#also notice it's not marginalized people who get treated the worst at school shooting people at school 🤨

[2centsofsilver]

2am (Evening of 1/18)

Open Letter to My Parents (in the works of my head) Dear Mom and Dad, I don’t know why this is happening to us. I’m sorry that I have a mental disorder. Honestly with you, those features - the really bad ones - the ones where those misdiagnoses happened - the outliers that don’t appear among relationships with me and everyone else - come through in our relations: Screaming episodes any time we’re together, verbal expression of extreme opposition, cutting insults (the kind one could never forgive another for), severe anger issues and the type of disorientation one with BPD exhibits (expressions of not being rooted in reality, not hearing the other person, deliberately re-directing conversations, but coming off as stupid/blind/naive), the whole “I love you/I hate you” feature, threats from you that you’ll disown me as your daughter, threats from me that I’ll abandon you as my family, sibling sidings, threats to kill myself, blaming you for wanting to kill myself, the list goes on. Honestly, I feel things are at their absolute worst- the worst they’ve EVER been. I no longer cry or am emotionally affected/saddened by our exchanges. I no longer have that “fear of abandonment” feature (but I have it with my friends). I know my friends are there for me and that is where my support system lies. I love you very very much, but your love is conditional. If you know how much heart your daughter has, like if you knew her, you (maybe) would like her? Like if you changed though too. Because right now your love is conditional: You love me if I am ___ or do ____ or stop doing ____. I believe that any issues in a relationship are ALWAYS two way streets. So I’m willing to take 50% of the blame. But because I’m your daughter, there’s a level system there, so I feel more comfortable taking 40%. Maybe you feel the same way, with your level system on the other side, and you’re comfortable taking 40%. I know it’s less though. You do not see relationships as two way streets. You do not own up to all the ways in which you’ve hurt me. You DISCOUNT every single thing you’ve ever done that has remotely negatively influenced me. You also just flat out don’t believe you ever have. And instead, I’m the bad one, I’m a shitty daughter, there’s something wrong with ME for thinking that, for seeing it that way, for trying to see it *fairly*. If anything you blame yourselves for the countless ways in which you’ve “failed” as parents, raising such a “despicable” daughter.  You never failed, but I’m not despicable. If you felt my heart, if you were inside me, if you felt the pain I feel on a daily basis constantly being abandoned by friends who I thought cared about me, constantly having anxiety over day-to-day situations, constantly feeling inadequate, not good enough, and constantly needing validation from others. If you knew what it was like for 1 person to struggle with any form of mental illness, physical illness, handicap, what have you. Or if you had any appreciation for or AWARENESS of or acceptance of marginalization. If you could own up to the ways in which you fall into the trap of stigamatization. I honestly don’t know who you’d be. Would you even be my parents anymore? I often see on social media - Facebook - parents commenting on their children’s posts, publicly saying how “proud they are” of their sons or daughters. Or directly, publicly, telling their children those same words. Or just liking their posts and sharing their posts and being fun and funky and silly and sweet. There comes a time in life as people grow up and older that that level system from “dominance/authority” to “equality/admiration” shifts drastically. There comes a time, I’ve noticed, when parents become their children’s friends and their children openly love and accept that and are no longer self-conscious of it in front of others. There comes this time that never happened for us and I’m really worried it never will happen for us, when you’re supposed to start hopping around and telling people you know, when they ask how Katie’s doing, all the great things she’s doing in life and where she’s headed. You’re supposed to get excited like I am. There comes a time when you’re supposed to come over to my house and say, “How have you been? We’ve missed you.” Or “How’s your application process coming along? We’re happy for you.” There are these beautiful shooting stars that go off in the midnight sky when moms want to “get to know” their daughters. That level system changes, it equals out, it becomes more human-to-human. I don’t know what to do, but I feel sick about it day to day. Things have drastically gotten worse in the last few years, but they’ve always been bad. You don’t believe me? You’re in denial. They’ve been bad since I entered high school. You still treat me like you did 12 years ago. And you’re going to do it to my brother too, that’s why he wants to run away, travel north, all the way up there, to get away from you and live independently. He wants his own space, his own time, his life back. It’s why I don’t visit home much anymore, why I don’t call you for weeks on end, why I don’t want to talk to you about things. I don’t know how that comes off regarding my personality -- I mean, you must know that I’m not the same way with my friends, co-workers, bosses, teachers, right? I know you think I repeatedly go into therapy complaining and bitching about my “horrible parents,” the ones who “don’t love me,” or “did this and that.” But that’s not true. I rarely talk about you because I can’t or when I do, it’s “I don’t know what to do. I’m a bad daughter. I want our relationship to be better.” Let’s date back to middle school or high school from the academic perspective. Parent teacher conferences, or whatever. All the ways in which my teachers raved about me, my artwork in the hallway, all those things that marveled and dazzled you as parents. That’s still me. Sometimes, I worry I’ve lost myself too, like in for instance, the case of me no longer pursuing English teaching or writing. But I’ve found other interests. YOU instilled that in me growing up, by exposing me to hundreds