A Place called Home

I was sitting here pondering why I never decorate the places that I live in. I never even put photos of the kids and I up on the walls. I usually just make it functional.
So here I was thinking about it and I figured out that I've never lived in a place longer than 2 years and they were rentals. Places you can't really do anything with.
So here I am, in my own home and I haven't done anything. I still feel as if it isn't mine. Still feel as if I don't belong. As I look around me, I have half finished projects that I have decided to finish. How long will I be in this house? I'm not sure with the way things are going.

Why do we let psychological crap to cloud our judgments and make a mess out of things. Like me never having a permanent home even when I was growing up. Always moving. So most of the time, I don't even bother unpacking certain things at times. I just put boxes in a closet so I wont' have to pack them later.
My soon to be ex and his complex that everyone will leave him eventually and if they don't he does things to make them leave so he is free of blame. In his mind, they are the ones leaving so it is their fault. He can justify it in his mind even though he is the one who does all the things to make the person leave. He's done it with me and two others. Too bad I didn't figure it out before.

My mom is another person. I am not sure what happened early on in her life. Maybe it was my father that caused the problem. But once you start to get close to her, she does things to push you away. She did this with some of her friends and my brother and I. She did this throughout my life. I would stay away and let things cool off and then I'd start over again. We were in the process of starting over when she died. She had started a fight with me about 8 months before and told me that I didn't have to bring the kids around. At this point I was bringing Dusty over to see her about once a week and they would do things together and when I picked him up, we would go to the park by her house to play and feed the ducks. She had said some pretty hurtful things and it had made me upset. So I didn't bring them around. She called a couple of months later, but I was still upset over what she had said.
Then I decided I'd better make things right so I called and we talked. She invited me and the boys to dinner. That was a Friday. I remember I was texting a friend telling them that I was at my mom's for dinner. We had a good time. I told her about my marriage falling apart and she was upset that I hadn't told her sooner. She thought that I had told all of my friends. But that wasn't the case.
Anyway, I was going to spend time with her when she had a day off. I never got the chance. Nine days later she had died.

So why do we let all this psychological crap interfere with our lives?