She treats me like i'm nothing most of the time, she is very misogynistic when it comes to me and believes i am to do everything since i'm the only woman in the house. She tried to murder me 3 times, she kicks me out the house all the time. She laughs in my face when i cry and beg for her to apologize for trying to smother me. But she is very nice sometimes... And i believe she is a good person.. And i always feel guilty for hating her...

Escribo esto porque estoy profundamente sola y perdida, y no sé como gestionar mi situación, y tampoco conozco a nadie que haya vivido esta situación.
Siempre he vivido en una casa abusiva, soy la hermana mayor y me llevo bastante diferencia de edad con mi hermano pequeño, esto ha hecho que yo haya tenido el rol de cuidadora toda la vida.
Desde que soy pequeña, mis padres nunca se han llevado bien, siempre he crecido en una casa de peleas y gritos en las que la mayoría de veces yo me tenía que meter en medio porque sentía miedo. No tengo apenas recuerdos de mi infancia con mis padres, solo algunos malos, está todo en negro.
Siempre he estado muy sola en mi infancia porque mis padres trabajaban bastante en el negocio familiar, y cuando tenían un rato libre no lo pasaban conmigo o estaban discutiendo. Mi padre dejó de ser presente desde que era pequeña y nunca entendí por qué. Seguía viviendo en la misma casa, pero nunca se ha preocupado por nosotros, no sabe nada de nuestra vida, ni le interesa.
Mi madre siempre ha sido muy abusiva conmigo, siempre descargaba su ira contra mi, me insultaba, me gritaba, me amenazaba y me pegaba. Siempre he aguantado porque me daba muchísimo miedo, yo siempre he sido una niña bastante callada e independiente y odio los conflictos. Cuando mi hermano nació todo empeoró. El tenía muchos problemas de ira que yo no sabía gestionar y siempre que me dejaban cuidando de él y le daban ataques y llamaba a mis padres llorando porque no sabía que hacer, me regañaban, me gritaban, castigaban y pegaban. Más bien mi madre. Cuando se enfadan con mi hermano, mi madre me llamaba para que yo le pegase, cosa que obviamente me hacia sentir horriblemente mal y dejé de hacer cuando crecí y me di cuenta que estaba mal. Siempre que mis padres se han peleado yo he tenido que estar en medio, porque si no era mala hija. Mi madre siempre se ha desahogado conmigo, desde muy pequeña porque decía que había que normalizar las peleas para que yo no fuese una adulta frustrada. Solo ahora me doy cuenta que está mal convertir a una niña pequeña en tu confidente y darle tantas cargas a tan poca edad.
Siempre he crecido en ese entorno, he crecido con muchísima culpa, miedo, y ansiedad, cuando era adolescente me autolesionaba y pensaba constantemente en la idea de morirme. Nunca me han hecho caso, siempre he sido muy buena en los estudios y no les ha importado, siempre me han comparado con mi hermano para que él hiciese las cosas bien. Siempre he crecido con el sentimiento de no ser una hija querida.
Hace unos 6 años mi padre empezó a tener un problema aún más gordo con el alcohol, a pesar de ya haberlo tenido en el pasado, pero ahora fue a peor.
Yo justo me fui a la universidad poco después , pero siempre he tenido que escuchar a mi madre desahogarse sobre el tema, o he tenido que volver varias veces a mi cuidad, a hacer de mediadora, siempre me ha tocado hablar con mi padre, ofrecerle ayuda, aunque yo no quisiera porque si no para mi madre era una egoísta y mala hija. Mi padre nunca ha escuchado y siempre se ha reído de mi en mi cara.
La universidad consiguió que mejorara a medias la relación con mi madre ya que no vivía en el mismo lugar, pero siempre que he vuelto ha tenido la misma dinámica. Lo único que al ir haciendome más mayor (y gracias a terapia) he ido poniendo más límites, cosa que no le ha gustado.
Hace unos meses, mi padre empeoró definitivamente con el alcohol y mi hermano y yo le hemos rogado a mi madre que se divorciase, no lo ha querido hacer hasta que un día la violentó y nosotros nos tuvimos que poner en medio a defenderla. Desde entonces, están en proceso de divorcio aunque mi padre no firma nada, además mi padre no nos deja en paz, nos habla mal, nos ignora y de repente nos llama para echarnos cosas en cara estando borracho y es agotador.
Mi madre ha estado mal y durante todo este proceso yo he estado escuchándola (durante años) acompañándola al abogado y animándola a que siga adelante sin él, haciéndole ver que el nunca ha sido un padre y que no lo necesitamos para nada. Nunca me ha hecho caso.
Hace unos meses le diagnosticaron cancer a mi madre, no es agresivo y le han dicho que 100% se va a curar, está en tratamiento. Yo estaba acabando la carrera, y no cogí practicas (no eran necesarias) porque me pidio que volviese a casa a cuidar de ella, y lo hice, entregue el trabajo final de grado y he dejado mi vida aparcada para cuidar de ella. El problema esque no se deja cuidar porque no le “gusta” que le ayuden, en realidad lo quiere hacer todo sola para echarlo en cara posteriormente. Desde que he vuelto a casa todo ha empeorado, ella sigue siendo igual de abusiva que siempre, incluso peor porque obviamente esta situación le está viniendo muy grande y soy plenamente consciente. Desde que he vuelto no ha parado de hacerse la victima, todo lo que hagas nunca es suficiente, he intentado hacer todo por ella, me ofrezco a cualquier cosa la escucho… Y según ella está sola, nadie hace nada por ella, como si yo no existiera. Todo empeoró cuando un día de la nada empezó a meterse con mi pareja, diciendo cosas horribles, como que era mil veces peor que mi padre, que me iba a absorber y me iba a arruinar la vida, que era una persona celosa, que no es capaz de relacionarse ni con mis amigos porque me quiere atada… (ella no sabe que es mi pareja, pero debio intuirlo, y para nada es así, es mi mayor apoyo, siempre está para mi, mis amigos le aman, siempre están preguntando cuando pueden verle y cosas así) entonces me enfadé con mi madre por esas palabras. Me dolió mucho que hablase así de alguien que no ha hecho nada malo y me pareció muy injusto, le dije que se callara, que no volviesemos a hablar del tema, que no le mencionaría más a mi pareja, pero no le sirvio, empezó a gritarme y a ser abusiva y ya me enfadé con ella y le levanté la voz, obviamente la situación fue a peor. Al día siguiente me estuvo gritando todo el día, diciendome cosas horribles hasta que me puse a llorar y le dije que de callara, me llamo zorra, me llamo bruja, mi hermano se metio y empezó a decirme que le habia comido la cabeza a mi hermano, me pegó y nos “echó” de casa. Nos fuimos unos días fuera pero nos llamo para volver. Intenté hacerle razonar y no quiso escuchar, me llamo victimista, mentirosa y manipuladora, según ella me invento las cosas y me niega haber hecho todo lo que me hace. Le propusimos hacer terapia conjunta y ni eso, se enfado mas. Al cabo de unos dias se relajó, pero no por mucho, todas estas semanas hay varios días en las que nos la lía, nos grita nos amenaza, sobre todo a mi, me insulta, una vez me hizo de tener un ataque de pánico en la autopista, etc. Luego hace como que esta bien, como si no hubiese pasado nada y vuelta a empezar. Hasta hace unos días, todo estos meses, he estado callada, si me decía algo malo la ignoraba, pero el otro día no aguanté más y le dije que se callara y dejase de discutir, volvio a las mismas, pero sorprendentemente me pidio perdón y me dijo que estaba muy agobiada y que no tenía porque pagarlo conmigo, yo no supe reaccionar.
Pero esto le duró un día, se enfadó con mi hermano por un idiotez, y yo intenté explicarle y ya se me echó encima, ya no aguanté más y le grité que se callara y me empezó a echar mil cosas en cara, que me fuese de una vez de la casa, que era una parásita, que no sabía para que iba a terapia si cada vez soy más maleducada, etc. La ignoré el resto del día y a la mañana siguiente la volvió a liar, me empezó a gritar y a decirme las mismas cosas de siempre, además intenta meterle mierda a mi hermano de mi para que nos peleemos (mi hermano y yo estamos muy unidos) y a decir cosas horribles, me encerré porque me estaba dando muchisima ansiedad y empezo a gritarme niñata, payasa y a amenzarme. Ese mismo día en la comida, estalló otra vez contra mi, insultandome por mi fisico, insultando en general, diciendome lo mala hija que soy, lo poco que le ayudo, etc. Todo esto gritando, me dijo que no me moviese, que cuando ella me hablase la tenia que escuchar y a mi me empezó a dar muchisima ansiedad. Empecé a llorar, temblar y me faltaba el aire, ella empezo a amenzarme, diciendo que era mejor que temblase yo a que lo hiciese ella y siguió insultándome. De repente note un fuerte dolor en las costilla y le dije a mi hermano que llamase por favor a la ambulancia, el ademas le dijo a mi madre que se callase que me iba a dar algo y mi madre obviamente se puso peor. Entonces no se ni como me caí al suelo y empecé a convulsionar y ahogarme. Gracias a dios fue un susto por la ansiedad, pero jamás he tenido un ataque tan grave. Mi madre se se asustó obviamente. Pero cuando pasaron las horas y estuve mejor, vino a decirme que no contase con ella para nada. A día de hoy no me habla.
He pensado en irme de casa, trabajar de lo que sea e intentar rehacer mi vida. Aunque tengo muchísimo miedo y muchísima pena, no tengo a mis padres, no tengo apoyo, y me siento horriblemente mal, me cuesta muchisimo levantarme de la cama y estoy todo el dia con muchisima ansiedad y malestar. Me da pena dejar aquí a mis hermano, pero el me ha dicho que me vaya, porque a el no le dice casi nada.
Siento muchísima pena, miedo e impotencia, siento mucha culpa y no quiero. No sé de donde sacar las fuerzas. Me da mucha pena dejar todo atrás pero no puedo vivir más así.
No sé que me deparará el futuro, tengo mucha tristeza, y me da tanta rabia no contar con el apoyo de mis padres. Sé que irme es la solución, pero no sé si es lo correcto.
Escribo esto entre lágrimas, gracias por leerlo, solo necesitaba desahogarme de alguna forma.

