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From Quirky Roommate to Nightmare: How I Survived My Worst College Experience | Confess World
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Jul 24, 2025
#redditrelationship #aita #redditstories From Quirky Roommate to Nightmare: How I Survived My Worst College Experience | Confess World I thought my college roommate Tom was just quirky — avoiding sidewalk cracks, using a megaphone to order food, even sitting in the shower! But after I gently rejected his strange romantic gesture, everything spiraled out of control. What started as harmless quirks turned into a terrifying campaign of filth, harassment, and intimidation that nearly ruined my college life. This is my story of survival, resilience, and standing up to a roommate who became my worst nightmare. If you’ve ever dealt with toxic roommates or difficult living situations, this story is for you. Don’t forget to like, subscribe, and share your own experiences in the comments!
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When I met my college roommate Tom, I
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thought his quirks were endearing. He
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avoided sidewalk cracks, claiming each
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held a tiny universe that stepping on
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would destroy.
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He carried a rubber stamp, dubbing
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himself the fashion police, approving or
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rejecting outfits with a playful smirk.
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A lawn chair sat in our shower because,
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in his words, sitting is the luxurious
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way to shower. His oddest habit was
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using a megaphone to order drive-through
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food for clear communication.
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I found him quirky but likable until he
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asked me out with a 3D printed heart,
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wheezing, "You stole my heart." before
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collapsing dramatically.
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I laughed it off, gently rejecting him,
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assuming we'd moved past it. I was
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wrong. That rejection flipped a switch,
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turning Tom from eccentric to unhinged,
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and my life in our shared apartment
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became a nightmare. At first, Tom's
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decline was subtle but gross. Our once
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tidy living room sprouted a chaotic pile
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in the corner. Clean clothes, dirty
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dishes, old textbooks, and food wrappers
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with halfeaten snacks. The stench was
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unbearable, like rotting fruit and
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unwashed socks. I tried addressing it
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casually, hoping he'd take the hint.
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"Too busy with studies," he shrugged,
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even on weekends when he'd add to the
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mess. Ignoring the kitchen trash can,
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his goofy antics, once a source of
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charm, vanished, replaced by a slobish
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indifference that made my skin crawl.
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I wondered if my rejection had sparked
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this. But he dodged the question when I
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asked, his silence chilling. As the
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semester wore on, Tom's habits grew
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vile. Open cans of beans and halfeaten
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takeout festered on the counter,
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attracting flies. When I confronted him
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about the smell and critters, he
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laughed, telling me to chill. His
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behavior turned creepy. When friends
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visited, he'd make lewd comments about
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their bodies, loud enough for us to hear
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or joke about getting intimate with us.
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My friends stopped coming, embarrassed,
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and uncomfortable. I felt isolated,
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trapped in my own home.
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One weekend, I returned from a study
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group to find Tom hosting an unannounced
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party.
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Drunk strangers tossed my belongings, my
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backpack, study notes, clothes around
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like toys. Drinks stained my shirts. My
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notes were crumpled.
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Furious, I locked myself in my room, the
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thumping music and laughter seeping
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through the walls like a taunt. The next
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morning, I confronted Tom. He rolled his
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eyes, dismissing it as just a party.
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That was my breaking point. I reported
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him to the university housing office
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detailing the mess, the parties, and his
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unsettling behavior. The staff seemed
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sympathetic, and I left feeling a
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flicker of hope. "But when Tom found
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out," he cornered me in the kitchen, his
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face red with rage.
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"You're trying to ruin my life," he
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shouted, demanding I retract the
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complaint or he'd make my life
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miserable. His towering presence and
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cold eyes scared me. Panicked, I called
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the housing office. the next day, lying
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that I'd exaggerated due to school
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stress. It was a mistake. Tom's behavior
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escalated into a grotesque campaign of
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revenge. He started collecting jars of
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nail clippings and hair strands, lining
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them up in the bathroom like trophies.
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One afternoon, I returned to a stench
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worse than ever, rotting eggs he'd left
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on the counter weeks ago, now a
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maggotinfested science experiment.
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I begged him to toss them, citing health
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risks. but he smirked, "Touch them and
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you'll regret it." His threat sent a
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chill down my spine. I backed off,
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realizing he was unhinged. Spring break
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brought a new low. Tom invited his
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friends to stay, turning our apartment
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into a cesspool.
