Reasons Why My Family Is Messed Up (please read...)

So tonight I'm watching America's Got Talent, and it's on a commercial. It comes back on, and I realize that one of my favorite acts actually made it through to the semi-finals, and I really wanted to see their performance. Out of the blue, my mom tells me that her and my dad have come to the decision that I need an "actual hair cut." What I don't understand is that I got one just a week and a half ago, and probably got a good inch and a half cut off. So I tell her this. She says that I need to get my hair super short, as close to a military style without being one. I said no. Some people can pull off a long hair look, some can pull off a short hair look. I look stupid with short hair. We argue for a little longer, and then I say that I'm making one of the first decisions in my life as an individual. My mom always gripes at me to make my own decisions since I'm growing up, and when I do, she contradicts them like the hypocrite that she is. I don't get it. I'm hurt and confused by what she's doing and saying. It makes me feel like she's not appreciating me for who I really am, and that no matter what I do, it will never be enough to satisfy her. I feel like I have to do everything her way in order to please her, and if I do, that would mean giving up who I am, what makes me me. And I can't do that. Never.

During the argument, I missed most, if not all of my favorite act's performance. I was ticked. So I didn't talk to her for the rest of the show, and was shutting down my computer to go upstairs when my mom brings up my sister's volleyball game tomorrow. I don't want to go, primarily because I'm not interested in sports in the least. My mom says that I have to, since my sister went to my marching band performance tonight and so I can show my sister some support. Granted, I understand that my sister watched me play and march, but she didn't have to. Would me sitting in the bleachers make her day? Knowing her, no, it wouldn't. I wouldn't even be offering her any support. Because of my lack of enthusiasm and agreement to go to the game, I would be doing anything but watching it and cheering my sister on. Now, tell me, would that make my sister's day?

Another big reason as to why I don't want to go is because my mom is saying I have to, like it'll be the end of the world if I don't. She's been doing this to me for as long as I can remember, trying to force me to do things she wants me to do in order to make her happy. Let me list a few. She pestered me about joining the jazz band for months, even though I made it clear that I dislike jazz. Three years ago, when I came back from a summer camp, I found a John Deere lawn mower in my garage, and my mom said this was my summer job. No buts. In eighth grade, my mom wanted to submit a baby picture of mine into the school yearbook. I said no, no, no, every variation of the word "no." And she still went behind my back and gave my school a baby picture of me. I was made fun of and teased for days. Last summer, my mom signed me up for tennis lessons without my consent, and so I wasted a good ten hours or so per week for three weeks.

These are just some of the things that my mom has done so she would be happy with what I was doing. And I'm tired of it. So, tonight, I blew my fuse completely. With tears streaming down my cheeks, I told her I felt like she hated me because I was trying to be me (this includes everything, primarily my hair, since I literally own it), and that I felt like I could never satisfy her. I told her I didn't feel like she was my real mother because all she did was make me do things that I didn't like and were not like me. I hate tennis. I was young to have a summer job. I want to keep at least some of my dignity left. But does she understand? Nope. Not in the least. I told her that I felt like she didn't understand me, and because of that, she hated me and was trying to cage me in. She then went on this whole rant thing in which she was trying to make me feel guilty, I think, but I don't remember because I trudged up the stairs to my room. I kneel in front of my bed, crying and praying to God to somehow change this for a good ten minutes. Then, I went to my bathroom and stared at my red, puffy eyes, my tear-stained cheeks. I took a few shuddering sighs, trying to calm myself down, then went back out into my room. I saw a yellow piece of paper on the floor in front of my door, and I recognized my mom's handwriting immediately. The note read:

No matter what we say to each other, always remember I love you. I love you for who you are - all of you.

I crumpled up the note and slumped against the wall, fresh tears flowing down my face. I couldn't help feeling sad. I couldn't help feeling mad. At myself. I'm mad at myself for what happened between my mom and I. I'm mad at myself for both of the words we said to each other.

But, most importantly, I'm mad at myself for not believing her when she says she loves me.