I (27 female) live with 6 other people. I had just finished doing unpacking the groceries as on Sunday. My housemate has a very unhealthy addiction of mixing his drinks every drinks he gets. I’ve tried to tell him nicely that to take pre work out drinks you actually need to exercise. He refused to listen to me so he literally snorts pre work out powder from the packet on the bench. He gets very aggressive when he is confronted. Now he is putting on a lot of weight all he does is goes to the garage and sits down on the chair but doesn’t do anything so reddit AITA.
When I first moved into this share house, I thought I had found the perfect setup — affordable rent, a big backyard, and people my age who seemed chill and easy-going. I didn’t expect it to turn into a daily episode of chaos centered around one man and his bizarre obsession with pre-workout powder.
Let’s call him Brent. At first, Brent seemed fine — a bit hyper, loud, and one of those guys who calls everyone “bro” or “champ,” but still bearable. He told us he used to be “into fitness,” but since moving in, I’ve never once seen him lift a single dumbbell, let alone step foot in a gym. What I have seen is him treating that bright-colored pre-workout powder like it’s the secret to immortality.
At first, I didn’t even notice it was a problem. He’d mix it into water bottles, shake them up, and chug them like he was getting ready to run a marathon. The thing is — he never went anywhere afterward. He’d just sit there in the garage, sweating and jittering, staring at his phone for hours.
Then one day, I walked into the kitchen and saw him snorting it. Straight off the bench. No water, no mix, nothing. Just scooped some out with a spoon, leaned down, and inhaled it like a man possessed.
I stood there in shock.
“Brent, what the hell are you doing?”
He looked up, eyes wide and red. “It hits faster this way,” he said. “You wouldn’t understand, it’s about focus.”
I just backed away because I honestly didn’t want to deal with it. But that was the moment I realized this wasn’t just weird — it was dangerous.
Since then, it’s become a daily ritual. Every morning, afternoon, sometimes even at midnight, he’ll go to the kitchen or garage, dump pre-workout powder onto the counter, and either snort it or mix it with random drinks. I’ve seen him combine it with coffee, soda, milk, even energy drinks.
He once made what he called “the ultimate stack” — pre-workout, Monster Energy, and half a can of Red Bull. The sound his heart must have been making? Terrifying.
The other housemates and I have tried to intervene.
We’ve had multiple house meetings about it. We’ve told him it’s dangerous, that he’s making a mess, that his energy spikes and crashes are making everyone uncomfortable. But he just gets defensive.
“You all just don’t get it,” he’ll yell. “I’m optimizing my performance.”
Performance for what, though? He doesn’t work out. He doesn’t even have a job right now. He spends most days in the garage scrolling TikTok or yelling into his gaming headset about how “the grind never stops.”
To make things worse, the aggression he shows after taking that stuff is escalating.
One night, another housemate, Josh, made a comment like, “Mate, you should probably slow down with that pre-workout. It’s not meant to be eaten like candy.”
Brent stood up so fast his chair fell backward. “Don’t tell me how to live my life, Josh! You think you’re better than me because you jog sometimes?”
The whole house went silent. You could feel the tension buzzing through the air.
Josh just sighed and said, “Man, no one’s judging you. We’re just worried.”
But Brent wasn’t hearing it. He slammed his shaker bottle on the counter and stormed off to the garage, muttering something about “fake friends” and “beta energy.”
Since then, everyone’s been walking on eggshells around him.
Then there’s the mess. Powder everywhere — the counters, the floors, the sink. Sticky residue from spilled drinks coating every surface. Once, I found a line of powder across the dining table where he had obviously “prepared” a dose. When I asked him to clean it up, he laughed and said, “Relax, it’s not cocaine. It’s fitness.”
That might have been the first time I genuinely considered moving out.
But it gets worse.
He’s gained a significant amount of weight because he keeps drinking these high-sugar energy concoctions and eating junk food between “sessions.” He tells everyone he’s “bulking” — except there’s no working out, no plan, no structure. He’s just sitting in the garage in gym shorts that don’t fit anymore, surrounded by empty cans and powder tubs.
The other night I overheard him on a video call bragging to some online friend:
“Yeah bro, I’ve found the secret — high caffeine, high carbs, maximum intensity. My body’s just resting right now while my mind trains.”
I wish I were joking.
A few weeks ago, I decided to be direct.
I waited until he was calm — well, as calm as he gets — and said, “Look, Brent, this pre-workout thing is getting out of control. You’re scaring people. You’re aggressive, and it’s affecting everyone in the house. Can you please stop doing it inside or at least limit how much you take?”
