I dislike my mother. She cannot understand what anyone feels besides herself. If she feels one way, she will impose it on you in form of passive aggressive questioning until you give in or until she does it anyways for you but will never admit to it when you call her out on it. Instead, she laughs, disagrees, and changes the subject. It’s fucking suffocating, like I can’t make my own decisions. And then that coddling high pitched voice of concern she uses to top it all off, as if I’m a child who cannot take damn care of myself. Fucking BACK. OFF. I’m not a kid. I’m not a teen. I’m not even living at home anymore. I hate calling them. I hate them calling me. I want nothing to do with my mother’s constant worries, concerns, complaints, and fears every day of her life. There is nothing positive, ever. The life at home is beyond toxic. And every phone call reminds me of why I don’t want to go back.
My mother cannot hear me. She cannot hear anyone but herself. And she will never realize it. She does not listen. So fucking frustrating. I’m being beyond vocal about what I feel, yet I am not heard.