When the problem is a person.

Trapped in the home of people who refuse to understand, who think my depression is hiding something, who think I’m lazy rather than my depression is debilitating.

I could take every type of med, go to every type of therapy, I could have sunshine coming out every orifice. It would make no difference.

Why? Because my problem isn’t me, its my mother. My mother is a cold, venomous, uncaring nag. She does not believe that depression is a mental illness, but instead views it as a weakness of the mind. She has mild dysthymia at worst and thinks she is the authority on depression. I doubt she has experienced a major episode in her whole life.

From the day I moved home until today she is on my case.

She nags about jobs, the 40% unemployment rate for people in my age bracket means nothing to her, because she’s ignorant. She doesn’t realize employers don’y want to hire someone who has been out of work for YEARS due to mental illness? What do I tell people about that gap, huh? Anyhow, I doubt I could actually hold down a job, if by some impossible chance I got interviewed and hired. She doesn’t know I’m waiting for SSDI, like deep into it.

She nags about my weight, how I’m getting fat. My BMI is fine, the extra weight went right to my bust, I can fill an A cup now, god forbid. She refused to get me food unless I became a follower of her freak vegan diet: Thank god for food stamps.

She nags me about college. She calls me stupid for not having a degree (I’m likely smarter than she is). She wants me to go to a crappy community college when I can go to another place for free. All I can figure is she wants to make me her clone. She thinks a state ID is all that is required, not a year of residency.

She puts me down for how I dress, my hair, anything and everything.

She even power trips insisting on little ridiculous things just to antagonize me more.

My life revolves around avoiding her. Avoiding her constant belittlement and badgering. I am a prisoner. I can’t leave this room. I live in total isolation. I am at my breaking point. They threaten me with homelessness if I go to the hospital, they threaten my animals and what few possessions I have left. She’s such a good Christian.

You know, its really hard for me to sell myself  to get a job when I have spent my entire life so belittled and put down I actually believe it. I have been so convinced that I’m a bad and worthless person by my family. I literally feel like a sleazy used car salesman trying to sell people a defective junker that barely runs and stinks like mold and wet dog.

I’m tempted to shave all my hair off so I look as ugly as I feel.

Wish my family would get out of denial.

But really, all abusive parents need to remember something. Someday your children and adult children are going to be the ones you need to rely on, don’t think they will forget how they were treated, because they won’t.

I’m the oldest. If by some miracle I manage to survive  the endless abuse until my mom becomes old and fragile and to be taken care of, she’ll get as much help as she have given me: None. I’ll research rest homes. I’ll find the worst one with the worst quality of life and the most violations, preferably several states away, like in a place that is hot but has defunct ac units. I’ll make sure she gets few no visitors and none of the stupid crap she enjoys, misery for miles, make her life a living hell, let her know what depression really is like. I’ll tell her over the phone once in a blue moon a sarcastic unsincere “I love you”.

Payback’s a *****. My mom best hope she drives me to suicide for her own good.