My family is forcing me to share a room with my horrible sister

Living with my older sister has been an perpetual struggle, to put it mildly. She's not just difficult; she's outright horrible. The depth of my hatred for her became fully apparent when she left for college, providing me with a brief respite from her oppressive presence. Our shared room, a battleground of conflicting preferences, epitomized the challenges of cohabitation.

The nightly routine in our shared space was a microcosm of the power dynamics at play. The simple act of turning off the light became a negotiation, contingent on her whims. Waiting until she was comfortably settled in bed to turn it off was a tiresome ritual I had to endure. Asserting myself was never my forte, but over the past year, I've made strides in standing up for my own needs.

Yet, my attempts at self-advocacy were met with physical aggression from her. A quick resort to violence has been her response whenever I tried to assert myself. The situation was exacerbated by her transphobic and homophobic beliefs, perpetuating a toxic environment. Despite my clear stance as an atheist, she persistently attempted to drag me to church. Adding insult to injury, she ridiculed my interests and dismissed the grief I felt over the loss of my beloved dog this summer, whom I considered a close companion.

The breaking point arrived during a heated summer argument over her dog, culminating in her physically assaulting me by tackling and punching. In a perplexing move, she discarded her mattress and dismantled our bunk bed to make room for her dog's kennel, leaving her without a proper sleeping arrangement.

The situation escalated further when our uncle came to stay with us. Upon learning this, my sister unilaterally decided to reclaim our shared room without any consideration for my opinion. Despite the availability of a spare room that required cleaning, my protests were dismissed by my mom, who insisted I had no say in the matter, accusing me of being a scrooge.

Fast forward to the past two days, and my sister introduced a disruptive element into our already strained coexistence: an air mattress. The noise it generated during inflation added an extra layer of irritation. To make matters worse, she rearranged my room, relegating my dead dog's kennel to the garage, dismissing it as mere trash.

Initially, the air mattress in our shared room seemed tolerable. However, my sister's capricious decisions led to its constant inflation and deflation. Late at night, she woke me to silence my music, only to disturb my sleep again by reinflating the mattress at 11 am. Frustrated, I confronted her about the disturbance, which escalated into a heated argument culminating in her resorting to physical violence.

Sleep eluded me, and I reluctantly succumbed around 1 am. Seeking solace from my mother, hoping for support in this tumultuous family dynamic, her response was as shocking as it was disheartening. "Suck it up for a few weeks; she's family," she said. But the truth is, I no longer consider my sister family. The strain on my well-being feels unbearable, and the desire to escape this chaotic existence makes me want to pull my hair out.

The next morning, after a restless night, I found myself grappling with the reality of my situation. The air mattress loomed as a symbol of the disruption and discord that had permeated our living space. As I glanced around my room, now rearranged to suit my sister's whims, I couldn't help but feel a profound sense of powerlessness.

In an attempt to regain some control over my surroundings, I decided to address the issue with my sister in a more composed manner. After all, a thousand words in my head couldn't compare to the impact of a few calmly spoken sentences. As we sat down, I mustered the courage to articulate my feelings and concerns.

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