your life is not your own

my anxiety, for one.

it’s better than it was years ago but it’s still a constant thing for me to manage and it impacts my perception of life and others. i don’t like making new friends. i don’t like taking up space or asking for things. i don’t like unknown situations or unfamiliar groups.

my parents, for another.

i’ve been closer with my mom in the past couple months than i have been in years and yet i can’t let myself get too comfortable. she’s still an alcoholic. she still holds a lot of resentment towards my dad, though the other i get the more i realize why. she is still self-centered in a way that is hard to pinpoint.

my dad has been driving me crazy but the past few weeks it’s been better. i work more, so i see him less, and i pay rent. so i don’t feel lazy and he hasn’t bugged me about working more since i got this new job. but he’s still a drug addict. he is still self-centered in a way that’s very obvious. he is racist and sexist in micro aggressions and passive aggressive comments.

my depression, for another.

i don’t think of myself as depressed. but i never really have. i was diagnosed with essentially high-functioning depression and, while i have lows and highs, im pretty consistently neutral and able to go about my daily life. i take antidepressants so my lows aren’t so low but i don’t get the amount of enjoyment out of life i sometimes feel i should. sometimes i feel like im wasting away.

it’s fucked how all it takes is a couple sentences from my dad to actually ruin my night. like i stopped gaming and now im just stuck in my head thinking about what the fuck i’m doing with my life.

i move out next week. that’s what i’m holding onto.

ive been back home for all of three weeks and i can feel it itching my brain. i need out, i want out, but financially living somewhere for free makes so much more sense than forking out $900+/month for a shitty apartment in town. especially as im between jobs and have no income. and i still have $25K worth of student loan debt.

but today my dad came to me and said i need to start paying rent. $350/month, starting on the first of next month.

i keep telling myself (and everyone else) that this is fine. it's his prerogative as to whether he wants me to pay him rent. i don't want to feel spoiled. i don't want to be a brat for wanting to keep living at home for free.

but between you and me, im crashing out. this is my childhood home, and i don't use much. i take up as little space as possible. i have my room (which i don't leave much), a handful of items (that i bought myself) in the fridge and pantry, and i keep my tolietries under the sink so they stay out of the way. i don't bother them, i don't talk much at all. im steadily applying to jobs and, despite having a four-year degree, i have nothing. i have all my feelers out, every contact i have with someone who might be able to get me a job has been contacted. im fucking trying.

it's been three weeks since i had any income and they're telling me i need to get on it. i need to try harder. what else can i do? they tell me to apply online. i do. they tell me to apply in person. i do. they tell me to reach out to x and y and z and i do and still NOTHING HAPPENS. i send follow-up messages and emails and stop by in person. i get referrals and write personalized cover letters and resumes and apply for things im QUALIFIED for and still NOTHING. HAPPENS.

so now im in a shit ton of debit, unemployed, and being asked to pay to rent a room in my childhood home where i live with the man who raised me and consistently disrespects me, my space, and my belongings. i've been trying to request apartment tours and no one is responding. im trying to find somewhere else to live and now i have 3 weeks to do so unless i want to pay to live somewhere that is making me feel fucking insane.

so yeah, im crashing out a bit. my sister is concerned. my grandma is concerned. my mom is concerned. fuck, im concerned. i don't feel like myself. i feel like i can't leave my room, feel like i can't be home without wanting to be elsewhere. i feel dramatic, like im gaslighting myself into believing it's worse than it is.

i could move in with my sister, but it's almost an hour commute to the only potential (part-time) job offer i have on the table right now, and i think i would also suffer living there. this isn't how i wanted this to go. this isn't what i wanted at all and now i feel like i have a clock above my head ticking down the minutes until 3 weeks from now, when my dad wins. i don't want to pay him fucking rent. god knows he'll blow it all on drugs and alcohol and gambling debt and then he'll WIN.

goddamn.

