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I'm so frustrated at the moment. It's difficult for me to put into words, but I can at least say that source is my dad. Ugh. I keep trying, and I know he's trying, but he just keeps pissing me off something fierce. He's made it abundantly clear that this is not my home. It's his and I'm just a guest. I get it, to an extent, but it's still effing frustrating to have him acting so tyrannical, often in areas that he wasn't as much before.
My understanding almost makes it worse, too. Truth is, I am living under his roof, and he is providing for me until I can get this damnable anxiety/depression shit fixed enough to get a job. Time after time, I have to keep sucking it up, because I have no bloody choice. My mom understands, but he just doesn't get me or my (medically proven) issues. How much shit can a person swallow, I ask you. The words, "impotent rage" feel so apt in times like this. I really don't know the where the line is between sucking up my pride and when I'm genuinely having my needs/boundaries violated; it causes even more internal struggle trying to tell the difference.
It seems silly, but a lot of my struggle with him can be personified with the tv. I'm a fucking adult, albeit somewhat handicapped at times, and to have him give me rules about basically not watching tv without permission, and then only in the evening (when he happens to come in and usually wants the tv off). Granted, they're not always so strict, but the fact that I have more restrictions than I did my entire life with him seems like a kick in the effing stomach. I can't even listen to certain music in the living room, even if I was there first.
It really, really sucks feeling like more of an unwelcome child in your own home than you did growing up in it. I'm an unwelcome guest in my own home, which isn't home anymore. I don't know where my home is anymore. If home is the place where one feels safe and welcome, then I don't have one anymore. Not that home was ever a bed of roses, but at least before I had my own stuff, my own room, my own car. I have none of that now. I have a room, but it's not mine. I need my home; where is it?
My understanding almost makes it worse, too. Truth is, I am living under his roof, and he is providing for me until I can get this damnable anxiety/depression shit fixed enough to get a job. Time after time, I have to keep sucking it up, because I have no bloody choice. My mom understands, but he just doesn't get me or my (medically proven) issues. How much shit can a person swallow, I ask you. The words, "impotent rage" feel so apt in times like this. I really don't know the where the line is between sucking up my pride and when I'm genuinely having my needs/boundaries violated; it causes even more internal struggle trying to tell the difference.
It seems silly, but a lot of my struggle with him can be personified with the tv. I'm a fucking adult, albeit somewhat handicapped at times, and to have him give me rules about basically not watching tv without permission, and then only in the evening (when he happens to come in and usually wants the tv off). Granted, they're not always so strict, but the fact that I have more restrictions than I did my entire life with him seems like a kick in the effing stomach. I can't even listen to certain music in the living room, even if I was there first.
It really, really sucks feeling like more of an unwelcome child in your own home than you did growing up in it. I'm an unwelcome guest in my own home, which isn't home anymore. I don't know where my home is anymore. If home is the place where one feels safe and welcome, then I don't have one anymore. Not that home was ever a bed of roses, but at least before I had my own stuff, my own room, my own car. I have none of that now. I have a room, but it's not mine. I need my home; where is it?
