Today was one of those days where my personal space felt more like a public square. It started with my mom, who’s been making a habit of walking into my room uninvited. She even sleeps in my room. This morning, she wouldn’t stop talking about taking me to a psychiatrist. It wasn’t a suggestion, it was a demand. She sat there, unwavering, declaring she wouldn’t leave until I agreed to go. I wasn’t having it. I stood my ground, refused, and eventually escaped to the bathroom just to catch a breath.
As if that wasn’t enough, my father got home. I was just standing in my room folding a piece of cloth, minding my own business, when he barged in, phone in hand, camera pointed right at my face. He started recording me, despite me telling him to stop. It’s not a one time thing either, this whole recording and room-searching routine has become a daily ritual. It’s like my privacy is some kind of myth they’ve decided doesn’t exist.
