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My mother is the most annoying person in the world. I purposely moved close to a thousand miles away from her after I graduated high school just to get away from her. She is relentless in her constant nagging about everything I do, say, and wear.
I am 33 years old now, mom. I dress the way I do because I like dark clothes and metal bands. I shave my head in weird ways because it is what I like and my beard is long because I want it that way. I keep weird things hanging around my home because it pleases me to look at them. I like to hang out at the house and not do anything because it is all I have to do. No, there are NO jobs out there to be had right now, so get off my back.
You wonder how I got all of the things that I have? This is 33 years of accumulation. Why do you care? You're 53 now, how much shit do you have, mom? How did you get all your stuff? You're the one who has five vehicles in your back yard that don't run. You're the one with your fancy home and five dogs and big screen TV and crap. Why do you constantly ask me about where I get my things? So I have alot of video games. So I have alot of comic books. So I have alot of guitars. Why do you feel the need to nag me about how much stuff I have? Are you jealous? Are you worried about dying with less stuff than I have?
I love my mother. Don't get me wrong. I really do. She has this rare neurological disease that causes her to have problems doing...well...everything. She is just a shell of her former self. She has problems getting around anywhere. She can barely walk without me helping her around. She can barely hold a glass to drink. She can't even open the car door, or any door for that matter, by herself anymore. I hate seeing her like that.
always a source of confusion to me, my mother has nonetheless played an important part in shaping me, her daughter. when i was younger, she suffered from severe depression and took it out on her three children and husband. this lasted until i was around thirteen, when she began to get "better". i have almost forgotten how she acted between my ages of 6-12, but my siblings, one two years older and one four years older, have better memories of her worst days. i suppose they always shielded me from her words when possible, being as i was the baby. we have all forgiven her in our own ways, and now our family can almost function normally (maybe because all of us children have moved out - me at sixteen, my brother at eighteen, and my sister at seventeen or because five years have passed since the bad days). i have almost forgotten how terrible she was.