of thousands of activities and experiences. You’re the ones who taught me to love more than one thing, to constantly explore, learn, and grow. You’re the one who taught me how to be myself, how to find my identity, but you never taught me much about how to influence others, that came through my exposures to good experiences and the good heart I was born with, maybe my love for nature and art, our love when I was a young child, and definitely my loving grandparents. So I used to be this like, “perfect” student or whatever. Did that disappear when I didn’t go to Hope College? I got straight A’s in community college instead. I’m getting off track here -- let’s date back to that academic perspective from when I was younger. That’s still me. Like she exists inside me. I still love music, writing, art, nature, going to Glen Arbor, being with my family, school, funny jokes. I’m sorry that I gave up clarinet and piano and didn’t pursue journalism after managing the high school publications. I’m sorry that I no longer *talk about?* writing -- but I still do it. I try to write every day. And I’m still going to be a published author one day, even if you disagree with my content.  I have always cared about other people more than I care about myself. I have always been social, a people person, even though I was shy. I always had a lot of friends until the antisemitism arose in high school. You hated me for that. Is that when it started? You hated me for “choosing those friends” who would ultimately do that to me and to our family. But I was happy before it happened, dad. I was a thriving teenager who had the best summer of her life before that. She was living her dream, everything she ever wanted to be. She didn’t know it was going to happen. She didn’t “choose” antisemitic friends who she knew would bully her and trespass our lawn and drive me off the road and stalk our house at night. She didn’t know. Do you blame them or do you blame me? I wanted to go to therapy in the 9th grade because I had really bad social anxiety disorder. I couldn’t look at any one in the hallways, couldn’t answer questions in class, couldn’t give presentations, and I think I missed over 50 days of school that year because I could not face the inside of that high school. I wanted to go to therapy to get help and be happy again. My god, FOR YEARS, the THEME of my therapy sessions among ALL my therapists has been “Confidence and Happiness.” I want to be “Happy and Confident” (Depression and Anxiety's opposites). YOU’RE THE ONE who went out of your way to find me a therapist you knew through someone else. I loved that therapist. I ended up seeing her for 7 years and she changed my life. I’m guessing it bothered you that you had a young daughter who was struggling. And I know you were happy to hear that I loved my therapist and that our sessions were working. I remember distinctly telling mom about the “Anxiety Toolkit” stuff. I remember she used to ask me, and I would tell her, and I was excited about my progress and applying the strategies we came up with during my day-to-day attempts to get through high school. I don’t know at what point you stopped being affected by my hardships. I’m not by any means saying they should “still break your heart,” I’m saying I don’t know at what point you developed this idea that, “Therapy fixes people. Why isn’t she fixed yet?” Every single truth for me in my life is countered by responses that I cannot even begin to fathom comprehension for. Like I try very hard to understand where you’re getting this information from or why you might feel the way you do. I’m very conscientious in my efforts to see things from your angles and understand why you might be feeling the way you do. But like, my depression has gotten drastically worse (or more developed?) over the course of the last 10 or so years. It has depleted me, exhausted me, and defeated me. I honestly feel physically weakened anytime I even try to think these things through anymore. Like my shoulders drop and I just don’t have it in me anymore. I have become hardened to all pain, a concrete wall (I used to say this when I was 14), and incredibly resilient beyond my years. I have been through so much turmoil inside me that I had to grow up far sooner than a lot of people my own age. I am grateful for that, for I cannot imagine being so god damn behind in life, but it also has hardened me, made me stoic, it’s the reason I don’t have much positivity or enthusiasm in life, like there really isn’t a point and it’s a state impossible for me to feel. I try, don’t get me wrong, I really do try. Every day I try to make it a good day. But I am tired, do you understand? My mind, body, and soul are tired.  “That’s because you need to lose weight.” You might say. I guess I could use that topic as a phenomenol example of how exhausting it is to get through any half a minute of conversation with you. Like if we’re at the table and I’m trying to talk to you about something important and I mention I’m tired, you’d probably respond with that. And you’d divert the conversation almost immediately to the point where there’s no way I could ever get out of that new topic. Immediately, I’m forced to defend myself: “I AM losing weight. I just joined a new gym, I’m on the 21 day fix. I go to the gym every day, for a whole year now! A YEAR.” “Well clearly it’s not working,” you’d chuckle. “If you’d just start eating right, if you’d just start exercising...” It’s a great example because it demonstrates your disoriented view of how change is immediate or black and white. You’ve never believed me or believed in the concept of change happening gradually, over time. I know your deadlines are “asap,” but you have to accept that it’s probably going to take the course of the rest of my life for me to be happy, try to be happy, find happiness. Things will always be hard for me because I’ve seen too much, experienced too much. Even when I do finally reach happiness one day or whatever, things will still suck. Because the whole world affects me differently than other people. Everything is interconnected. I am vastly influenced by every person I’ve ever met. And when I grieve, I grieve those people for years. I have to give myself permission to grieve too, even