I wish my mom would just let me be. There is no peace in my house, little when I’m out. She’s constantly contacting me. Last night she sent at least ten texts wanting to know where I was, what I was doing, if I knew how to get there, what time it was over, if I got a seat, if I was still there. For God’s sake. I sit at the computer and she’s constantly asking me questions and to do things that are neither her tasks or related to what I’m doing. She “thinks” (assumes) I will do things or magically know what she’s thinking or wants me to do. Then she gets mad when I don’t do what she thought. THOUGHT. Key word.
She says she’s mad because I never help her around the house, but she never asks me to do anything that helps or affects HER. Like today she was mad I didn’t put my makeup in the bathroom. But it’s MY makeup on MY floor in MY room. It’s MY business. She always wants the table cleaned off, though she is constantly moving my things and adding to piles I’ve worked hard to pare down. So I started to work on the table today and she got mad about where I was putting my papers. I said, “If you want this stuff off the table, you don’t get to say where it goes. It’s not yours.”
She’s finally stopped yelling at me most nights. That’s good. But nothing’s ever good enough for her. My shirt is too low. My pants are too long. I spend too much money. Yes, she bitches about MY money too. I can’t do laundry. She asks me for directions but refuses to follow them, then gets angry at me when we’re late. What? There is no peace.
And when I cannot stand being around her and leave she calls and texts again and again. It’s fucking insane. People wonder why I stopped taking her calls when I moved to LA. This is why. There is no peace. It’s also why I like going places alone and why the peace of the hospital is comforting.
© Michelle Routhieaux 2010