4.8.26

i can feel it in the way that i feel unsure of myself. i’m doubting my actions at work more than i have in years. i’m second guessing my emotions and wondering if they’re valid. i’m letting people walk all over my boundaries because i feel like it’s not worth it to protect myself. my self esteem is deteriorating.

i could blame that on a million things and only some of them have to do with my father. like they way he interrupts me without hesitation, talks over me and down to me, treats me like i’m both 10 years old and 30 so i should know everything but do know nothing. the way he makes jokes and comments he knows i am uncomfortable with. the way he hears me say “no, hold on” when he knocks on my door but still comes in anyways. the way i ask him to stop doing something that makes me stressed and anxious, and he told me no. the way he clearly cares about me but cares about himself more.

i’m a whole adult but sometimes i feel all of 14 again staying here. i feel 14 and anxious and unsure of myself and unable to even respect my own boundaries, let alone make others listen to them. i feel 14 and angry and tired. so fuckin tired

9/26/25

i don't know how to describe how it feels when nothing is right. you can't calm down, because there is a piece of your brain telling you everything that is ever wrong and ever will be wrong while simultaneously telling you that it is all your fault. and people suggest solutions and answers and comfort and you lash out, angry, because that's not right. nothing is right, and no one else gets it, and god i just wish it would all stop.

i don't know what to call it. the argumentative nature that jumps out of me when i'm stressed or overwhelmed. i don't know what it is that made young me stomp her foot and cry and scream and argue over things i didn't even care about until i was red in the face. i don't know why it's worse around my parents, or why i haven't grown out of it. i thought i had, and then it happened again at my dad's house, with his wife involved, and now i've realized both that it's still a Thing for me and that i'm embarrassed about it. i'm guilty.

i never know that i'm doing it until afterwards. i didn't even know that it was a pattern for me until years after it started. i can never remember how it starts but i always remember how it feels. that hot feeling in my chest, the quickness of my breath. i feel angry and hurt and disgusting and i want someone else to feel like me. i want them to hate me for it.

when i was younger i used to think it was a self-destructive behavior. i would get in some mood, either full of self-loathing or misplaced energy or overstimulation or something, and i would go outside and try to talk about my problems without accepting any possible solutions. basically hostile venting. i would actively argue against comfort and answers and get progressively more heated, until i was crying and stomping my foot and talking louder and louder. and eventually my parents would stop trying to placate me, and would start fighting back. expressing their frustration, their irritation at how long this back-and-forth had gone on for. and i would take that and latch on to it.

their frustration felt like hatred towards me, and i was both very hurt by it and it was exactly what i was seeking. i wanted them to hate me like i hated myself. or maybe i was just a bratty tween who was whining to her parents until they got annoyed. i don't know.

i don't know what to call these moments. my dad has called them breakdowns. i think they're more like meltdowns. breakdowns to me are feeling mentally distressed / upset / sad and that tends to cause me to draw into myself, rather than express my feelings outwards. i hide in my room and cry and hyperventilate, instead of seeking out people close to me just to lash out.

does this make me a bad person?

i guess that's the overarching question for me. am i a bad person for purposefully hurting people close to me because i was seeking attention? i understand i was younger when i did it, and i still struggle with recognizing when it happens, but why am i even like this in the first place? is there some part of me that's drawn towards hostility and aggression? is this trauma related? i don't know.

i've always been obsessed with the idea of being "good", but it's something that is less an active obsession and more a subconscious ideal that i am formed around. me, as a person. me, as a little girl who had a sign saying "a good girl lives here" hanging in her room for her childhood. who still has that sign tucked away in her closet.

i would try to get rid of the sign, during or after these meltdowns. i would take it off the wall and hide it in my closet, thinking i didn't deserve to have that on my wall. that it wasn't true, so it was a lie and shouldn't be up. i wanted my parents to ask about it, to wonder why i took my sign down, but they didn't.

i threw it away once, but then cried about it and dug it out of the trash later. no one asked about it still.