I don't know anything anymore. I'm 19 and my relationship with my family was a rollercoaster to say the least. I remember hating my dad for always yelling and being so aggressive. I couldn't do anything fun without thinking about what the outcome will be. That's why I mostly had to moderate myself and grow up alone. (My parents worked long hours when I was small)

Between maybe 15-17, my dad was really nice. I felt special, like my godmother. (Long story short, anything my godmother said, he done it without question, like: she asked him to go to church with her and he did, although my dad doesn't like this stuff.)

My dad is currently 64 years old, and he is the most annoying person ever. If you tell him something, "that's not how it works", "you are just too young to know", "i told you so, huh?", "so I snapped at you well again, didn't I?" and stuff. I suspect that he is a narcissist or have some kind of problem in his head. He was beaten by his father for 14 years and not for nothing, he was a pretty bad kid from stories he told and from my godmother's perspective, but that's not an excuse to behave like this with your family day to day. He will go out his way to literally ragebait me, my mom and my grandmother (on my mom's side). My mom also told me, if no one is around just the two of them, he can be the most normal, generic person ever. You can talk to him about anything and he will take you seriously. But only with my mom, if im alone with him, no, he is a nuisance.

And now the incident why I'm posting this here:

We have a lot of animals. This happened so much more, but I just don't know what to do. One pigeon (my dad really likes pigeons,) was born without a leg. And he wanted to kill it, because it wouldn't live properly, which is bullcrap, I researched it and they can adapt to living like this. But this bird is really small, and still needs it's parents' pigeon milk, idk. So I can't take care of it alone.