when I feel I’ve surpassed my deadlines. Extended my deadlines, surpassed them again. It takes a long time for pain to fade, I might never get through to the people who have hurt me, but time eventually will make those memories fuzzy. In time, maybe I’ll only think about them once a week, or once a month. For now though, I grieve. There is so much going on inside me that you could never possibly understand because you don’t believe in mental illness. You also don’t believe in mental health practitioners. You hate who I am and how I am and resent me for all my therapy and how hard I try every day. You want me to be different and I am working on myself all the time, and I need assistance to function. I’m sorry. I also need assistance because I need support because I can’t get through life without people who are there for me. If you had any idea how fucking alone I am, even surrounded by so much support lately, I’m pretty sure it would kill you. Or any breathing person who’s not you. Like I honestly have no idea what it would be like for you to experience me because you have zero empathy when it comes to other people’s personal problems. You’re like a fucking Behavior Analyst. You’re everything wrong with the field. You judge only based off what you can see. You come over to my apartment, you see the way I live, you think it’s as easy as just changing my environment, as easy as just “stopping.” You don’t believe in thoughts, feelings, or emotions. You make fun of people with developmental disabilities or physical disabilities. You don’t believe in depression. Like how can you not believe in the one driving force that makes me who I am, that makes life SO fucking hard for me, that interferes with every aspect of my life, YOU SEE the effects. It’s mind-boggling. You don’t believe int he source, you think it’s ME. The other fucking night we were out to dinner in Kzoo, and we were fighting in public which is our new trend, and dad, you literally told me that the mental health field is a wasted field, helping people is all a wasted effort, that mental illness doesn't exist, and that I am literally wasting my future and the rest of my life by committing myself to helping others get better and make the most out of life. Saying that, you aren’t just referencing third person ideas and concepts. You are directly cutting me in so many capacities: You are discounting my personal journey, my efforts, my day-to-day battles, my long-term goals, my progress, my pain, and my commitment to helping others live a happy life. I don’t know how that isn’t something to be proud of. How do you not believe in being selfless? Mom’s a teacher! I used to really really want you to be proud of me. I’ve now found that it’s not possible, so I can only be proud of myself. I know that I have a lot of people in my life who are proud of me and excited for me and all that I’m going for in my life. But I’m concerned. My 25 year old adult self who has felt 57 since age 14 is concerned.  I am about to go off to grad school because I feel now is the time. I am also ready for adventure because while yes, I still struggle with depression, I feel I’m better now than I ever have been and I’m ready and feel capable, with the promise of resources wherever I go, that I’ll be ok. That I can do this.  What I do know is that oftentimes, children and parents stop getting along and no longer continue to try. Somehow, they just stop loving each other. I’m not willing to let that happen to us, even if it already has on your end. I still love you, I will always love you, no matter what. And I am not willing to travel across the country with our problems they way they are. You’re not willing to change, to even accept that there are any issues in our family. You don’t believe in therapy so you’d never consider family therapy. And you say I’m one of those fake professionals who wants to “bring people closer” and “families together” when it’s not possible. You say you’re too old to mend things with me, dad. What does that mean? Do you know since I was really little, my biggest fear in the entire world has been my parents dying? I DON’T WANT YOU to get old or sick and not fucking know how much I always loved you. How sorry I am. And how badly I wish I could be everything you wanted me to always be. But I just can’t travel thousands upon thousands of miles away with our issues where they stand. I will not be ok where I end up, but I’ll be better, knowing I have a supportive family and that we’re “good.” We don’t have to be perfect, but even if we’re just “good.” I have mental illnesses, mom and dad. Like whether you believe that’s possible or not, but I do. I call them that because with names, they’re treatable, and I can get help and support from others who have been there or are trained to help me. I have been diagnosed by doctors who know what they’re doing (you’re all science), and I’m on medication that has been carefully chosen by the best psychiatrist in southwest Michigan, and it works. Without it, I would have killed myself in 2011. I am ready to travel to the other side of the country now, to live my life and feel adventure while I still can. I want to fall in love, get married, have children, start a career, and be successful. I want to travel and explore the world and become the even better me that you always dreamed I’d be, but for myself and the others in my life or career that I’ll be helping. Like anyone else, I’m allowed to experience experiences. I’m ready. And whether or not you can be happy for me, we need to be good, because without support from the root source of where I derived, without support from the direct source of where I’m from, who I am, where I’ve come from, and who I can always turn back to if things were to ever go wrong for me on the other side of the country, my emergency contacts; or the people who I love very much, who I care for very much, who I will be taking care of when you’re not your finest, when you grow older and need my help, I will be there. So without us being good, I cannot go off and see the world. I will be in pain for life without us being good. I know you hurt too, so why can’t we work on us. Why can’t we just figure out a way to do this.  3:35am, Interview at 10:30. Goodnight.