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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 […]