Praying my dad asks me to go to the store for him later, a cig would make my day SO much better

I’m so frustrated with my current situation.  Home hasn’t felt like home for months now.  At first I thought it was a normal thing, a big transition to college making me realize that there’s more out there for me than this place I’ve lived for the last 18 years.   But I want more than anything to be happy here.  This house, this town, they’re my whole life.  Now, I can’t even go a day without getting into some sort of screaming fight with my mom.  That’s why I hate it here.  I don’t feel welcome here anymore, ever.  I didn’t come home on weekends last semester because I didn’t feel welcome to come back.  My room is still the same, but everything around it has changed.  The glass door I broke is a constant reminder of a fight my mom and I had over winter break.  Standing in our old living room reminds me of the fight we had two weeks ago.  The bathroom reminds me of when she almost broke my jaw.  This place used to hold enough beautiful memories to cover the bad ones that go back as far as I can remember.  Not anymore.  It’s tainted.  All I can see are the scars that figuratively litter the house, along with the physical damage I’ve caused, and the damaged she’s physically caused me.  I just want someone to care, but I don’t dare ever bring it up.  And when people find out, I just brush it off, I hate being a burden, my mother taught me that’s all I am to her.  I don’t know where to go from here.  I’m broke, unemployed, and miserable.  All my friends have these glorious lives and loving families, and I feel like I’m sitting in a room screaming for help and no one even bats an eye.  Perhaps they don’t hear me, but as I’ve had drilled into my head for the last 18 years-no one cares about me.