Interstitial
Dear Mum,
First of all, thank you for letting me move back in with you. I don’t want this letter to sound ungrateful. But let’s face it, we both know this isn’t working.
I can’t live like this anymore.
I can’t be home by a curfew. I can’t worry every time I leave a mug on the coffee table instead of putting it in the dishwasher. I can’t feel like I’ve murdered someone if I forget to eat leftovers. I can’t sleep in a bedroom that hasn’t been redecorated since I was twelve.
I’m aware how much money you’ve saved me this year and that you wanted to help me out. It was a good plan in theory, but I’ve felt infantilized and miserable, and I’ve barely saved up enough to make a dent in a deposit anyway.
I still want to buy my own flat one day, but not like this.
I know this will be a disappointment to you. I know I’m a disappointment. I love you. I’m sorry.
All my love,
Becky