Pardon my French, but my mom is a fucking bitch.
I don't know how to phrase that nicely right now, because I'm just so pissed off.
For most of my life, I thought it was me. I was the problem. But that's not true. As I get older and research more and actually reflect on the instances in my life where I convinced myself that it was my fault, I keep concluding the same thing. My mom is a vindictive, micromanaging, bullying, micromanaging, fucking bitch.
I don't know if anyone will ever actually read this, but on the off-chance that someone actually does, I feel I should explain why I feel this way. Instead of going into it right off the bat, let me explain what spurred these feelings at 9:00 on a Friday morning in July.
I am a semi creative person and decided to start a ladies creative initiative to get women in my community involved in the arts at least once a month. To ease the financial burden of this project, I spent a few hours searching craigslist for art supplies. I happened across one ad that had a major haul of craft supplies about two hours from where I live and I made a plan with the lady selling it all to go pick it up.
I wasn't even 20 minutes from my home, when my van started making a weird noise and the brakes stopped working properly. I freaked out, called a tow truck and then called my mom to let her know what was going on, since we share a vehicle.
Needless to say, I didn't make it to the pick up and had to reschedule. The van was looked at, the brakes were replaced and the mechanic told us that we should bring the car in again sometime during the next week so he could evaluate what was going on with them, since we had just had them replaced a couple of months before.
Well, today is that day. I scheduled and made an appointment on Monday for Friday morning at 9:45am, the earliest appointment they had available. I made my mom aware of this appointment.
At 8:25am, my mom called me on the in-house intercom and asked me why I wasn't downstairs yet, confused and not fully awake, I replied, "because I'm not yet," to which she responded something about getting moving and not being late and then she hung up on me. Figuring she was just being her micromanaging self, I ignored it.
At 8:35am, she called me on the in-house intercom once again and asked me exasperatedly if I was aware that I was late. I told her, "no I'm not," to which she responded, "you told me 8:30am!" My confusion at an all-time high, I told her, "what? no, I told you 9:45," to which she replied, "no, you told me 8:30am, which is why I rushed myself to finish all the shopping and get back here quickly so that you could take the car to the mechanic on time!!"
Now, after making the appointment, putting it into my phone and telling her about it not even 5 minutes later, why on earth would I say 8:30, when the appointment is for 9:45??
20 minutes later, she called up the stairs to me. With my air conditioner going and a fan blowing at the same time, it's hard to hear when someone calls up the stairs. The white noise is amazing. Since this is an old problem, my mother is fully aware of the issue of not being able to hear when someone calls. I called out, "what?" but she didn't respond, so I bolted across the room and into the hallway calling out, "what?!" again. Her response to me was full of fury, "don't you 'what?' me in that tone of voice!"
Right now she is pissed at me about the misunderstanding between the time she thought the appointment is and the time the appointment ACTUALLY is, but she's expressing it with anger for every other thing that's wrong, including crap that she left out after cleaning out a side table that didn't need cleaning right now that she wants ME to deal with.
There is a LONG history of my mother not listening to me. I have severe middle child syndrome, but it's not just something I cooked up in my head, it's 100% real. My mom's best friend and several of my friends are even aware of it, which just makes the whole situation that much worse. The fact that others see how badly I'm treated by my own mother kills me inside.
I'm a failure on so many levels, but I wish that I had seen earlier in life that it's not my fault. I've spent my 25 years on this planet trying to please someone who will never be pleased. It's like trying to dye the ocean with a small package of food dyes. It can never be done and it will never be done.
But in the mean time, I'm stuck living at home and my mom is a fucking bitch.
