Oh Mother!

04Nov09

So I’m back posting sooner that I had first anticipated.

And here is the first (probably of many) vents:

My mother is a total control freak. I know most mother’s are, but I’ve never met any at the same level as her.

Before I start on that, let me give you a little information about myself:

Currently, I’m in my final year of my A Levels (Media Studies, English Language and Literature and Psychology.) and I’m hoping next September, providing I get the required grades and survive my interviews, to start a Photography Undergraduate Course at university (I’m doing all of the tours at the moment, so I’m not 100% settled on which one.), for which I’m required to bring along a portfolio. I’m in the process of putting mine together now, amongst other things that I’m juggling.

Anyway. I got in from school and my mum asked me if I’d gotten round to emailing my English teacher my personal statement to have a run through. I told her I hadn’t and began to explain that our particular word processor couldn’t be opened on the school computers, and that I was going to resend it in a different format this evening, along with some work I needed to send her.

Well she completely flew off the handle, shouting at me that I’d never get it done, wouldn’t get it checked, not get it sent off to UCAS in time and ultimately, not get in to university this year. I have completed my personal statement, am ready to send it off, and would just like some one to go over it for my own piece of mind.

After explaining this to her, she still wasn’t having any of it. She the proceeded to inform me that I also wouldn’t get my portfolio put together in time and told me that she believed that I had given up on going to university all together. Only today, I was talking to my friends about my excitement about leaving home and starting my course.

She then declared that this was all down to my boyfriend. The same boyfriend who tells me that he’s excited for me to go to university and experience what he’s missed out on. Apparently, I spend all of my time thinking about him, all I want to do is be with him and this has distracted me from my studies and has changed my mind about university.

I could appreciate this if it held an ounce of truth. I see my boyfriend very rarely, a couple of days a week at the most, and only ever for a couple of hours; on the days he doesn’t have to be at work or college before eleven, he walks me to school and then meets me after work on Fridays and Saturdays and walks me home. I tend to spend an hour in the evening talking to him online most nights, after I’ve done the work I need to. I hardly think this is excessive.

She then started asking me “What’s wrong with him? Why wont he come to the door to meet you?” -he tends to wait outside of my house. My boyfriend suffers from GAD – general anxiety disorder. He get very nervous around people he doesn’t know, and doesn’t like to displease anyone. My mother is fully aware of his condition, yet still she makes these remarks. She continues, telling me “I heard you say you should have come to the door. Why wont he?” I turned around and told her exactly what he had told me; he had not knocked the door because the curtains in my parent’s bedroom were drawn. He didn’t know whether my mother was on nights and didn’t want to wake her up by ringing the doorbell or knocking the door.  She still didn’t seem to understand.

She then informed me that I wouldn’t be going out at the weekend. I have half made plans with one of my friends to go to the cinema. I asked her why, and she replied; “Because I said so.” I’m seventeen fucking years old. “Because I said so” doesn’t cut it anymore. I asked her what I’d done wrong. She told me; “Nothing.” I asked her; “So I’m being punished … because I’ve not done anything wrong?” She hesitated and said; “Your room’s a mess.”

By mess, she means I had some items “where they didn’t belong” i.e. the school books I’d been working in late last night and hadn’t put away before I went to bed. Or the laptop bag resting against my wardrobe that usually lives under my bed, but it’s home has been occupied by the hideous blue futon that use to be my brother’s. Admittedly, I had left the house this morning with my bed unmade, but only because I had overslept this morning, due to the fact I’d been up until late doing research for my coursework. This didn’t seem to cut it with her.

She also began to bang on about getting my priorities in order; keeping my room tidy, getting my personal statement done, getting my portfolio together. I pointed out to her that I was currently working on two sets of coursework and preparing for an exam in January. Surely that came first over something that wasn’t due in until after January?  I also highlighted that I’d stand no chance in getting into university, unless I’d managed to get my coursework completed and acquired the sufficient grades I needed. I stated that even if there was the tiniest chance that I didn’t get my UCAS things sorted out in time – which of course is not the route I’m wanting to take – getting my grades meant that I’d be able to apply the following year no trouble.

And of course she took this completely the wrong way; “I knew you didn’t want to go! Well if you don’t want to go, then I’m not supporting you – you can get out as well!” By as well, she’s referring to my fifteen year old brother, who is sitting his GCSEs in May. She is convinced he is going to fail each and every one and has told him that if this is the case, she’s kicking him out and he’ll have to sort himself out a council flat. He is in top set for the majority of his subjects and in most classes, one of the highest achievers.

I told her that I wasn’t planning on doing so, and was just making a point. She ignored me of course. I explained that I’d got a lot of work on at the moment and that I was trying to get things done as they needed doing. She turned around and shouted, “Well you can find time to sit and post things on FaceBook!” I said that I was having a break from studying and do you know what she turned around and said? “You could have spent your break cleaning your room. Doing something that needed doing. It’s funny how you can make time to do the things you want to do, like go to the cinema.” I tried to explain that I needed something other than school work once in a while or I’d just end up stressed and sinking into depression.

I’ve not had this diagnosed, but I’m pretty sure I have some form of it. My dad suffers with it, his dad did too, and it looks like my brother and I have inherited it too. I’ve looked up the symptoms on the internet, but I’m to embarrassed to get it checked out, incase my doctor thinks I’m being a stupid hormonal teenager and tells my mother. This, I do not want.

Anyway, she called me pathetic. My mood swings kicked in and I was in floods.

I spent the next twenty minutes trawling through my photostream, searching for images to  include in my portfolio for university, bleary eyed and red faced. And they all looked shit, which didn’t help the situation in the slightest. By this time my mother’s calmed down and came in to see what I was doing. She tried to help me go through, suggesting photos, but I was still so angry at her for her outbursts earlier and upset and disheartened at my work, she didn’t help at all. I ended up just crying at everything she suggested, picking faults with everything. She gave up, shouted at me and left. The crying continued.

I hate crying. I hate getting a red face and looking like a disgusting pig. Crying is for the weak and ugly. And for this reason, when I cry, I cry even more.

I’m tearing up again so I’m going to stop now and do some more work.

I really needed to get this off of my chest.

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