Fights

For as long as I can remember, my mother and I have fought. She's always right and I'm always wrong. I always had to give in because of the threats she has made. Threats to quit the play, threats to not go to Drama Club, threats to not go to Writer's Guild, threats to not have Rachel over, threats to not go to Girl Scouts, threats to not sleep over Kristin's house, threats not to go to a party, threats not to sing in the choir...the list goes on and on. And most of the time it benefits her because she does not have to pick me up anywhere. So I take the bus home and mope around starring at the ceiling, regretting that I spoke up or acted out of the norm of quiet, sweet girl and she wins. Now there's basically nothing she can take away, short of leaving me stranded somewhere because I don't have a car yet, except housing. Dad even called downstairs, "Everyone living here rent free come help with the groceries." They obviously want me to pay rent, but besides the immature shout-outs, they won't admit to it. I asked them flat out, "What do you want me to do?" in the usual awkward confrontation where they accuse me of things that are right and everything I bring up are wrong, and they couldn't even tell me. I hate the fighting and want to move out real bad, but that wasn't part of my plan. Rent money was definitely not in the equation of my life before I graduated. But maybe it has to be...because this fighting is getting out of hand.