I'm so mean to my mom. I speak with her as I speak with everyone else, truthfully and very bluntly. She asked me if I would spend the night at her house when I'm home for the weekend. I said, "No." She asked me why. I told her that if I'm only going to be home for two nights, I want to spend them in "my bed" in "my room," and that her house didn't even have a room for me. She immediately said her goodbyes and hung up. Well, I knew I fucked up.
My mom likes to think that I don't like being at her house "because it's a shithole" or "I don't have my own room." Her old place was a shithole. This one is not. It's not about having "a room." It's that no room will ever be my room like the current one is.
The truth is, I don't like spending time there because there is nothing to do except watch TV or go on the internet, and I hate to spend my time watching a screen. When I suggest going to the park or for a walk, she will walk the minimum distance, and we go home. She's not fun to talk to. She doesn't know anything about my life. Occasionally, we play cards. Being home, I want to spend my limited time doing everything I can't here. I want to spend no time watching TV.
She texted me back, complaining that she doesn't make a lot of money, but that next time, she'll try to get a three bedroom. That's fiscally irresponsible. I'm 18. I'm never going to live with her again. If I visit, I'll take the couch.
I responded:
"Mom, it's not about the room. This dorm is "my room" and "I live here," but the room at dad's is simply where I've been forever, and may possibly never be again. No where will ever take its place. I'll definitely visit you, but just not spend the night."
She responded:
"I hate my life and hurt more then you know.u"
Fuck.
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