peerlesscucumber
Petting a cat might change my mind
- Oct 27, 2023
- 70
I come from a family with an extremely long history with depression and mental illness, from both my mother and my father's sides.
Most of the women have bpd, the men have bipolar, almost everyone has depression or anxiety or whatever shit alike.
I can count with one hand the people who haven't attempted to kill themselves.
I inherited the BPD, of that I am sure, and I suspect I may have OCD too.
The thing is, I feel obligated to not reach out about this, because in my family, I've been told many times that Im blessed.
Finally, after decades, my family managed to birth a kid with brains good enough to have a promising future, a kid who managed to not inherit the terrible temper and anger issues that almost everyone else has, a kid with good humor who doesn't take stuff to heart, a kid with no mental issues or insecurities, and a girl nonetheless! Which means she'll grow up far more mature since the men in my family are famous for being either absolute dumbfucks or straight up felons.
I'm scared to tell anyone in my family because I know everyone will be dissapointed, but there's a far more heavy reason too.
Currently, both my parents are going through heavy depressive episodes, plus, they're mad with eachother, so they practically have no support apart from their mum and ME.
Both of them have been venting their anger, sorrows, and joys, on me, and I fear that I don't give a flying fuck.
I'm 18, still haven't graduated highschool because I started one year late. I think I'm right to believe that my parents killing themselves shouldn't be my biggest fear.
Nor when I was 12 and I was watching my mum weep on my cousin's bday because her dad killed himself and she begged god to take her too.
Nor should it have been when I was 9 and my dad was locked up in a psych ward.
Nor should it have been when I was 6 and I wondered why my daddy suddenly looked so big, why he was getting fatter and why he was talking less and less to me.
This shit has been going on since I was like 11, I started cutting because of this, because of the preassure of being told I was the "family's salvation", I haven't stopped every since, and no one has seemed to notice, or care enough to notice, because they're so worried about their own fucking depression.
And I get it, of course I do, because I know what it is like, hit the thing is, every time I have struggled, I always did it by myself, never did I ask to be comforted because I didn't want to be a burden.
No 7 year old should be learning how to quiet her damn cries because she was scared that if daddy heard her, he might get sad and hurt himself.
I don't give a fuck anymore, but I do, I do give a fuck because I've been holding all of this shit in because I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want them to stop talking, I want them to stop telling me their troubles, as if a teenager could help them relieve their 30 year old sorrows.
Most of the women have bpd, the men have bipolar, almost everyone has depression or anxiety or whatever shit alike.
I can count with one hand the people who haven't attempted to kill themselves.
I inherited the BPD, of that I am sure, and I suspect I may have OCD too.
The thing is, I feel obligated to not reach out about this, because in my family, I've been told many times that Im blessed.
Finally, after decades, my family managed to birth a kid with brains good enough to have a promising future, a kid who managed to not inherit the terrible temper and anger issues that almost everyone else has, a kid with good humor who doesn't take stuff to heart, a kid with no mental issues or insecurities, and a girl nonetheless! Which means she'll grow up far more mature since the men in my family are famous for being either absolute dumbfucks or straight up felons.
I'm scared to tell anyone in my family because I know everyone will be dissapointed, but there's a far more heavy reason too.
Currently, both my parents are going through heavy depressive episodes, plus, they're mad with eachother, so they practically have no support apart from their mum and ME.
Both of them have been venting their anger, sorrows, and joys, on me, and I fear that I don't give a flying fuck.
I'm 18, still haven't graduated highschool because I started one year late. I think I'm right to believe that my parents killing themselves shouldn't be my biggest fear.
Nor when I was 12 and I was watching my mum weep on my cousin's bday because her dad killed himself and she begged god to take her too.
Nor should it have been when I was 9 and my dad was locked up in a psych ward.
Nor should it have been when I was 6 and I wondered why my daddy suddenly looked so big, why he was getting fatter and why he was talking less and less to me.
This shit has been going on since I was like 11, I started cutting because of this, because of the preassure of being told I was the "family's salvation", I haven't stopped every since, and no one has seemed to notice, or care enough to notice, because they're so worried about their own fucking depression.
And I get it, of course I do, because I know what it is like, hit the thing is, every time I have struggled, I always did it by myself, never did I ask to be comforted because I didn't want to be a burden.
No 7 year old should be learning how to quiet her damn cries because she was scared that if daddy heard her, he might get sad and hurt himself.
I don't give a fuck anymore, but I do, I do give a fuck because I've been holding all of this shit in because I don't want to hurt anyone. I just want them to stop talking, I want them to stop telling me their troubles, as if a teenager could help them relieve their 30 year old sorrows.
