Welcome to the Nuthouse

I am about to spend my first night in my new apartment. It is awesome, which is all that's kept me all day from killing something. I am a total pig and I do not know how to organize or maintain order. When my mom saw just how bad my old apartment had gotten, she decided that there is no way a person could live how I was living without it being a sign of a deeper problem and that I need to go into therapy about my messiness as a sign of self-hate or something. But my cousin was there helping and was wonderful, both in getting shit from point A to point B and in maintaining a basic level of sanity. NBF came later to help get things from the U-Haul into the new place, and he was one part brawn, three parts security blanket. Once the U-Haul was empty, we all (two parents, NBF, cousin, Me) went out for Thai, and as NBF poked me repeatedly with a satay stick, my parents quietly freaked out and threatened his life if he physically abused me. WHAT? Yes, my parents are crazy. Either that or all of my more playful friendships are abusive and I should have been locked up in a padded cell years ago for my piggy disorganization.