My own mother thinks I’m worse than the devil! I don’t know what to do anymore!
My name is Edward, and I want to share a story that’s tearing my soul apart. It’s about how my mother has turned my life into a relentless nightmare I can’t escape. I’m not saying she’s the only mom like this in the world, but, damn it, I’m at my wit’s end! Why can’t she understand that I’m 23, a grown man who wants to make my own life choices without her constant lectures and commands? Her control is suffocating me like a noose, and I can’t breathe.
A Mother Who Won’t Let Me Breathe
I’m writing this as though I’m shouting into a void because I can’t endure it anymore. My girlfriend Lily openly laughs at my predicament now. When I go shopping for clothes, my mother tails me like a prison guard, starting her usual sermon: “This is rubbish, Edward, throw it away! It’s for some tramp! And this is an embarrassment, people will mock you!” In the end, I come home with some jacket or scarf she picked, the kind only my grandma would wear! I feel like her puppet, and she doesn’t even notice how much it infuriates me.
Lily, whenever she visits me in Bath, doesn’t know how to hold back her laughter. My mom grabs her arm and starts her spiel: “Tell him, Lily, those skinny jeans make him look like a scarecrow! Forbid him from going out with a bare midriff like some vagrant! Why do you tolerate him wearing makeup like some street walker? And how do you stand that stinky cigarette smoke when you don’t even smoke?” This is my own mother, folks! She spouts such nonsense, my fists clench with rage!
Once, she really crossed the line. I was getting ready to meet Lily’s parents for the first time—a significant event. I’d bought new trainers and dressed up to make a good impression. But my mother insisted I wear some ridiculous sweater she forced on me. I said “no,” stepped out of the shower, and there were my favorite jeans—the ones I loved—cut to shreds on the floor! She stood there with scissors, not even blinking. I shouted, “Get out!” but she stayed, looking at me with her icy, unyielding stare, as if I were her enemy.
What to Do?
I don’t know what to do, friends. This woman can’t see that I’m not a boy anymore. I have a job—not in an office with a tie, but on a construction site in Bath, among men who drink and swear, but I earn my own money! I could rent a place tomorrow, even without Lily. I’ve got enough for rent, for clothes, for cigarettes—everything I need. But she thinks I should quit because, apparently, I’m “breathing in the stink of laborers.” She wants me to enroll in college this summer, has even picked out a major, but I’m not going to listen! If I study, it’ll be when I decide and in a field I choose.
I would’ve slammed the door and left by now, but my dad holds me back. He’s the only sensible person in this house. Calm, kind, he’s always understood me. If I leave, my mother will turn all her pressure on him, and he’ll just crumble. She already says I’m worse than the devil to her—ungrateful, defiant, spoiled. What will happen to him when I go? She’ll crush him, and the thought tears at my heart. He doesn’t deserve that fate, but I can’t live in this hell anymore either.
My Life in a Vice
Every day I feel her grip tightening around me. She interferes with everything—my clothes, my relationships, my habits. Even when I’m with Lily, I can’t relax—what if my mom calls or bursts in with another rant? I’m beginning to hate her, though somewhere deep inside I still love her—she’s my mother, how can I escape that? Sometimes I wonder: am I to blame? Am I too harsh with her, too stubborn? But then I recall her words, her actions, and realize she’s the one going overboard.
Friends say, “Forget about it all and leave.” But I can’t leave my dad to be torn apart. I’m trapped, caught between duty and the desire to live my own life. She makes me feel like a monster in her eyes, and I just want to be myself. I’m exhausted by her constant commands and control. To her, I’m worse than the devil, and to me, she’s a wall I can’t break through.
What would you do in my place? How would you escape this prison? I’m writing this here because I have no one to talk to—neither friends nor Lily fully understand. I need your advice, your perspective. I want freedom, the ability to breathe, but I don’t know how to break free. Can you help me find a way out of this hell? I’m on edge, and I’m scared that one day I just won’t cope.”
