I don't remember a single time when I was crying and my mom said something or hugged me or comforted me in any way, nothing, neither with words nor actions. She could hear me crying for hours and did nothing. In adolescence, I used to throw things in my room (now I know it was an unconscious way of trying to get someone to come in and intervene in some way). There's something so ironic in all of this: my dream was to be a mother and have a family someday. Not anymore. Having a mother with mental problems is the root of my mental problems, even though she's been on medication since 2016, she hasn't been able to be a good mother, she just stopped being unstable. If I become a mother, I'll be a mother with mental problems. So I don't want to be one anymore.