Happy?

@akunknown

I guess the intensity came mostly from the realization that while my parents in their weird way do love me, it will never be more than they love themselves and their goals. My mom isn't very responsible. She leaves everything to the last minute and yells at me to help her. And pretty much only me. Which I didn't mind but it became a daily thing and slowly started piling up and stressing me out. So, I told her this and she apologized and said the work would be distributed amongst the family. However, no one else really cleans, cooks, or helps around the house but me so my area would be clean but the rest would be dirty. Then, she'd get upset and I'll say I did my part. She'll start yelling about how we all have to help each other out sometimes. That we're a team. In the end,  I clean everything, cook dinner, and watch my sister. Then, I get stressed out because I feel like if I don't do it my sister won't eat, the house will stay dirty, and the whole thing falls apart. And the cycle continues. From a young age I felt responsible for the well-being of those around me. 

With my dad, it's different. He isn't really around much and doesn't really care as long as you stay on the path he made for you. Stray an inch off and it becomes his mission to put you back. His insistence on following his path can get scary, because it's not obvious. It's confusing and mixed with sweet words and promises he never follows through with. My mother wants me to be her parent as well as a parent to my siblings. And my dad wants me to go down this path I'm not too fond of. That combined created this weird relationship I had with them. I still loved them, because they are my parents and I thought if it ever really came down to it, my suffering and my sanity would override whatever weird dynamic we had. The more time passed the more I realized I was wrong. 

Over the years I have had so many breakdowns, panic attacks, and conversations with them about the stress I've been under and how I just wanted a break and every time it was the same thing. They agree with me, tell me it's not my job and for a week things look good. Then, everything goes back to normal and it keeps happening. I thought surely if they knew about my anxiety and depression they would change. They brushed it off. I thought it was because it was my mental health and mental issues were seen as excuses. Surely if something physical were to happen they wouldn't push me this hard and see I need help. Nope, they told me to keep pushing. That life is about pain and you need to learn to live with it. 

The day I had the breakdown one of my sisters recently had surgery and the doctor told her not to move around a lot for a while. So, my sister was bed ridden withering in pain. That day my dad told us to go to this person's house for lunch. In my mind, I was like obviously my sister's not going but he said she was. I told him that the doctor said she needs to rest and it didn't matter if she stayed home. He insisted she could sit down and rest at their house. I continued to tell him that was a bad idea and he didn't listen. My sister just accepted it, took a pain pill and went to the house. She was in pain and uncomfortable for the five hours we spent at that house. The whole time my dad was rubbing her back and telling her it was okay. Which made no sense to me, because he put her in that situation. That day it dawned on me that it didn't matter. It didn't matter when I was throwing up sick on the floor crying, what my mom wanted came first. Or when I was spasming in the car, struggling to breathe, what my dad wanted came first. 

No matter what they did to me, I always thought if I suffered enough they would stop. That they would change and be the parents I hoped they would be. That they'd be responsible and take the heavy weight they threw on my shoulder, but they are not going to. At least, not any time soon. And that hit me, hard. It was a very painful realization, but probably a necessary one.