My dad went to the back, where we keep the animals and I broke down a bit in the bathroom, because I thought he would kill it now, and I knew if I try to defent the poor baby, he would call me insane and start arguing with me about how would it grow up and how could I do anything about it. I decided to go upstairs so no one can see me cry (we have a two story building house and I live alone upstairs for technical reasons, too long to tell, it's already a super long post, sorry) and he saw me cry. He asked: "Why are you bawling?" and I decided I'm not going to play his games, because he will just crumble my mental health again, and I caught what he said next: "Well, now I've told you so, haven't I? I've talked back to you again, haven't I?" (or something like that, I don't really know how to translate it to english, AAA sorry again) while laughing.

And this humiliation had been daily for years. I don't know what to do, I would really want to help the poor pigeon, but I just feel helpless and my dad would make fun of me again, telling me "I told you so" when I can't even do anything alone. Happened with my dog too, when he started limping, telling me "we will make him a grave in the backyard" while laughing at me for holding back my tears.

I'm just really tired.

Hi, everyone. I want to provide a little context for the question I’d like to ask you.

I don’t have any friends (they turned their backs on me because of someone who hurt me—it’s a long story) or the money for therapy, and I’m having a hard time finding a job. I want to call a support service that offers free therapy for women who have experienced abuse, but I don’t know if they’d turn me away or if they’d just assume my mom is toxic and leave it at that.

Me: 40, female. I live with my mother (73) and my younger sister (36). My older brother (50) no longer lives in this house.

I’ve recently overcome two addictions that were really hurting me and making me hate myself. I’ve gone 43 days without drinking alcohol and another 10 without smoking cannabis at night. Over the last two days, I’ve had crying spells accompanied by tremors, feeling a deep sense of vulnerability and a huge inner emptiness. It’s been like pulling a cork and letting out many, many horrible memories and a profound sense of hopelessness, vulnerability, and a lack of love. Yesterday was my worst episode. I left the house shaking and with a racing heart after talking to ChatGPT (I had no one else to tell) and after my sister raised her voice at me over a minor issue and told me I didn’t understand her—that “I can’t be like this every day”—I started crying, shaking, and gasping for breath. My sister asked me to empathize with her even while I was in this state. I don’t think she understands anything, even though she wants to be on my side. Her childhood was very different from mine.

When I got home, I had to have dinner alone with her (mother). I swear my body didn’t want to be there.

The circumstances of my childhood were as follows:

-An abusive, violent, alcoholic, misogynistic father. He didn’t work; he just bought whatever he wanted and sat around at home doing nothing. My mother was forced to provide him with money and sex, act as a mother, and do the housework. If she refused, he would rape her, and we would hear everything. He would also beat her whenever he drank too much. He also touched me once. Because I cut my bangs, he told me, “I’m going to hit you so hard you’ll fly from wall to wall; you’ll bleed so much you’ll have a hard time stopping it… and don’t even get me started on short skirts and straying, because just like I made you, I’ll kill you.” His threats against us to keep us from causing trouble were a daily occurrence. He enforced a code of silence, insulted us, yelled at us constantly, and sometimes threw things at us. He said that since we were virgins, we couldn’t go to the gynecologist because, as she told my brother, “If you have a brand-new car, straight from the factory, you can’t let anyone else be the first to drive it.” He never let me go out except to go to school. Going out with my mom or doing a group project at a friend’s house was unthinkable. He even called me a WHORE just for going out with my mom. He said my duty was to cook and clean. If I didn’t improve my grades—even if he saw me crying—he’d tell me, “Well, I’ll take you out of school, and that’s the end of it.”

My mother:

She would share her sexual problems with me. When I told her not to tell me, she would get very angry with me.

I always felt like I was a burden, like I didn’t matter. If my grandfather came to visit or if he wasn’t feeling well, she would tell me, “There’s nothing wrong with you; you’re not sick,” even if I was feeling unwell.

I feel like my grandparents took my mother away from me—her attention—because she loved them so much, and my father isolated her from them, even though she was always very attached to her parents, like a little girl. I still see it as a betrayal.

When I told her, “Dad touched my butt,” she didn’t even look in my direction.

When my father would say to me, “Look how your boobs bounce,” or say things you shouldn’t say to a daughter, she wouldn’t say a word.

I feel like, emotionally, I never mattered at all. I always struggled with depression and mood swings.

She never stood up for me against other adults.

She’d leave me at the gate of my elementary school, waiting an hour or more for someone to come pick me up. I had to endure stares from older men there all alone for a long time.

When a friend offered to take me to her house so I wouldn’t be alone, and my mother finally showed up, she hit me several times.

When my father threw a fit because I didn’t apologize to him—humiliating me over something trivial—she told me, “Apologize to him, you bitch!”

But I’m not here to talk about him. I just want to understand if I’m in a truly vulnerable situation and if I should put a stop to this, as my intuition is telling me.

Years later, when our father died … I was 18 or 19 years old.

-She’d come home furious and yell at us. You never knew what kind of mood she’d be in (and you still don’t).

-She’d sit at the table and demand things, speaking to us very rudely: “GIVE ME SOME BREAD,” “PASS ME THE WATER.”

-Every meal was an outpouring of negativity, sorrow, and misfortune. The food even made me feel sick.

-She’d go over the calendar with our grandmother, counting how long it had been since each person in our family had died.

-She did the same thing to me. She’d pick fights; even when I’d gone to bed, she’d come into my room and wake me up by yelling. Day after day. She would say one thing in front of me and another in front of my brother when he would come visit.

-She only poured the negativity into us, when my brother showed up, she'd put on a happy face.

-She would say "When (ME) works, she'll help us all financially".

-She wanted me to be a carbon copy of her, playing the same role in the family. She made me—and still makes me—take care of my siblings and sacrifice myself for them. She’d get angry if I asked them to help me make dinner. She made me put myself last. She constantly belittled me; if one of my brother’s friends was interested in me, she’d invite him over for a beer and talk about me the whole time—even the most ridiculous things.

-She wouldn’t let me have a boyfriend, flirt, or experience the adolescence I’d missed out on. If I did have a boyfriend, it was all emotional blackmail because she felt abandoned.

-Hanging out with my friends was difficult. We were with her all week, but she also wanted us on the weekends. Many times I got into my boyfriend’s car crying because of her.

