A seed of hatred and resentment for my parents has come into existence within me, and is beginning to bury itself. Why? Because these past few days have been absolutely awful. The other day, I really needed to go home from work. And what do my parents say about that? “Suck it up.”
OK, if I work to the point where I throw up at work, I think I suck things up pretty much all the time. There is such thing as a breaking point, and I hit it that day. And my parents don’t care.
Yes they do.
No, they don’t.
Of course they do.
If they cared, they would be doing research on depression. On how I’m feeling. They would listen to me. They would ask for help.
They’re doing what they think is right.
Well, they have to admit to themselves that they’re wrong and look for help. They don’t want to believe that something’s wrong with their daughter. But there is, and they have to deal with it.
My meds aren’t working. I wanted to get off Sertreline so bad. But it seems to be the only thing that actually works. I think this is one time I will allow myself to say: fml.
Things were going so great. I was in such a good mood the day I forgot my meds. Then, the three days after, I’ve been absolutely awful. The only thing that makes sense is that my body wants Sertreline.
But let’s put some good news in here. My grandmother passed away recently. I asked my mom what was going to happen to her necklace, ’cause I kinda really wanted it. Well, my grandmother was my mom’s step-mother. She had three boys of her own, though. So my mom went to the boys and asked them. It was a unanimous “yes!” So I got my grandmother’s necklace for Valentine’s day (:.