Termites

Link to article: Termites.
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⚠️ **Content warning:** This article involves swarms of insects.
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My house is completely infested with termites.

And I'm at my wits' end.

I've lived in this one house for my whole life, as my parents and grandparents did before me.

It's not a perfect house, by any means. The paint has lost its luster and chips off easily.  The carpet has many stains and specks that no amount of vacuuming or scrubbing has been able to completely get rid of. And don't even get me started on the mess in the attic.

But I've been here for almost three decades now, and I'd never change that for anything.

Well.

Except for the termites.

I don't know how long they've been feeding off the wood in my house. Maybe it's a recent thing. Maybe they'd been there all along, and I only noticed after they became a problem.

I don't know or care.

------

I first became aware of them when my desk broke apart one day. 

It was a sturdy desk, but one that was showing its age. I relied on it for support during rough school nights, the perils and tribulations of college, and the growing pains of getting my first job.

Then, one day, I heard a sound – like several sticks snapping in half simultaneously – before my desk crumpled onto the floor.

And through the splinters and chunks of wood, I saw them.

Hundreds of termites, swarming over the remnants and tearing them apart piece by piece.

They all scurried away eventually, to whatever crevices they came from. Deeper than any pesticide could reach.

But my desk was beyond repair.

I grit my teeth and bought a new one. It wasn't as big as my last desk, and was of cheaper quality. But it was the best I could do at that point in time.

------

Over time, the termites became more bold on what they feasted on.

My medicine cabinet.

My mailbox.

My kitchen table.

My garage.

I made the mistake of peeking my head into the attic once. It was completely and utterly crawling with the bastards. Not only were they consuming the floors and walls, but old family heirlooms as well.

I reached out to my neighbors. They scoffed at me and told me to deal with my own problems.

I talked to exterminators. They either laughed in my face and hung up, or told me I couldn't afford the cost.

I confided with my friends and family. They offered half-hearted platitudes, or gave suggestions that I didn't want to even think about.

The termite problem grew worse, and worse, and //worse//.

------

After a long, long while, I had what felt like a miracle occur.

A new exterminator set up shop. Old, with a lot of experience. 

After some hesitation, I asked for his services.

He told me that, while he couldn't completely eliminate the termite infestation, he could make it much more difficult for them to congregate in my house.

I was willing to do anything at this point, so of course I said yes.

Oh, the bastards didn't want to give up so easily. They swarmed out from the walls, the ceilings, the doors and windows; trying to overwhelm the exterminator until he gave up.

But he persevered, and the termiticide did its job, eliminating several of the pests and causing the survivors to flee.

Gradually, I felt the once everpresent anxiety of being in my house ebb away. I was able to relax, invite my friends and family over again, all while having a newfound stability in my life.

Shame it didn't last.

------

After a few years where I only rarely caught sight of even a single termite, they gradually started showing back up in bigger and bigger numbers.

Naturally, my first thought was to reach out to the exterminator that'd saved my life last time.

However, when I called the number, I got a pre-recorded message that said he was retiring, that his company was in the process of transferring ownership to his assistant, and to please leave a message.

My heart sank. I hung up.

I searched their business up online. I saw countless user reviews about the company's biases in helping certain customers over others, their insistence on using obselete methods, and even rumors of them financially strong-arming customers and taking bribes from other exterminators.

I was confused, frustrated, and scared.

The number of termites increased exponentially, as I scrambled to find a solution to these pests destroying my house.

My friends and family stopped coming over. They said they still cared about me, of course, but I could tell they were just saying that to make me feel better.

My neighbors shunned me, even as I saw signs that they, too, were experiencing termite infestations of their own. I called them out on it, and they snapped at me to mind my own business.

I checked back on the exterminator. The transfer of ownership had fallen through, and the people who bought the company seemed like they //want// these infestations to happen, in order to make more money.

------

Every day, another part of my house is consumed and destroyed by these termites.

I can't eat. I can't take my medication. I can't even risk leaving my room, because I'm afraid I'll fall through the floor.

I don't have the money to consider moving. I can't hope that the termites will eventually give up or die out.

I can't rely on the exterminators to help me; my options are limited, they collude with each other, and are complicit with shady shit.

I can't buy or make my own pesticides, take things into my own hands. At best I won't be able to afford it; at worst I'll get myself killed.

They're in the walls.

They're in the floor.

They're probably even in the foundation of the house itself.

I am a coward.

I am weak.

I am resigning myself to dying, either from starvation or the entire house collapsing onto me, from these creatures that only destroy.

i can't do this anymore

goodbye
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//- Transcript of text document recovered from the computer of Marion Réves, following her death on January 21st.//

//No signs of termite infestation were found within her apartment.//

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