He glared at me for a few seconds, then smirked. “You know what, maybe if you worked out, you’d understand what drive looks like.”
I just stared at him. “Drive doesn’t mean snorting caffeine, Brent.”
He stood up, puffed his chest out, and said, “You don’t get to tell me how to live. You’re just jealous you don’t have the discipline I do.”
That was the end of that conversation.
Now he avoids me — except when he needs something. And honestly, that’s fine by me.
The other housemates are exhausted, too. We’ve all tried to talk to him, but every attempt ends in shouting. One of the girls, Tessa, actually started staying at her boyfriend’s place because she “couldn’t handle the garage gremlin anymore.”
We’ve thought about asking him to move out, but technically, his name is on the lease. The landlord doesn’t want to get involved — he just says, “As long as rent’s paid, it’s not my problem.”
So we’re stuck with a 27-year-old man who thinks guzzling pre-workout powder like it’s an energy elixir makes him a fitness god.
What’s wild is that he’s completely blind to how bad it’s gotten. His skin looks flushed most of the time, his hands shake, and he gets winded walking up the stairs. But when we point that out, he insists he’s “detoxing” or “rebuilding his endurance.”
He even made a makeshift motivational poster in the garage that says, “NO LIMITS, ONLY GAINS.” Underneath it? Empty tubs of pre-workout, crushed energy cans, and a chair he never leaves.
Sometimes, late at night, I can hear him pacing and muttering to himself — “grindset,” “focus,” “discipline” — like he’s trying to convince himself he’s training for something important.
But there’s no goal. Just caffeine highs and emotional crashes.
A few days ago, I tried to clean the kitchen again after one of his “sessions.” There was powder everywhere, even on the stove. When I grabbed a cloth to wipe it up, he came in, furious.
“Why are you touching my stuff?” he snapped.
“It’s the kitchen counter, Brent,” I said. “Everyone uses it. You can’t leave this stuff lying around.”
He stepped closer, eyes twitching. “You’re trying to sabotage me. You’re jealous of my progress.”
I laughed — not because it was funny, but because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Progress toward what? You sit in the garage all day!”
He didn’t like that. He started yelling about how I was “negative energy” and “toxic to his mindset.”
I just walked away. But my hands were shaking for hours afterward.
Now, the house is split in two — the people who avoid him completely, and the people who pretend everything’s fine because they’re scared of conflict. I’m somewhere in the middle. I don’t want to fight him, but I also can’t stand watching him spiral like this.
Last night, I overheard him telling one of the other guys he’s planning to “launch a YouTube channel” about “alternative fitness.” His first video idea? “Why You Should Snort Pre-Workout for Maximum Focus.”
I wish I was making that up.
We all tried to talk him out of it, but he just said, “This is my breakthrough moment. You’ll see.”
I’m honestly at a loss. I’ve never lived with someone so unpredictable and delusional. We can’t reason with him, and we can’t force him out. Every day is an exhausting mix of cleaning up after him, dealing with his outbursts, and wondering if he’s going to have a caffeine-induced meltdown one of these days.
Part of me feels sorry for him. Maybe he’s depressed or lost and the pre-workout is his way of feeling in control. But another part of me is just angry — angry that he refuses to take responsibility, that he makes everyone else live in discomfort, that he thinks the world owes him admiration for destroying his own body.
I’ve even considered filming his routine just to show him how ridiculous it looks, but that feels mean-spirited — and honestly, I’m worried he’d freak out if he found out.
So here I am, wondering if I’m the bad guy for losing my patience. I’ve raised my voice at him before. I’ve made sarcastic comments. I’ve complained to everyone who will listen. Maybe I should just ignore him and let him self-destruct quietly. But at the same time, I can’t help feeling like someone should intervene before he hurts himself.
I don’t hate him. I just hate what this house has become — a caffeine-coated, powder-streaked mess where we all tiptoe around a man who thinks he’s on some kind of spiritual fitness journey.
So Reddit, AITA for confronting my housemate and calling him out for his dangerous pre-workout addiction?
He says I’m judgmental, that I’m “anti-grindset.” But honestly, I’m just tired. Tired of cleaning up after him, tired of the shouting, tired of pretending this is normal.
All I wanted was a peaceful shared house. Instead, I’ve got a roommate who thinks self-destruction is discipline.
And I can’t tell if I’m wrong for caring — or just foolish for staying.