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They left dishes piled high, spilled
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food on counters, and treated the living
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room like a landfill. The smell of
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unwashed clothes and stale pizza
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permeated everything.
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I cleaned compulsively, unable to stand
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the filth, but it felt like bailing out
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a sinking ship. One night, as I headed
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to my room to escape, one of Tom's
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friends, a tall guy with a sinister
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smile, knocked on my door. "Your room's
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cozy," he said, stepping closer. "Can I
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crash here?" I declined, heart racing,
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but he persisted, complimenting my taste
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and noting my room was cleaner than the
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common areas. I shut the door, his words
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echoing. Just hope to sleep next to a
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pretty girl.
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Sleep eluded me that night. Their
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laughter outside my door a constant
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threat. The next day was worse. While
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cleaning up their mess, dirty dishes,
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snack wrappers, soda cans. I overheard
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Tom's friends joking. One chuckled. Look
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at her doing wife duties. I might put a
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ring on it. The group laughed, their
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mockery making my blood boil. Later, I
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heard Tom claim dibs on me, followed by
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a bet among his friends about who could
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hit first before they left. Their words
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turned my stomach. I wasn't just their
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roommate. I was prey in their twisted
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game. The tom I'd met, goofy, quirky,
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had vanished, replaced by a vindictive
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stranger. I locked my door, pushed my
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dresser against it, and sat awake,
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clutching my phone, texting friends for
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support.
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They offered to pick me up, but I
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couldn't face walking past Tom's crew in
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the dark. The apartment felt like a
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prison. Every noise a potential threat.
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By dawn, I was exhausted, eyes gritty
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from sleeplessness.
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When the last of Tom's friends passed
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out, I grabbed essentials and slipped
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out, staying with a friend until Tom
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texted, "They're gone."
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The message offered no comfort, only a
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reminder of his betrayal. Back at the
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apartment to wash clothes, I found a new
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horror. A jar of what looked like teeth.
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Human or animal, I couldn't tell. It was
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the final straw. I decided to end this
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nightmare. For weeks, I gathered
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evidence documenting the chaos. I
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photographed the rotting eggs, the nail
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clipping jars, the trash heap in the
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living room. I recorded audio of Tom's
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late night rants and parties, capturing
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his creepy comments.
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One Wednesday, knowing Tom had a
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three-hour lab, I slipped into his room
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to collect more proof. His space was a
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horror show. Moldy sandwiches, stacked
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food containers, and those dated jars of
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clippings. I snapped photos, muffling my
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phone's shutter, heart pounding. As I
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crouched near a decaying sandwich, the
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front door creaked open. Tom was back
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early. Panic surged. I tucked my phone
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away, straightened his desk to look like
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I was tidying, and slipped out just as
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he rummaged in the fridge. He joked
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about my spring cleaning, and I forced a
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laugh, clutching a book to seem casual.
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My escape was a miracle. Armed with
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evidence, I returned to the housing
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office, resolute. I presented photos,
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videos, and recordings detailing the
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filth, the threats, the harassment. The
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staff was horrified, their faces paling
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at the images of maggotridden eggs and
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teeth jars. They acted swiftly,
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conducting an inspection within days.
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Tom was found in violation of multiple
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housing policies, unsanitary conditions,
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unauthorized guests, harassment.
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Campus security escorted him out, his
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protests fading as they hauled him away.
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The university moved me to a single dorm
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room, apologizing for their initial
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inaction and promising to review their
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complaint process. Relief washed over
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me, but the ordeal left scars. Living
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with Tom had been a descent into chaos,
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his quirks morphing into a campaign of
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vengeance after my rejection. Yet, it
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taught me resilience. I learned to stand
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up for myself, to trust my instincts
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when something felt wrong. In my new
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dorm, I focused on my studies, joined a
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photography club to reclaim my passion,
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and found peace in quiet evenings.
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Friends checked in, their support a
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lifeline. One night, over pizza with my
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study group. I laughed, really laughed,
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for the first time in months.
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The nightmare was over, and I was free.
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Looking back, Tom's descent from quirky
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to menacing was a lesson in boundaries.
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His rejectionfueled spiral could have
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broken me, but it didn't. I emerged
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stronger, ready for a peaceful college
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journey. My new room, a sanctuary where
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I could finally breathe. The cracks in
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the sidewalk outside my dorm no longer
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held tiny universes, just the promise of
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a fresh