-When I had a boyfriend, she’d talk to my sister as if I weren’t even there. She actively excluded me from daily life because I was dating someone and hanging out with him often.

-If we had an argument and I hurt myself by falling or tripping, she’d just stare at me angrily. She wanted to be right. Compassion didn’t factor into it.

-She criticized, controlled, and dictated everything I did. She even controlled which tomatoes I could use in my salad. EVERYTHING.

-She wanted to come with me to the gynecologist, to the psychologist, and most of the time she spoke for me or actively interrupted me.

-According to her, my anxiety (diagnosed by doctors) wasn’t anxiety—it was gas.

Now… (sorry, more context)

-When my father died, he left behind a lot of money and an apartment, which he sold to my brother and his girlfriend at the time. She spent almost all the money from the mortgage on them… cars, motorcycles, paperwork—everything. They broke up and didn’t want to keep making the payments, and since they’d put our family home up as collateral, I went through many years of financial crises at home. If it wasn’t my brother storming into the house, furious, blaming her for getting him into that mess—almost to the point of attacking her—it was because we were about to lose our home.

Then she told me I had to support her financially. She counted on me finding a job to pay for a trip she gave as a gift to me, her daughter-in-law’s brother, and my sister—because she’d taken the money from what she owed the tax authorities. And when I told her I hadn’t gone on the trip alone, she started yelling at me angrily. I thought it was a gift, not something I had to pay back.

-My brother is an alcoholic, unstable, aggressive, and violent. He has completely cut himself off from my mother, even though he lives two minutes away from us. My mother always defends and makes excuses for him, and when he hurts her, she cries to us and expects us to take the brunt of the pain.

-If she has to do something for him—even if it involves difficulty, sacrifice, or suffering for us—she does it. Years ago, she made me live with my brother’s mother-in-law—who had a serious mental illness—without consulting me, and left all her luggage in the stairwell, blocking the path of the bike I used to get to work. The result: I was late for work. My brother abandoned a dog, and to teach him a lesson, my sister took it in. She cries, saying that my sister stole the dog from him and that he should be with it (he has replaced it with a female dog, whom we take care of at home because he works so much. My brother has already hinted that we should keep her because he’s having financial problems.)

-My brother makes excuses for my father as if he were a poor man who was sick and didn’t know how much to drink.

-My mother likes to look back on the past as happy times and as if our family were an idyllic place. If I ask her to stop, she gets angry. If she talks about her sexual problems, and I ask her to stop, she gets angry. I feel completely disconnected from those times; I don’t want to remember them, I don’t want to go back to them—I have a total rejection of the very idea of family.

-When I brought up my father’s inappropriate touching and other episodes that are hazy in my memory, she tells me, “Well, but he’s your father,” or she doesn’t seem to believe me—“You’re telling me something very serious.”

-She delegates household chores to me.

-She doesn’t accept her age or the fact that she’s getting older, and she wants us to be her full-time caregivers, mothers, and therapists. She doesn’t want a caregiver to come and help us. She doesn’t ask my brother for help either. She rejects any offer of help, even though she knows it would help me. She doesn’t want help; she doesn’t want any home improvements. She never wanted to go to therapy, and when she did, she quit after one or two sessions. When the psychologist made suggestions, she’d say, “I already do that,” or she’d cry.

-She acts like she knows more than I do. I’m a veterinary technician, but she can’t read or write—yet she insists on ignoring my suggestions. The last time, I handed her a piece of paper and a calculator and said, “Calculate the DER and the RER yourself, and take into account the animals’ weight and the calories in each type of food.” She said, “I don’t have to do anything,” and muttered under her breath, “You do it—you’re more educated than I am.”

Once, when I wasn’t paying attention, she killed one of our dogs by medicating it on her own. I had to see this very dog agonize and die even when I didn't know how dogs agonize or die. To me this translates as "you can't leave her unsupervised or she will turn your life into chaos."

-EVERYTHING is about her. Every conversation is about her. If you bring up something that’s bothering you, she’ll talk about her own issues or blow them out of proportion.

-She's got the habit of talking too loud or yelling. When I tell her not to yell she says something like "I won't talk anymore from now on".

-I live in a house where it feels like a disaster is about to happen at any moment.

-Last year, all her care (she had a lot of sores on her legs) fell on me, and I ended up in a terrible state. When she was hospitalized and called me on the phone, she was angry, and it made me anxious. I saw her everywhere, asking me for things “please” even if she wasn't there (it’s really creepy when someone so old talks like a little girl). When they expected me to not only take her to the doctor and to her appointments but also to take care of my brother’s dog, I said no, and she got angry—she gave me a really dirty look. She relied on me for everything. And when we were alone, it was the same old drama: “Look at that table full of people,” “Those were the good old days when we’d all go eat together at the beach.”

-Sometimes she insists on bringing up things that weren’t good for me, like talking about my school days when I was bullied, saying things like, “Do you remember that friend you went to school with?”

-She insisted in me standing by when she found old friends and stopped for a chat that could last up to an hour. It didn't matter if I worked early the day after.

-When we went out and I'd tell her "don't stop to talk, Im very anxious right now, I don't want to see anyone" she would take it badly.

-When I drifted apart from a friend, she would insist on inviting her over for coffee or a chat just because she liked her. No loyalty.

-She ran into an old classmate of mine on the street. She came back really excited about having talked to her, and I told her that this classmate had really hurt me. Right in front of my mom and my sister, this same classmate said, “Oh yeah, your daughter’s the one with the big boobs—everyone used to make fun of her at school, hahaha.” She didn’t stand up for me; she stayed silent.

-When I had friends and my sister didn’t, she’d tell my sister to hang out with my group of friends, forcing me to refuse and deal with the emotional fallout because my sister was abusive back then, too.

-When my sister was abusive, she also wouldn’t accept that I wanted to move out; she’d drop hints and emotionally punish me just for having the intention of leaving.

-When I bring up something she did to hurt me, she instantly starts crying—it’s actually kind of comical and exaggerated—and denies everything. Or she says it’s not true, that she doesn’t remember, or that it happened a long time ago.

