again, even helping me move on. I trusted him like a brother, told him shit I’ve never told anyone.

Today I was looking for my lost headphones and checked his desk. Found a voice recorder and a hidden folder on his laptop called “operation bro code” with hundreds of audio files, all of me. Every vulnerable conversation from the last few years, it took me a whole of 10 minutes to actually realize that he did this and it's not some prank.

I lost it and confronted him. He admitted everything, he’s been cherry picking the clips and sending them to my ex because “she still checks in on you and needs to see how much you’ve changed.” Apparently they’ve been talking behind my back for over a year. He even has a shared google doc tracking my "healing journey” like I’m some fucking science experiment.

The worst part was that some recordings are from my absolute lowest points, crying like a bitch after she cheated, saying I’d never let anyone close again, admitting how empty I felt. He was patting my back with one hand and hitting record with the other.

I feel fucking violated, my darkest moments were being fed to the woman who shattered me. Now I’m packing my shit while he acts like I’m the crazy one for “not seeing that he was just trying to help us fix things.”

I’m sitting in my car in a parking lot typing this because I can’t even be in the apartment right now. Three years of thinking I had real support and it was all fake. Like I’ve been performing my trauma for an audience of two.

Just needed to get this out before I explode. I don’t know what the fuck to do next. Lease, moving, all of it. Everything feels disgusting.

(If you’re reading this Mike, go to hell. Those recordings weren’t yours to take.)

I don't know how else to describe it, but whenever I accidentally pass out at 3pm and wake up at 6:30pm while the sun is setting, stepping outside or even just looking out the window feels deeply unsettling.

It’s not just being groggy, it feels like I’ve accidentally slipped into an alternate timeline where everyone I know has moved on, or like I'm the last person left on Earth. It's this specific blend of loneliness, nostalgia, and mild dread, and it takes like an hour to shake off.

Why does our brain react so intensely to waking up at the wrong time of day? Is this a biological circadian rhythm thing, or is it purely psychological?