One Saturday afternoon, I was in my room. Since my mother and I don’t have a great relationship, I tend to isolate myself. I mostly stay in my room and occasionally go out with my boyfriend. The only times I come out of my room are to brush my teeth in the morning and at night, to shower, cook some food, and walk my puppy, Petunia. I do this to avoid arguments with her because every time I get out of my room, there’s always an argument. Ever since my father moved out, she only wants to argue with me over anything. She’s so unpredictable; sometimes she’s good with you, other times she just wants to argue, back to back. When I would be in my room not bothering anyone, it seemed to bother her so much that she would even come into my room and argue with me. She would say things like, “this isn’t your house to be closing the door,” and how it’s her house and her rules, and she can tell us what to do. She never liked my boyfriend because he isn’t the person she wants me to be with, and she never liked the friends I had because they weren’t the people she wanted me to be friends with. That’s when I had to choose between two things.
