Sometimes I don’t think people realize just how difficult they are to live with.
I can’t remember if my mother was always like this, or if her anger has become exacerbated from menopause or life circumstances, perhaps a combination of both. But lately, it feels like we’ve both reached our limit and are only centimeters away from knocking the shit out of each other. I know that if I really hated it, I could move out. It is her apartment I am living in rent-free, her paycheck I eat with and buy my necessities with, so if I dislike it, I should move out, simple as that. But it’s not that simple. I have neither the financial means or the resources, half the time I’m conjuring ways of what will get me to the end of my life quicker, or how I can deal with people on a day to day basis without feeling like I’m being nicked by pins and needles. So I’ll wait, in a corner of purgatory, and hope the gates will open sooner rather than later.
Does this make me ungrateful for my mother? I don’t think so, but I think she needs to realize that I too, have a limited tolerance for her shit; I can’t mother someone who happens to be my mother.