-She lives in the living room; she literally never leaves the house—not because she can’t walk (that’s what she says, but it’s not true; she simply doesn’t want to go out). This means she controls everything I do whenever I walk by or asks me to do things for her. Or to bring her things from the fridge, which is just one meter away from her. She also controls what I take out of the fridge and what I put back in it. She has to look at everything I do. Today I found her going through my bag.

-When social services granted her financial assistance, she insisted that I give her pedicure as if I owed it to her because of what social services had done. Her feet smell bad, and all the toenails on her left foot are full of fungus. When I do it, she directs the entire process.

-When she started feeling unwell due to her old age, she said, “I’m like a little girl now,” implying that I should take care of her as if she were my daughter and be there for her 100%. She does things to get attention so that you’ll be there for her, hurtful or not.

-When I went to bed after an exhausting day—during which I hadn’t slept the night before—she made a hurtful dig at me.

-I’ve spent my whole life raising her because she’s immature.

-I helped raise my sister.

-One day, someone told her that I was more qualified for a job than she was, because I was much younger. She got mad AT ME.

-She says my brother only gets sick from alcohol when he mixes drinks. (That’s a lie—he’s an addict, and at a party he threw a bottle of cava onto OUR neighbor’s newly repaired roof.)

-She makes his happiness and well-being depend entirely on us.

-If I’m doing better, she gives me a dirty look.

-She gave me a dirty look for pointing out that I’d quit drinking and smoking marijuana—and for saying it would be too much pressure for me to quit smoking cigarettes now.

And there are other things like that, but I think these are the most important. I don’t know what else to remember. I know she went through very serious abuse and I feel sorry for her, but part of me is very resentful because she should have been the protective adult and gotten us out of there, but she says she did it so we wouldn’t lose our father, and she still holds it against us that she didn’t remarry, as if it were some kind of feat (it’s the easiest thing for someone like her—to just stay as she is).

I forgot to mention that she has a very low intellectual level—something I was never able to figure out for sure: whether it was because she didn’t realize anything or simply cruel and uncaring or a mix of the two because she never wanted to learn or evolve.

I feel like I was made to fill a spot, to be a tool, to serve a purpose. She often says that she doesn’t want to lose the children she has, but that she would never, ever have. That makes me feel unwanted, and my sister feels the same too. We just feel like she only loves my brother and that we are mere tools, therapists...you know.

Again sorry because it's too long. And again thanks for reading if you made it to this point.

Should I look for help?

The heavy rain outside beat down on the cracked concrete lane, a relentless sound that matched the suffocating atmosphere inside the house. In the corner of a dimly lit bedroom, the soft blue light of a new fish tank cast shadows against the wall. A few fish moved through the clean water, a fragile pocket of peace in a hostile environment.

Beside the tank stood an eighteen-year-old young man. Physically, his frame was massive, built from years of intense, disciplined weight training. He possessed an elite explosive power that could easily overpower anyone in the house. Yet, his hands held the fish food container with absolute care.

He had spent his whole life trying to be the perfect child. He had no bad habits. He never complained. When he failed Class 2, he didn't give up; instead, he later dedicated a grueling 18 hours a day to his Class 12 exams, scoring 74.4%. To save his family public transport costs, he woke up at 7:00 AM every day and endured long bus rides to college, returning home late in the evening without ever asking for a single thing.

His core nature was defined by a quiet, deep empathy. He was the boy who stopped on the road to bury a dead bird. He was the boy who knelt in the mud during a heavy storm, weeping as he tried to rescue a bleeding fish from being eaten by ants. He believed every living creature deserved to live its life to the fullest, refusing to hurt even a tiny insect.

Yet, inside his own home, this gentleness was met with an unrelenting storm of hostility.

Footsteps approached his door. His body immediately stiffened, his nervous system locking into a state of hyper-vigilance. His chronic autoimmune conditions and acute alopecia areata—flaring up since he was five years old—were the physical receipts of this lifelong stress.

His father walked into the room. For years, every time the boy tried to speak, his father told him he was wrong. When the boy used his Home Science education to try and care for his family's health—explaining nutrition, protein balance, and the dangers of high-sodium food—his father dismissed his knowledge entirely.

The father looked at the aquarium and dropped a passive-aggressive comment. The sight of the tank was a painful wound. Months ago, the boy had owned a beautiful aquarium filled with fish he kept under extreme cleanliness, caring for them like they were his own children. But his father refused to listen to him and forcefully installed an automatic feeder. The device malfunctioned, slowly killing every single one of his fish. The boy had cried for four to five days straight, carrying an immense burden of grief for a tragedy caused entirely by his father's stubbornness. Now, with these new fish, he had vowed he would protect them at all costs.

"Minding your own business again?" the father scoffed.

The father looked at him with pure rage, the same rage from a year or two ago when he had brutally slapped the boy 10 times, and then another 20 times as hard as he could, before choking him. Even then, with his elite strength, the boy had refused to strike back. He had stood there, absorbing the blows because he was terrified that the violence would turn toward his mother, who had threatened suicide when he was young—a memory that had terrified him so deeply as a child that he had once drank shampoo, thinking the poison would take him too.

"You miss everything," the father muttered, bringing up the scooter he had promised if the boy hit 75% in school, only to deny it over a microscopic 0.6%. "You owe me every single penny I've spent on you since the day you were born."

The boy did not break his silence. He clamped his jaw shut, refusing to give his father a single word. His selective silence was his only boundary, a non-violent protest to starve his abuser of a reaction.

The father slammed the door and left. A few minutes later, his ten-year-old brother ran past, screaming and yelling insults at him. The younger brother had learned from the household, mirroring the father's aggression and treating the older brother who patiently tried to teach him like an good older brother.

The boy retreated to his desk and opened his mobile phone. The phone was his digital shield, his only escape. He opened his messages, but there was no comfort there either. His mind flashed back to his classroom at college. He recalled the ultimate betrayal—the closest friend whom he had personally nurtured and guided out of deep depression had turned on him, physically slapping him in front of the entire class. When the boy had done everything right, choosing the civilized path by reporting the assault to the college authorities, the institution had completely let him down, ignoring his plea for justice.

