If they can't see that you're depressed then they can't care. If they're like my parents, then they have filters, like wearing glasses that distort, so what they see is the distortion and not the reality. If they call you a bum, and they are judgmental of bums, then that's how they see and judge you.
My mother was also incapable of empathy, and my father, being her enabler, lost his empathy because she was always at war with me and she is the one he depends on, not me, so his views shifted to match hers because he gave her that power in order to stay with her and be taken care of by her. He had to either accept her version of reality or the actual one I experienced, he didn't have the backbone or ability to see for himself what was happening. When I broke my wrist and was crying, my mother said I was being melodramatic. When her dog who had a seizure disorder would whine, she would call her a ninny. She doesn't have the capacity for empathy. The beatings I experienced as a result of her rages? According to my dad, it wasn't that bad, because the bruises were conveniently hidden under my clothes. And yet when my mother is hurting, she demands sympathy and gets downright mean if it's denied her. So frustrating.
Your parents and my mother have a disability of perception, and it's projected onto us and we end up suffering for their lack. But in the end, they will be the ones who suffer because they have rejected the children who would have loved and cared for them when they themselves are infirm and vulnerable. My parents and I have no contact now and they forfeited that from me, the care they will need, and it's really sad. All of this is just really sad.
When I die, my parents will still be wearing their distorted lenses and they'll see my death however the lenses tell them to, even if I leave them a letter, which is why I won't waste the effort. It's too maddening to continue to try to get them to see or hear me, I tried for decades, I'm 49 now. It took a long time to figure this out, and there are still times that, in my head, I'm trying to get through to them. The madness is theirs, yet I am the one who is maddened by it.