i wanted so badly to smash it across the concrete. i wanted to take a hammer to it, at times. i wanted to protect it, too. i would sit there and work myself into a spiral, thinking about how i would destroy it, and then make myself cry thinking about how if i destroyed it, i would never see it again. it would never be true.

i think i took the sign to my parents, once. or maybe i didn't. i feel like i can't trust my memories, my thoughts anymore. i feel like i wasn't real until i was 11-12 and even then, things are foggy. my sister and i joke that i didn't "become conscious" until i was like 12. i don't know.

some times i write just because the keys feel nice to press. just because i like the visuals of the letters being added to the screen in front of me. i like how they align perfectly. i like how it feels productive, even when it's not.

this was one of those times.

7-16-25

take me back.

my college allots 4 tickets per graduate for the ceremony. my plan was for each ticket to go to a member of my closest family - the ones that have helped me the most throughout these past 4 years. this includes my grandmother, my dad, my sister, and, controversially, my stepmom.

i am perfectly content with this lineup, personally. if i had 5 tickets, my mom would be invited as well, but i only have 4, and if im thinking in terms of who i WANT to see on my graduation date, she’s not in the top 4.

but my family is telling me i need to change my priorities. my stepmom and dad both told me that they want me to invite my mom instead of my stepmom. i understand the logic - she’s my mom, as she always has been and always will be. but…

i dunno, i just don’t want to have to be worried about her little comments and her reaction and making sure everyone is civil and happy and my family sits separately and just… everything. im already gonna be overwhelmed by the crowd and stage and gowns and everything else, so the idea of having to be a moderator and having the focus shift from me finally getting a degree after working my ass off for 4 years to my mom being dramatic is less than ideal.

granted, everything could go perfectly fine. in fact, everything probably would. i’d say an 85% chance it would be fine with minimal issues, if i were to invite my mom and she actually showed up. even that’s a question. what if she doesn’t want to come? im assuming she would, because yk, she’s my mom and she does actually love me even if she’s got some mental issues, but i also know that the last text conversation i had with her was me tearing her tf up (rightfully so i think) so maybe her feelings have changed.

i dunno, i just don’t see why she needs to be there? we’ve barely spoken the last 4 years, she hasn’t shown any indication of putting in effort to help herself and our relationship, and she’s just not a part of my support system at this point. i just feel like inviting her will taint the vibe, if that makes sense? it’ll be bittersweet regardless but at least, if she’s not there, i can pretend it doesn’t matter to me? i dunno.

just feeling complicated.

3:02pm

anyways. i didn’t know this until YEARS after the fact, after i was in therapy (still years ago though), but my mom KNEW. the whole time. she had found my page and knew it was me (i wasn’t very subtle. again, teen years) and said NOTHING. when she told me this, i was so shocked.

not only did she said nothing to me about it directly, but she kept up with it. she told my EXTENDED FAMILY about it. she asked what she should do. she said she was worried to intervene, worried that i would be scared off, and i can’t even blame her because she was probably right.

but the thing that gets me is not the invasion of privacy. it’s not even her telling my relatives about it. it’s the fact that she knew for YEARS that i was actively suffering from chronic anxiety and depression and not only did nothing to help it, but she actively prevented me from getting therapy and professional help for years past that point. at the time, when i first asked for therapy and was told no, i didn’t know that she knew the extent of my misery. i thought she just thought i was fine and that’s why i didn’t need therapy.

but. fuck. to think that she read my poems about feeling alone and scared and hurting myself and STILL denied me the ONE TIME i begged her for help? i was sobbing, screaming through the house about how miserable i was. AND THEY STILL DID NOTHING.

i couldn’t imagine looking at my child like that and saying no. i can’t imagine letting my child suffer alone.

there’s no point to this post. im just thinking about it

10:53pm

it got no response. of course it didn't. a couple days later, i sent her a happy birthday text as a way to let her know i still care. i still love her. she's my mom, and we have good memories and interactions that i miss. but she didn't respond to that either. it's been days since then.

