I spent two days cleaning the house while struggling with depression and wanting to top myself because my mother was coming. The first thing she says when I got up the morning was that she had cleaned the bathroom.

She got huffy when I asked her not to sing the “cheer up” song.

She gave me helpful advice about getting fresh air cos that helps insomnia.

If I told her I had an anxiety attack would she ask “over what”?

She has seen my wrists in all their bloody glory. She has more sympathy with her friend’s son who was on sucicide watch because since he was committed he’s obviously more depression than I am.

She will not fucking understand if I explain with the slightest hint of critisicim and then yells at me for never telling her anything.

Thank god she’s gone now. I’m smoking like a fucking chimney and trying to resist the razor.


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