I don’t even know what this post is

When “I’m depressed”

comes out of the mouth of a 7 year old,

a kid too young to know what it really means,

you say “Don’t be one of those people, they’re selfish.”

Knowing full well that I am one of “those people.”

Is it terribly adolescent of me

to think,

“Oh yeah? You know what’s selfish? You. You and your fucking religion, fucking forcing me to do things I don’t believe in, praying fucking five times a day, wearing a fucking headscarf every fucking day, pretending I like the sexist homophobic Arab-elitist bullshit that spews out of the mouths of the imams giving the Friday sermons. You and your little victim complex, always thinking you’re being abused, when I’m not your abuser, I’m not my father, I swear I’m not, but ever since the divorce you’ve been fucking using me as a bouncing surface for your emotions about him, saying things that you verbatim said to him, refusing therapy because you think you don’t need it. You and the way you yelled at me in the hospital, how you made me lie to the doctors and say The Attempt was an accident when it wasn’t, and I didn’t have to tell you when I took all those pills. I could’ve let myself die in peace but I reached out and I thought you could help me somehow, save me from this swirl of self-hate and self-harm that I was trapped in. If a fucking suicide attempt isn’t a cry for help, I don’t know what is. But you didn’t even try to get me real help or anything. Years later, though, when I slam a door and it triggers you because, and I quote “Do you know how many times I’ve heard a door slam and then had someone come and beat me?”— only then do you even consider trying to help me with my mental illness. To save YOU from being triggered. So that YOU can have your comfort.

But when I’m slitting my skin, crying myself to sleep, trying to fucking KILL MYSELF, it’s all okay? As long as YOU are not directly impacted by it?

Tell me again, who’s selfish?”

Yeah, that’s the

gist of it.

The thoughts that go through my head every time you crack a joke about suicide or depression.

^I wrote the above post  a year ago. I was so angry at the world and especially at my mother.

I still am.

But I pretend not to care.

I’ll never be the same person I was before all this. I’ll never be able to shake off my problems. And that’s a sad, sad thought.