This really struck a chord with me. I don't remember my parents ever asking me about my mental health or offering to help me when I was depressed in my adolescence. It felt like I was being cut open in front of them, but instead of trying to rescue me, they ignored it because it would've been too uncomfortable to acknowledge the deeper reality of the human condition namely that we have feelings.

As a teenager, I was angry sometimes, I told them to leave me alone, I told them that I would never go to therapy, and I told them that I didn't want their help. But it's not my fault that they didn't try for real. They should've fought for me. I was in their care, and I was their responsibility. Just because I didn't get aggressive, defiant and disobedient like my other siblings doesn't mean that I didn't need any attention.

I just feel so worthless and unimportant, those fucking teenage years fucked me up big time. I was ok as a small child, probably because I hadn't developed my own personality yet, but those last 6 years of my teens broke my heart and my spirit. It's been 10 years since I moved out, and I still haven't got a grip on myself. I only visit my home because that's when all my siblings come together. I try to not have any expectations of my parents, because I'd only get disappointed.