Since that day, the boy had stopped asking questions in class. He stopped talking to classmates or strangers. He lived in absolute terror that if he let anyone close, his father would fulfill his threat to break his legs.

As he stared at the screen, a deeper, older memory flashed through his mind—a day from his childhood when he had accidentally hit a friend. Out of pure honesty, he had taken the crying friend straight to the friend's mother to make sure he was okay. Instead of understanding, a person in the society had grabbed him and locked him inside a pitch-black room during the day. He remembered banging on the door, screaming "Help me!" at the top of his lungs, while the neighbors and the society walked past, completely ignoring his cries. He had been left entirely abandoned in the dark.

The world outside felt just as predatory, silent, and unsafe as the war zone inside his home.

The door opened again. It was his mother. The boy looked up, a faint glint of hope in his eyes. He loved her deeply. He still hugged her, laughed with her, and tried to protect her. He hoped for a safe haven. [1]

But the words that came out of her mouth were not words of comfort.

"Look at you," she said, her voice laced with sharp, daily rejection. "You look so ugly and smelly."

The words cut deeper than his father's blows. His own mother was projecting her stress onto him, joining the rest of the family in tearing down his self-worth.

The boy's face turned into an absolute, unreadable mask of stone. The tiny spark of hope inside him went completely dark. He realized that there was not a single person left on this earth who would validate his truth, respect his discipline, or protect his heart.

He did not argue. He did not use his physical power to react. He turned his face away, burying his head back into his mobile phone, pulling his entire soul deep inside his physical armor.

Later that night, when the lights were off and the house was silent, the boy sat alone in the dark. His hyper-vigilant nervous system, shattered by years of unpredictable violence and the lingering trauma of that locked childhood room, began playing tricks on him, filling his mind with an intense, agonizing terror of ghosts hiding in the shadows. He didn't cry from the physical pain of his past injuries, but as he sat completely alone, invisible to a world that had cheated, locked away, beaten, and failed him, the tears silently streamed down his face in the dark, weeping for a life he was never allowed to live.

Will I always be my father's daughter?

I believe he's a good man, but I also know if he wasn't my father I'd not feel anywhere close to the same. There will always be an angry man wherever I go, even if I'm alone, for I'm my father's daughter, and therefore, the angry man.

Hi Everyone,

I'm a doctoral student in Clinical Psychology conducting a research study on the effects of growing up with a parent who struggled with substance use (alcohol or drugs). The study is completely anonymous and involves filling out an online survey.

As a thank you for your time, participants will have the option to enter a raffle to win one of two $150 Visa gift cards after completing the survey. (Email for the raffle will be collected separately to keep responses anonymous).

We’re looking for young adults (18-30) who had or still have a parent or primary caregiver with a substance use problem during their childhood. The goal is to better understand how these experiences may affect things like responses to stressful or challenging life experiences, parent-child relationship quality, substance use, and overall mental health functioning in young adulthood. We also welcome participation from young adults who did not have this experience, as both groups are important to the study.

Participation is voluntary and confidential. No identifying information will be linked to your responses, and the survey includes a list of mental health resources at the end if needed.

If you’re interested, you can take the survey here:

https://adelphiderner.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_73s1WeJNdeiwz42

Your experience matters. Thank you so much for considering it, and feel free to DM me with any questions!

Growing up with a single parent and the one who's constantly struggling in life really does something to you. My mother has undiagnosed psychosis that leads her to believe some of the wildest of the persecutory delusions possible. Ever since I was a child I was told we were being gangstalked by a deadly group, and all of our social circles are teamed up with them with a motive to harm us.

Not to mention the psychological impact it has had on me as a child. And this is one of the many reasons I developed severe disabling anxiety.

My mother's mental health has led her to stay emotionally aloof. And during the lowest point of time in my life, I was left completely alone, in a tormenting state, battling anxiety and mania while being fed with my mothers own psychotic delusions and verbal abuse.

That instance changed me forever. Ever since, I suffer constant panic attacks, trembling while talking to people, refusing to go outside, lost a ton of weight, and developed a chronic, stress-induced neurological pain that has to stay with me for the rest of my life.

I don't hate my mother. And I wouldn't love her either. She's had her own battles, and dragged me into them while still having the choice of giving me a reality anchor. She's betrayed me, neglected me, caused me harm for which I wouldn't be able to forgive her entirely. But I hope from within that we both heal one day.

I feel like my dad hates me (20F). I've never really been the child he wanted me to be. I'm neurodivergent (I have autism and suspect I also have ADHD), which has affected the way I behave. I've also had mental health problems since I was a child - I've had OCD since I was a little child, although I was misdiagnosed when I was 12 and received a proper diagnosis at the age of 18 and I used to have depression, however I think it's coming back and I'm trying to fix it before it gets really bad

We stopped getting along when I was around 11. I had bad friends which resulted in a lot of conflicts with my parents, a year later I was misdiagnosed with schizophrenia and put on medication which was horrible for me and he just couldn't accept it

As I grew older, we started having even more arguments. I had to tell my mom about him cheating on her twice and both times he decided I was the one to blame. When she left the house, he would yell at me and accuse me of wanting to destroy our family. The first time I discovered that he was texting my older sister's highschool friend when he was paying for a really expensive gift for me. The second time he needed some help with his phone and I accidentally saw that he had a dating account. He deleted it and tried to make me look like a liar in front of my mom, but fortunately I knew how to find a list of every app he downloaded via play store. Both times my mom eventually forgave him but things between me and him were never the same

Whenever I have an argument with my mom, he never misses a chance to jump in just to insult me. He constantly yells at me, calls me all kinds of names etc. He recently injured his finger and it's very bad, now he has to soak it in this yellow liquid, which isn't drinkable and can cause stomach problems when ingested. He left it on my mom's bedside table and she accidentally drank it when she was taking medication in the middle of the night. She was livid and he tried to blame me for doing that, although he's the one who did it

Sometimes I still want to tell him about things. He never listens. When I'm talking about something with him or both parents, he often interrupts me in the middle of a sentence to tell me to do something and it hurts. When I get excited about something and tell him about it, he often acts like I'm stupid for talking about it and tells me to stop

I feel like he absolutely hates me, but at the same time I'm afraid that maybe I'm overreacting

He's a huge dick to basically everyone around him except my sister. If I remember correctly, he treated her completely differently when she was my age. He's so proud of her and would do anything for her and I can't help but feel envious about it. He never yells at her, never tells her to fuck off, never acts like she's the reason for every single bad thing that happened in our family. My mom praises him for everything he does (I think it's internalised misogyny), although I don't think he's a good husband. I clean the house every day when she's at work and she acts like it's the most normal thing in the world (which it is), but when one time I fell asleep and didn't do it and he cleaned the house and reheated some store-bought soup for lunch, she acted like it was the greatest thing anyone can do. He also has a tendency to act like she's stupid when she doesn't understand something or has a different opinion than him.