maybe this is what i wanted. now i don't have to worry about her texting me, right? now i don't need to overthinking visiting my mamaw because my mom might get pissed about it. that's good, right? really, no-contact is the best for both of us, considering her lack of willingness to seek help and my need for distance.

but fuck, man. sometimes, like now, i just want my mom. my mommy. my mom who put my hair in a ponytail every morning before school. my mom who always wanted to see my report card so she could check up on my schoolwork. my mom who loves christmas and mickey mouse and grey's anatomy. my mom who's favorite flowers are sunflowers and whose favorite color is yellow because it's the happiest. my mom who wasn't happy but tried to make sure i was. my mom who wanted me to be nothing like her and was devastated when that didn't happen.

i want my mom but she hasn't existed for a long time. i've held on hope that she's in there somewhere, and some delusional part of me has always thought that, maybe, if i keep trying and pushing and being kind and patient then maybe she'd come back. but i don't think that's happening. i lost her to mental illness, addiction, and narcissism.

i hope parents whose children have gone no-contact know that is is never easy. i love my mom. i was a mommy's girl from birth, and all i ever wanted was to be around her. you think i wanted to cut her out of my life? you think i wanted to hear a slew of abusive language and emotional manipulation from the woman who raised me? of course i didn't. i've cried and screamed and cried some more over the idea that my mom's love for me is conditional, in a way that a parent's love never should be.

it doesn't matter though. my trying made no difference. i can't make my mom return, i can't change her fate without sacrificing my own life and, even then, it still might not matter. my mom's life is in her own hands, i just wish she would be more careful with it.

anyways. that's my dump of mommy issues. for those of you out there who are struggling with complex or toxic relationships with their parents - i see you. i feel you. i am you. and im sorry.

thanks for reading.

but then i remember that i forgave my sister despite everything and i still talk to my mom despite her words and my father despite our interactions.

and then i remember being called "people pleaser" and "push over" and "doormat" and think, yeah, maybe they've got a point.

im still trying to find that balance between cruel and obliging. i want to have my boundaries respected, and when they're not, i need to be firm, but not explosive. understanding, but not kind. its the push and pull of my endlessly expansive life

11:47pm

obviously almost all of my stuff is gone, and my dad's now-wife (i still can't call her my stepmom, its just a mental block for me) has moved in all her stuff, but it's just smaller things that get to me.

he changed the lightbulbs in my old room. it used to just be one orange bulb, because it was less harsh on my eyes, and now its two bright white ones. there's no little lamps or anything to turn on so i either have to sent in darkness or complete brightness, and its bothersome. its too much either way.

he likes to turn the a/c fan off now. it used to always be on, but now he says he likes the silence, so he keeps it off most of the time. i have to turn it on because, to me, the silence is stifling. it almost feels like that noise-cancelling pressure you get with nice headphones. not painful, but just heavy.

i don't know why i came back here for a whole week. i just wanted to see my friend a bit earlier, but i wish i had stayed home an extra day or two. i feel insane because i don't particularly mind staying here, but i just would rather be home, even if i'd be alone and maybe lonely there. im still lonely here, but that's just sadder.

ive only been home a day and my dad has (all jokingly, mind you, always joking) called my friend a slut because she was wearing a crop top, called my roommates mom a pedophile because she offered me a place to live after college if i needed it (which was incredibly kind because she knows my difficulties with my parents and hasn't even met me in person), made a joke about women belonging in the kitchen, and had an uncomfortable conversation when i opened up enough to tell him i was romantically talking to someone. not to mention the dozens of times so far he has outright ignored me or walked away while i was talking (even if i was answer a question that he asked in the first place).

this is all difficult to communicate with people because none of it is outright painful or mean, it's just uncomfortable. when im here, it feels like im having to parent my own dad like "is that a nice thing to say?" or "let's rephrase that" and having to be mature and put together because he's not. and his wife is nice, she asks how i am and what im doing but i don't think she really wants to know. she asks to be nice and because she likes me, but sometimes its just like talking to a wall who's smiling at me constantly.

