Hello everyone, and welcome back to Dialogue with Cristobal Martinez!

As much as I'm trying to convince my mom that she needs therapy, she still refuses therapy, even though there's a lot of evidence that proves that she must accept it.

My mom is an entitled, short-tempered toddler. Imagine me taking my mom to Maury so that I can talk about the many times my toddler of a mom yelled at me over minor inconveniences that either were, or were not hers. It's that, or she keeps interfering with other people's TV show of a life.

Whenever my therapist explains what I said about my mom to my mom, I don't understand her need to be so defensive. Either she acknowledges her fuck-ups and shut the fuck up, take it on the chin, or she keeps putting her foot in her mouth until I lash out at her.

Keep in mind, this bitch spends most of her episodes called days between cooking and laundry like this:

Oh, and she likes to throw a fit every time I'm not in the mood to even hear her speak, because what she says is more substance over style, and cries tantrum because that bitch wants to be comfortable coping with my uncontrollable mood. Such a stupid-ass, ableist-ass, childish-ass bitch.

I do want to acknowledge that not only does my mom need therapy in a psychological sense, but she also needs therapy in a physical sense. She is still going on and about with pain in her left arm from when she tripped and fell. She's been moping for months and should've gone to physical therapy sooner. But she likes to complicate and prolong things, right?

I'm starting to feel like my mom is using the pain in her left arm to cosplay being disabled, as if me being autistic doesn't count as a disability because I'm high-functioning. Also, she needs to stop sitting down and doom scrolling and find a hobby. Sure she does exercise, but what about other analog things. That's the reason why I even bought her a notebook and pen for Christmas, so she can do some journaling.

"I wAnT yOu To LoOk At ThIs. ThIs LiTtLe GiRl HaS aUtIsM-" Uh, bitch, get a life. Please.

My mom should participate in Taste of YouTube, or whatever the fuck the festival is called in Chicago (where I live).

My mom isn't learning anything from a smart autistic person like me, and I actually love that for her. That's why she's in my little gossip blog on Leaflet. I've been writing articles on Dialogue about people just like her. I don't know why she wanted me to be the child that keeps fucking up her day so she can yell at, but I'll be here to write as my way of pointing and laughing at a clown, who is a facet of my dysfunctional household.

My Mom is a regular topic on Dialogue with Cristobal Martinez.

That's it for Dialogue with Cristobal Martinez. Thank you so much for reading, and I'll catch you guys in the next one. Later!