When I say hungry I mean going a day or two days without food on a regular basis and running the risk of malnourishment. The house is a big, comfortable home with lots of amazing food, but the people make you pay emotionally for every bite you take
My mother has never brought me a single positive emotion in any interaction with her in at least 10 years, probably much longer. Every emotion is always negative. Every interaction and every experience is something I have to heal from. The only feelings she has ever brought me is anxiety, frustration, guilt, and sadness. They go in a circle. First she brings anxiety, which leads to frustration, which becomes guilt, and because I have OCD, that guilt becomes all consuming and turns into sadness.
The rest of my family isn't much better. They're all poisonous in their own manor. Especially the family I live with.
Today I came home to fix lunch. I have told my mother on countless times I want to be left alone when I cook. I have told her on a daily basis for many months, even years, I don't want to talk. How many fucking times do I have to say that for it to get in her fucking head. When I fix myself a meal, unless a person is very close to me and I can have a genuine conversation with them, if they aren't and if all we'll talk about is bullshit or their anxiety, I don't want to talk.
To be nice mostly because society and especially conservative ignorant cultures require it, I have told her I don't mind if you're in the kitchen just don't talk to me.
She has never respected that. She will be quiet and then say something. I will say I need quiet and she will always find a reason to come to the kitchen, then start talking.
I already can't fix a fucking meal in this house when I want just like I have to come at night after everyone goes to fucking sleep. Sick is too nice a word to describe how I feel about this place, I used to be homeless when I had a car and lived in it because I would rather live in a car than sleep in their luxurious poison.
Today was no different, and after fixing myself food I went outside. And being human, I lost control of myself. I threw the food on the ground because my OCD made me believe it was contaminated by the negative experience and violation of my boundaries. Sure, irrational, but it felt very real in the moment.
I went inside and told her to never be in the kitchen when I'm there. Then I left the house. The rest of the day was characterized by a gnawing feeling of guilt and anger at the same time. And all of that robs me of joy and any energy to do anything, which leads to sadness.
This is nothing new. This is all she has ever brought my life. Everything was always about her, how she felt, and whatever her comfort zone was. She never cared about how I felt when she dumped all her anxiety on me while I was traveling, which only due to a close friend I was able to manage and still enjoy my trip.
She never cared about how I felt when she would violate one boundary after another. She never gave a fuck about how I felt unless it was convenient for her to do so. Everything was always about how she felt, how she needed to be comfortable. And if she gave a fuck about how I fucking felt, she would've respected the easiest fucking request one can ever give and left me the fuck alone.
It's bad enough to have an emotionally immature mother that never provided an emotional foundation for me and only saw her kids as a solution to her life or an extension of herself. I DO NOT FUCKING WANT TO BE REMINDED OF THAT EVERYDAY.
When I lived away from them I never once felt the need to hit anything. I never had that kind of anger. I remember distinctly standing in the doorway of my apartment and looking inside and thinking about how quiet and peaceful it was. Covid was one of the best times in my life since I moved away from my family and didn't have to deal with her bullshit.
And when I lived away, every visit of my mother to my apartment was full of drama. I had to have her leave on many occasions because she was bringing negativity to my place.
When I was traveling for long stretches of time, I was also at my happiest. Being away from the cancer of my life, the cancer being my family's home.
The only thing that made living with my family emotionally manageable was having a girl I loved in my life. But that's because true love can make being a slave or fighting a war emotionally manageable. It can make landing on d day leave you no trauma. Real love can bring that peace.
Outside of that, all they ever do is take. Every morsel of material support they give is met with an emotional toll. You pay in joy, peace of mind, for whatever benefits they give.
Thank you for reading