the holidays are hard. im glad i have my own place now, and i wish i would've stayed there just a little longer. my sister isn't even coming to stay too, so i have no one to endure this with. sometimes its really exhausting just being home, where no one really listens and my bedsheets aren't my own and i have to dig thru the closet for musty blankets because i didn't bring any.

i brought my weighted dinosaur, which made me feel a bit silly carrying it out from the car, but he helps. even if it rubs me wrong when my dad throws him or punches his stomach or when my friend lets her dogs sniff and lick at him. it's sooo silly, i know this, but it's like it makes every inch of me be all spikey, child-like, saying "no, that's mine, don't hurt it, it's mine" over a dino.

damn.

10:50pm

i feel bad for myself. like, not really the myself of the now, she doesn't need my pity, but like my small self. and maybe that is the myself of the now. at least, that's what it feels like.

this year its gotten progressively harder to remind myself that my parents love me. i know they do. they do, right? but like my dad never visits and my mom doesn't text anymore and no one knows my interests or my hobbies or what im doing in school and it just feels so lonely sometimes.

most of the time i feel normal. grown. i have my own apartment and my own money and my own life. but sometimes my car breaks down or an assignment makes me cry or i look at my bank account and i just want an adult that i can call and say "i feel sad, please help" and actually get help.

i don't feel good. i feel sick-sad, where my stomach is all twisty and my hands feel like they're buzzing and i keep rubbing my cheek on my stuffed animal just to feel its softness. i feel scared. i feel alone.

it makes me feel insane sometimes, this distance between my parents and i. it makes me feel desperate, crazy for seeking out this parental relationship with any adult that comes into my life.

my friend's mom sent me a starbucks giftcard. i cried. a different friend's mom bought me a crockpot because my friend told her ive been struggling cooking meals for myself. a different friends mom offered to buy me groceries because i was worried i wouldn't be able to afford them. each of them have had more one-on-one, genuine conversations with me than i've had with my parents in the last few years. i feel sick. i went to my professor's house and he watched me accidentally burn 2 marshmallows in a row and said "do you want me to make you one?" and i literally could've cried then and there. i went on a date with a girl who talked about how she loves her mom so much and knows she's her number one supporter. she asked me about my relationship with my parents and i didn't even wanna say it. i feel insane.

i feel pitiful, but i just wanna be taken care of for a bit. just wanna lay down on the couch with my head in someones lap and not have to worry about taking care of myself for a minute. it doesn't seem so much to ask but im wondering if it really is. if im too much.

when i get like this, sometimes i get a thought like "i miss my dad" or "i miss my mom" but then i see them and it doesn't make the ache go away. i don't miss them, i miss something i don't think ive had in a long time (maybe ever) and its devastating because i don't know if i'll ever get it. i passed the age where i can sit in my mom's lap and cry because i got a hole in my favorite socks, or where i can call my dad and ask him what i should have for dinner because i can't make a decision right now. i feel so old and so young and so sad.

thanksgiving is coming up and im looking forward to it for the food and the company but like. i can't even be myself around my family half the time, not because they would disapprove (some of them would) but because they don't care. it's always "how are your grades? still in your major? where do you live now?" and not like "so what've you been up to? done anything fun? how are you? what do you like to do?" because in their mind, they don't need to ask those questions, they think they already know. they think im still the quiet, book-nerd, shy girl in the back of the class. which, part of me still is, but i like other things now. im another person now.

every year i get asked what i want for christmas and every year im happy with what i get. im not hard to shop for, i don't think, but especially these past years ive realized that like... no one knows what i want because they don't know what i like. part of that is because im intensely insecure about my interests and part of it because i have a reason to be - id get made fun of and there's certain things i just really don't wanna hear shit about.

