When I moved in with Clara*, I was so excited. I thought she was the most amazing woman and couldn't wait to start this journey with her as my roommate. We'd been friends for years, having met while working together at a retail store.
Back then, we were inseparable. We'd laugh over ridiculous customer complaints, grab coffee after shifts, and we bonded over our shared love for true-crime podcasts. So, when I needed a new place and Clara suggested we move in together, it felt like a no-brainer.
I thought it would be fun and easy; two best friends sharing a space, splitting the bills, and enjoying the kind of freedom you only get when you're in your late twenties.
But living together was not what I expected.
At first, things were okay. We unpacked our boxes, hung fairy lights in the living room, and even threw a little housewarming party. I felt really good and positive about the whole arrangement. But slowly, the dreadful cracks began to show. They were small at first – a pile of unwashed dishes in the sink, toothpaste splatters on the bathroom mirror – but they grew bigger and harder to ignore as the weeks went on. She had warned me that she was "very messy" but I didn't think it could be too bad.
Watch: The signs of a toxic friendship. Post continues after video.
One of the first real signs that things weren't going to work out was the rent. Before we moved in, we'd agreed to split everything 50-50. But a few weeks after we'd signed the lease, Clara announced that she didn't think it was "fair" to divide the rent equally. "You earn more than I do," she said. "So, you should pay more."
I was shocked. Sure, I had a slightly better-paying job, but we'd agreed to this arrangement together. It felt unfair that she was now trying to guilt me into paying extra. I pushed back, explaining that the rent was based on the apartment we'd both chosen, but she wouldn't budge. Every month, it turned into a battle, with her dragging her feet while paying her half or making snide comments about my "privilege." It was exhausting.
Then there was the mess. Clara had the most peculiar cleaning habits. She refused to flush the toilet half the time, claiming it was a way to "save water." It was disgusting. I tried to laugh it off at first, jokingly reminding her to "finish the job," but she just rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, she'd leave piles of dishes in the sink for days and then get annoyed if I didn't wash them. "I cooked," she'd say, as if that was some sort of excuse. So, I stopped. I'd only clean up my own things, and the kitchen slowly turned into a mess of rotting leftovers and mouldy plates.
The worst part, though, was the parties. Clara loved throwing loud, chaotic parties where half the neighbourhood seemed to cram into our tiny apartment. At first, I didn't mind. I even joined in on a few, figuring it was part of the fun of living with a friend. But one night, I came home from work to find our living room packed with strangers, music blasting, and empty beer cans all over the place. Clara hadn't even told me she was inviting people over, let alone invite me.
When I found her in the crowd and asked what was going on, she just laughed and said, "Oh, I didn't think you'd be interested." It was our apartment. How could she not even think to mention it? I went straight to my room, slammed the door, and spent the night scrolling through TikTok with headphones on, trying to block out the noise.
Things hit rock bottom when we both matched with the same guy on Tinder. I'll call him Alex*. He was charming, good-looking, and we both swiped right without realising the other had done the same. Clara found out first, thanks to her habit of oversharing every detail of her dating life. At first, we laughed about it. "What are the odds?" I joked. But then she decided she had some sort of claim on him.
"You can't go out with him," she said. "I matched with him first."
"Clara, it's Tinder, it's not a competition."
She didn't take it well. A shouting match erupted, with her accusing me of being selfish and me firing back about her parties, the rent, the toilet; everything that had been bubbling under the surface. It was ugly. By the end of it, we were both in tears, and Alex? He ghosted us both.
After that, our friendship was as good as over. We stopped speaking unless it was absolutely necessary, and the apartment became a cold, silent place. I moved out a few months later, and ended up owing Clara a lot of money, but it was worth it just to get away from her.
It was such a shame our friendship had ended this way. But I realise that some friendships just aren't built to survive shared rent and clashing lifestyles. Just because you get along with someone doesn't mean you'll get along as roommates. Sometimes, it's better to keep the friendship intact and leave it at that.
As told to Ann DeGrey
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