My birthday was two days ago. It’s a day I feel should be mourned rather than celebrated. So it’s just as well that it passed with only Her giving me a small cake, balloons, fake flowers, and two small gifts. And that horrible song. So awkward. But at least there wasn’t some pitiful attempt at a “celebration.” I literally have zero friends, and my aunt who is absolutely insane and emotionally abusive to me all my life was out-of-state, so I thought I got off easy.
This morning I was grateful that I was feeling okayish so far. I could tolerate existing, for the time being. Then she came in and casually informed me that the two friends of the family were going to come over tomorrow evening for my birthday.
She didn’t ask whether I wanted this, whether this time was convenient for me, whether I felt up to it (I had a physical setback all this last week and am still recovering)… Why would she? I’m not a person. She didn’t ask when she made an appointment for me to get my taxes done (which wasn’t even necessary, I made so little, but she wanted me to give up all my measly savings so I couldn’t get out of here), or when she decided to get a puppy (because the stress of the equivalent of a two-year-old child is exactly what I needed right now, and so she could guilt me into staying so the puppy won’t be left alone all day while she’s at work)… If she’ll sabotage me without question, she’ll certainly plan this thing without considering my feelings on it.
Immediately, my feeling of being okay with existing evaporated. A couple of minutes later, she saw me sitting in the living room, staring out the window, silent tears streaked down my face. And instead of asking what was wrong, why I was upset… she stood there and stared at me for a moment and said in her trying-to-pick-a-fight tone of voice, “Should I just tell them not to come?” Knowing full well that would be rude and I would never say “yes, do that.” Saying it just to provoke me.
“What you should have done is consider my feelings and give a shit what I think before making decisions on my behalf, for once, rather than make me be the bad guy in undoing it after the fact, like how we have to get rid of the puppy ‘because of me’. Stop putting me in these fucking positions in the first place, that’s what you ‘should’ do!”
But of course I can’t say any of that. Instead I shake my head and go into my room. My cave. My prison. Away from the window-filled living room and the clear blue sky and sunlight. Curl up in my chair and scribble furiously in my journal, since I have nobody to actually talk to about any of this.
My chair faces away from the single north-facing window, the only position it can be in this cramped space. She immediately went outside, right by my window, ostensibly to fuss with the fence or something, but more likely to spy on me, to fucking crowd me, because I have no sanctuary here. I’m her child under her roof (never mind that I’m thirty-fucking-five now), trapped here, with no privacy or sense of being an adult or even a separate human being. Exactly what she’d been working to achieve for years and is fighting to keep.
I pulled my curtain, shutting out even more of the little bit of light that makes its way in here. Closed my door, though she still harasses me through it, and even though it’s so musty in here that my asthma and allergies are horrible. Who cares if I can breathe? Who cares if I get sunlight? Who cares if my stomach is torn to shreds from the stress? Who cares if I have to be on the medicines forever to keep my body barely functioning?
I will never escape this. Even if I manage to survive another couple months here and make it to the apartment… nothing will change. I still have nobody in my life but her and that fucking sister of hers. And that will never change. She always finds ways to sabotage me, to break me down, to keep me weak. I will never be free of that as long as I’m within driving distance, which I always will be. Every time I start to succeed in deluding myself into thinking I can squeak by the next couple months and then somehow escape… reality slaps me back down, hard. I know better than that. There really is no way out, except The Exit Plan.
2 comments
That’s how it was for me whenever I had to endure living at the house I grew up in, my mother was that same person as your aunt – I hope I got that right that it’s your aunt, apologies if I got it wrong. The advice I was given was to get the hell out of the house. I did and yes it was/is hard but it’s a million times better than having to live with these people. If you have a chance to get out in a couple of months then hang on. Yes things will be tough and you will feel lonely at times, and you’ll still have problems, but it’s a damn site better. You’ll be away from that awful relationship and you can do what you want. To be out of that environment will allow you to work on what you need to and it will be a weight off your shoulders.
Thank you. I’m sorry your mother was like that too. Most of it was about my mother, actually. She and my aunt, who lives nearby, are the only family around here who speak to me, and, well, sometimes that’s not a great thing. The thing is, I’ve lived on my own for years, but she (my mother, I hate even calling her that) always manages to interfere and keep me down – just not AS much as now that I’ve been living here. At least when I have my own place, I have somewhere to escape to. But like, until my last place, she always had a key. She has zero boundaries, I’m just an extension of her. And I’m afraid it won’t change when I move. Like, I still have zero friends, can’t work or go to school, very little money left after bills to do things to MAKE friends (or just to enjoy)… The future just looks very bleak. She made me this way, she crippled me from the start, and I think it’s too late for it to change now. (And before anyone contradicts that, I have objective legit reasons for thinking that, it’s not just negative thinking.)