so this year i sucked it up and made a christmas list. an actual one, with stuff i like on there, even if my family doesn't understand it or know the tv show references or why i want so many stickers. i made a big list of everything ive secretly been wanting, ranging from like $1 stickers to like $40 sweaters. it was oddly scary for me. it still is. i don't know if anyone will get me anything off that list, but if they do, im scared for the reaction, just a bit. i don't wanna open something on christmas and get "yeah, so what is that? i don't get it" or "that sounds gay" when i explain it, or "okay..." when they're disinterested.

i know its a little silly but i don't really care. im sad. my head hurts. its late but im not tired and i just want a hug. i wanna rock back and forth and hold my weighted dinosaur and chew on his horns. im so done with this

12:16am

like ive always had this idea that if i make someone mad, i need to apologize so that we can be friends again, and if i don't apologize, then im in the wrong and things will never be the same and they will always harbor some sort of resentment towards me. maybe it seems ridiculous, but like this is how i genuinely thought, at my core, about my relationships with other people.

and then i was talking a couple weeks ago with a friend, and i made her mad accidentally over something stupid, and my first instinct was panic. i was like "how can i fix this? can i apologize? im so sorry. please forgive me. don't be mad at me." and she came back to me like "dude. sometimes i just get mad. and then i get over it. and we're cool again now." and it just kinda. stuck with me, i guess.

at first this was annoying to hear. what do you mean i can't fix it? what do you mean i can't avoid it? then she referred to me as a people pleaser in another interaction and it kinda came together. ive always heard the phrase "you can't make everyone happy" and i was like well yeah. of course you can't, people are always gonna be upset. but i thought this was more referring to like people that are angry at life or really negative or just don't agree with my general existence, not my friends. my family. but it is. its talking about everyone and that kinda blew my mind.

i try so hard to keep the peace, but sometimes someone being mad at you has nothing to do with you and has everything to do with them. maybe you say something you thought was nice, something you would want to hear in their shoes, and you make someone annoyed. this doesn't mean you said the wrong thing, you said what you thought was right, and, yeah, moving forward, maybe don't say that again, but it's not your fault, you couldn't have known. its all just learning and loving and sometimes to do both you have to piss your loved ones off.

i dunno. just a crazy concept ive been considering.

9:51PM

i blushed, laughed it off, and took that little compliment with me for the rest of the evening. it wasn't the time nor the place for a deep conversation, but maybe it is now, just between me and myself.

maybe it was when i stopped caring. maybe it was when i started. maybe it's now - the kinda in-between stage. for a long time, i didn't care about my appearance. like, i did, because i was self-conscious as fuck, but i had kinda committed to the mindset of "im ugly and there's nothing i can do about it. its just me" and, that, + enough depression to make getting out of bed difficult + sensory issues + difficulty making decisions meant that for a large portion of my childhood, i was stagnantly ugly.

i wore the same outfit every day - a sweatshirt, leggings, long socks that wouldn't ride down when i walked, and a high ponytail. it was comfortable, it made me feel hidden, safe, but i never thought it was fashionable. in fact, i had multiple people in my life beg for me to wear something else, saying it was too ugly, but i didn't listen. i didn't care if it was ugly or not, i always felt ugly regardless of what i wore, so might as well be comfortable.

i still have days like that - where i say "fuck it" and where sweatpants and a ratty tshirt for 3 days in a row. where i brush my hair just enough to pull it back out of my face. so don't get me wrong, at my core, i am still that little girl, and if i could wear the same 5 outfits every week, i probably would.

but i care a little bit too. i care about what other people think of me, yes, and i always have, but i care how i feel about myself now too. i like looking in the mirror most of the time. i like seeing myself and smiling and walking around like im hot shit even though im not. its hard sometimes, god is it hard, but like. theres a certain reward in allowing yourself to be seen. allowing yourself to be pretty.

so i dunno when. i dunno what. anxiety meds? self-confidence (that i only have half the time)? better fashion taste? puberty? who knows. but im pretty now. and i think maybe that little girl was pretty too, and just didn't let herself see it.

9:36PM