Deficient

Over the last few weeks I have had unwanted conversations, namely with my dad, which have left me confused as to whether people actually care about me. My dad said if he didn’t care about me, I’d be out on the streets. But caring for someone isn’t just providing for them somewhere to live. It’s also providing a feeling of care from non materialistic things. Making a house a home, making you feel like you’re not alone. And I am alone. I suppose I can’t talk, I mean I’m not a parent, and never have been. Maybe it’s really hard to be understanding of mental illness, and it’s a huge dissapointment to reveal to others that your son doesn’t have a job, and just wastes your elictricity and water for a living. Things like this make me even more ashamed of the person I have become. Like it would be a selfless act to just eliminate the problem. Me.

My dad among others in my family just don’t understand depression, let alone depersonalisation disorder. I have explained in the past, but it seems to go in one ear and out the other. And any sight of a slight smile or a laugh seems to portray signs of  recovery. Also I have to be honest and say I’m not okay everytime they ask, instead of just saying “I’m fine” because they apparently forget. I asked if he and my step mum have or would actually consider reading up about what not to say to someone in my shoes, and what I’m going through, and he just said he would prefer if I spoke to them in person about it because they are too busy. But I have before, and sometimes reading things in writing is easier for some people to digest. He said he wouldn’t have time to research it, so I agreed to send him some links/screenshots. And even 24 hours after reading these, there has been no acknowledgement whatsoever. And among the screenshots was 75% of my own words from a recent blog post “Indigo Inside”. A friend said he surely has a heart of stone if he has looked at them and not even said a thing. And I might add, this is a friend who is about two decades older than me, with children. Just to make crystal clear that this isn’t just a handful of angst ridden twenty somethings banding together against parents.

He said he knows what it’s like to be depressed because he had work related depression and was off work for 5 weeks. I raised my eyebrows in a “have you fuck” kind of way. Because the things said and the actions made don’t really paint a picture of someone who has ever been depressed. Even the slightest of depressions.

And I keep getting mentions of going to get a job, and it effects me in a way they probably don’t even think of. It’s such a regular occuring topic, that made it out even on my birthday. It just seems like getting a job is the main priority, because I seem worse since I have stopped working. Not taking in to account that since I have stopped working, I’ve had magnified senses of disapointment from family conversation, and not enough support. Imagine if I told him to get a job during those 5 weeks? I’d have been throttled.

And I’m constantly reminded of how I’m going to be 25 next year, and that I don’t want to be living with my parents when I’m 30, and that they don’t particularly want me living with them when I’m 30, and that I need to plan ahead and have a safety net. He said, what if something happens to me and your step mum one day, where will you go, because your mum won’t have you back. And I said I wouldn’t want to go back. Like how the fuck can I be expected to prepare in this way when I’m the one that is most likely to have “something happen to them”. And he said, “you can’t just say ‘you won’t be here next year’ because you said that about three years ago, and you’re still here now”. I couldn’t really construe whether that was meant as a backhanded compliment or something entirely different. I mean, I’ve been suicidal for years, and I can’t think ahead, I can’t imagine a future. What kept me from doing that, was family. They were my safety net. WERE.

So yeah, I’m even more ashamed of myself. I’m a fucking letdown, I know that full well. And apparently I’m just like my mum and remember everything, I’m stubborn and hold grudges. In that case, I don’t really see the difference between holding a grudge and remembering something that hurt you, to prevent trusting the wrong person again. Please enlighten me.

I punched my wall a few months ago on impulse, without thinking. My dad saw it and flew off the chain. And told me to punch myself instead. Yes he did apologise about half an hour later, but it doesn’t take it away. If me choosing to remember that is holding a grudge, then okay, I’m content with that.

And regarding to the DP disorder, neither my mum or dad were happy to hear that the main contributor to it was childhood trauma. And my dad just said “oh well it’s all mine and your mums fault then”, as if it’s some attempt to make me feel guilty. I think all of this just paints a bigger picture to where the issues lied.

Finally, I mentioned a controversial topic.

I would rather have cancer or a tumour, or something terrible and physical than this, because people have heard of them. It’s a universally known sentence of struggling, where you get immediate help, and there is no stigma, because you can see it. And my dad interrupted, offended. And I think anybody who is offended by this, is the problem which leads the depressed to rather have something else.

Not in a way to undermine the suffering of cancer, but in a way of saying, atleast they get support, atleast it’s not AS hard to open up about and to talk about, atleast people believe them, atleast they are hailed as strong, and fighters, atleast they aren’t called weak, whether they won or lost their fight. Atleast they don’t get called selfish if they die. Atleast they can sign off work with no fear of judgement. Atleast they have some hope, although sometimes very small. Atleast they don’t have to hide scars, or the changes happening to their bodies. Atleast they don’t have to fight their own minds AND fight for understanding from loved ones. Atleast they don’t feel pressured in to going private because they have to wait 4 months between appointments. Atleast they feel like a priority to medical professionals. Atleast they don’t have to say “I’d rather have this…” so people believed and supported me.

I’ve had my mind and body stripped from eachother, and its so fucking debilitating. Not believing my reflection is really me, not feeling like my hands are connected to my body. And feeling like an empty shell, just a carcass of what I used to be for twenty years prior. NOBODY can relate to this, who hasn’t had it. NOBODY. Yet, even someone who has never had cancer, can provide sympathy and not condescending statements, like “have you tried going for a walk”. THIS. IS. WHY. PEOPLE. SAY. THEY’D. RATHER. HAVE. SOMETHING. ELSE.

BECAUSE IF YOU CAN’T RESPECT THIS, YOU ARE THE PROBLEM THAT CREATES THESE THOUGHTS.

 

 

 

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