So last week I broke into little pieces and told my mum I was planning suicide and wanted help stepping back from that. This is not a kind thing to do to one's caring parent, I am aware, but I suspect it would be less kind to not say anything and then go ahead and do it, which was basically the single alternative. Not strong enough to get help on my own. Not prepared to get help unless my parents acknowledge there's a problem. Scared to back down from the plan in case they don't acknowledge there's a problem. You know.
So we find a therapist and we ring him up and I leave a message asking to make an appointment and I go back to London thinking, okay. I didn't want to talk to her about that because she's not well, but she said she'd much rather I told her what was going on than that I didn't, so we're good, and I'll see this guy, and hopefully we can sort all this out. Brilliant.
And I come back this week to discover that while I've been away, my dad, and every. single. other. fucker. who's been through this house, has been told all about it and they've all reached the same conclusion which is that I'm emotionally blackmailing my mother in her vulnerable state, that I'm a cruel, manipulative, bad daughter, and that there's only one way to deal with it.
Which is what leads to my mother telling me she wishes I'd just go ahead and kill myself. And my dad telling me he told her to say that. Apparently it's "the only way to deal with [me]". Nice.
I am not fucking impressed. Also it's all led to me being a bit ghastly to notintheseheels and sparksoflight which is enormously unfair as along with asrana they've been completely brilliant with me all the way through. I love you guys very, very much and I'm so sorry I can be vicious and awful. In my defence, I get it from my parents.
Yes. I'm still alive. I've got an appointment with a therapist tomorrow morning. And that's good. But seriously.