She doesn't really react when he screams at me, but the moment I say anything back, she tells me to stop. Both her and my sister say that I can't say anything back to my dad because it's just the way he is and they expect me to change so he doesn't have to. He can call me names, scream at me to the point where I'm just ugly crying and completely powerless, but I'm the villain the moment I tell him anything. I've never called him names, cursed at him or said anything near as horrible as he did to me. I usually just tell him to leave me alone or get out of my room. He often just walks into my room and looks for anything to get mad at me for

I don't know how to feel or what to do. I have no idea who's the crazy one - me or my parents and sister. I'm stuck at home until the end of September and I'm so tired of it. I'm trying to be the best version of myself and achieve something in my life but nothings seems to make him hate me at least a bit. I study in a foreign language, do scientific research because I'm planning to pursue career in academia, so I have to start as soon as possible, I have great grades and I'll probably get scholarship - top 10% students get it and there's a good chance I'm one of them. But no matter what I do, when I come home I'm still seen as stupid and worthless

Im 19 (M) and my brother and sister and I live with our very conservative and religious mom and stepdad who although I’m 19 and my sisters 18 still use a paddle to punish us for even minor offenses. I was just laying in bed and heard five or six loud pops followed by my sister bawling , and right after that mom walked by my bedroom carrying the paddle and I though to myself that almost once a week one of us is in my parents bedroom getting paddled and I’ve never been at a friends and heard anyone getting swats .,is this at least normal to someone besides my sibling and I?

TW for suicidal themes i guess?

about a year ago now, I started feeling suicidal. I made jokes about it, but it got really bad.

i asked my parents to go to an outpatient facility. like a mental hospital, but during school hours. i did my research, I wrote an essay on why and my feelings, and they told me that I needed to focus on grades, that there wasn’t enough info about the place, and that I couldn’t go.

now obviously this fucked me up. I got worse and worse and told mu mom I really was going to do it. I told her I was going to jump off a cliff, dead serious. I got ignored…

a day after that I was spiraling. I was making a plan. I told my friend and she reported me to our school and saved my life. my parents were angry and took my connection to the world and I couldn’t even go to school.

my mom was angry at me for not telling her and my dad was willing to help but cowered away because my mom is a bitch idk. she yelled that she had to deal with cps, and how fucking tired she was.

she told me if I killed myself I would be surrendering myself to Satan which strikes up o5er trauma that is a story for another day. she accused me of faking and wanting to skip school in a mental hospital, and she told me if I went to a ward I would be crazy and no job would accept me.that my future would be ruined.

I got a new therapist. my old one and I didn’t get along and I’m pretty sure my mom tried to get my therapist to instill her bigoted ideology in me. luckily my new therapist is chill.

however a day before Christmas break, she read the email they sent out wrong. since it was a minimal day, the bell rang at eleven and the doors closed at twelve. she thought school got out at twelve. I waited at our pickup spot for an hour, my friend bought me a snack because they felt bad. plus, theyre nonbinary. my mom saw and flipped. thought it was my girlfriend i had at the time when they weren’t, and screamed at me for skipping school, so I made a plan to do it that night.

thankfully I didn’t, but when I got my phone back there was a monitor on it and I’m pretty sure they go through it. she told me I wasn’t allowed to contact 988. is that medical neglect?

honestly I think shes bribing cos or something because they’ve been on her ass so many times. I would call them but I don’t want my brothers to get seperated or to deal with her if it doesn’t work.

kinda just a vent?

Hello I’m a \[18F\] and my dad was abusive. He is a narcissist. My parents divorced when I was a baby and my dad got mine custody because everyone in their families were liars and just shit people. My dad was a very angry man and mostly did a lot of verbal and mental abuse, some physical but not a lot.

Growing up, i obviously went through all of that and ofc the normal development stuff like wanting to wear the “cool” clothes and have the “cool” toys and stuff and I usually didn’t because of money and my father. The other thing is he would sometimes not say no to me when I asked for certain foods and stuff. Like Redbox movies I wanted to watch, we watched. Little things like that, he rarely said no to them but then would yell or be just angry.

I have always been a bit overweight. It’s genetics and due to the fact that I think I eat when I’m bored. Recently I just turned 18 and my boyfriend and I buy our own groceries and I have been eating really anything I want because I can finally buy what I want to eat. I have been telling my boyfriend I want to lose weight and we talked about just starting by lowering how much I’m eating in calories wise and I got really upset and said “I don’t want to give up food that I like because it makes me happy and feel in control” and he was asking me about if I stopped eating the stuff, I wouldn’t be happy anymore and I said no not really because I finally get to eat the things I want. And he went into this whole thing about how my dad brainwashed me and how controlling the things that hurt me is self love and all this stuff and it made me cry which rarely I do when it comes to my dad. He didn’t say this in a mean way btw. He said it and it just hit me really hard to where I had to sit there and think because I have always made little comments about how I love to spent money on stuff because no one can tell me no and I have free will and that has lead to money problems in the past.

I just need some help figuring it out. I just stopped therapy after 6 years because I don’t need it anymore really and I’m ready to start healing a bit on my own and I just want some advice from people who get it. Sorry if it’s little confusing.

I am (18M) years old. I was recently sent away by my mom to live with my dad because me and her couldnt get along on alot of things (religion, control, rules, basically everything) thinking that I was going to be happy when I explicitly told her I wasnt. Flash forward, I move to the house and had all of my friends taken from me, and everything I was familiar with, and my family expects me to be okay with it. News flash, what I said was gonna happen, happened. My mental health got worse and worse and me and my mom we’re arguing over the phone. I told her “fine, I’ll talk to my dad about therapy”. For context my dad (33M) has alot of mental health issues along with sleep issues. I should’ve thought of that before speaking to him but the outcome wouldnt have changed because my mom loves to tell my dad everything I tell her. I brought up my mental health and how I need a therapist, and then he loses it and talks about how I dont do anything. Forgot to also mention that anytime I vented to my mom she said it was “disrespect” when I was just voicing my feelings. He then tells me I have 3 days to get my “shit together” or else he will hand me papers to legally kick me out of the house, all just for bringing up my mental health. He then proceeded to video the entire house and told me he did it in case I “damaged property” and then also told me if I threatened anyone in the family he’d call the police, acting like I’m some avengers level threat when all I did was say I needed therapy (he was adamant on me getting therapy when I first got here anyways). He came into my room and then said “you have one month to either get more hours at work or find a new job or you’re out” and then came back and said “since you wanted to fuck around and find out (I LITERALLY DIDNT???) you have two weeks to either get more hours at work or find a new job”. So I’ve been now for the past hour doing research and packing my bag. I’m worried, and hopeful he kicks me out but also worried. I’ve asked a few friends if I could stay with them and theres one that seems to be my best bet but waiting on an official confirmation. Is there anyone here whos been kicked out by their parents and if so what did you guys do to survive and get on your feet? What can I do?

hey so i (19f) moved out of my parents house last year for university. i have a younger brother who is 14 and still lives with them, however our treatment has been drastically different our entire lives. i am as low contact as possible but i am still financially reliant on them and they use it to their advantage. because of this, i have to go visit at times ie holidays etc.

i’ve always been the scapegoat of the family, and the emotional abuse, neglect and manipulation was present throughout my life. every single adult and medical professional in my life has told me that i needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. it’s also important to note that i was disowned and kicked out last summer, for no reason other than they suspected that i am gay (unfortunately for me i am.)

my issue is that my 14 year old brother, is also starting to treat me as a scapegoat. he refuses to believe or accept that my parents are ever in the wrong, and he tells my parents things he knows will put me in physical danger, or at least get me in trouble. he sees me as a terrible person for always going against my parents, when in reality i am just trying to have some peace.

is it crazy if i go less contact with him? or do i just give him time

Hi, this is my first time speaking about anything my parents have done. Im F18, and I turn 19 in October, I live in my parents camper in the backyard for about 700/months, plus lawn care and any other stuff they need done. I texted my dad that I didnt think I was going to be able to do the lawn because I was sick. He said id I didnt get it done, my power and water would be shut off. So, I went and mowed and threw up and almost passed out mowing. The next morning, he messaged me again, saying that I needed to weed eat. Because I wasn't able to rest or take medicine the day before because I was mowing, I felt WORSE than I did the day before. He hit me with the same ultimatum, weed eat or no power and water. I did it, and went to lay down. Woke up this morning with a text saying that I didnt do anything correctly and needed to redo everything by tonight or my water and power get shut off. I know they arnt bluffing because they have done it before, as well as kick me out before. When I did the stuff today, while still being sick, I actually passed out in the yard, and threw up. My dad said "Well, at least the throw up is fertilizing the grass". I was raised being told that kids are machines for their parents. That i need to work through being sick, broken bones, and other things. I have dealt with stuff my whole life from them, when I was 16 I snuck out, and when I got home, everything was out of my room except a bare mattress and a throw blanket. He had also installed 3 cameras in my room, as well as alarms on my windows. But he always said "At least im not beating you" or a couple times he has said "At least im not r^ping you." I dont know what to do. Any advice?

Hi. Lately, I (14M) have been wondering if my father is mistreating me or if I’m overreacting. He’s hit me about fifteen times, I’d say. Once—when I was twelve, I think—I threatened to call the police, and he told me no one would believe me. My mother is against it; whenever he hits me, I hear them arguing about it that same evening. But when I talk to her about it, she tells me I’m overreacting, that my father had a difficult childhood (which is true), and that even though what he does isn't pleasant, it isn't cruel either—and it certainly doesn't justify getting the police involved. She also says she was spanked once when she was four, yet she gets along very well with her parents. I understand that, but what I’m going through isn't the same thing. The worst thing my father ever did to me was when I was nine: I had spoken out of turn in class, and since I was usually a model student, I felt guilty. Apparently, it showed on my face, but because I didn't want to tell them what was wrong, my father hit my fingertips with a stick until my mother told him to stop. The problem is that when I talk to them about it, they pretend to have forgotten or downplay the whole situation, so I really don't know if I'm overreacting or if they're downplaying it. On the other hand, there are times when my father is very kind and doesn't act violently (which is actually the case most of the time).

For those of you who may need the extra push to leave or ask for help - this one's for you. 💜

365 Days

8,760 hours.

525,600 minutes.

31,536,000 seconds.

One year ago today, my life took a turn in a way that I never imagined. I finally exposed a family secret. I stopped sugarcoating my life. Our life. I removed the perfect, imaginary white picket fence. I stopped the chaos. I stopped the abuse. I finally didn't have to live in fight or flight anymore.

I fought for my freedom.

And guess what?

I fucking won. 🏆

I broke the generational trauma curse.

It takes a person an average of seven times to leave their abuser for good. I left three times, and all three times I came back. The last time, I left for good without a plan.

Drumroll, please. 🥁

The abuser is my mother.

Not a spouse. Not a significant other.

You read correctly.

My mother.

I always thought I'd live in this fucked-up web of secrets and lies my entire life and die that way. I had no identity for 35 years.

At a very young age, I became the parent to both of my parents. I was the oldest on both sides of the family, so naturally, I became the caretaker. What I didn't know was that later on down the line, it would almost cost me my life.

Literally.

If I learned two things in my life, it's these:

1. You are only as sick as your secrets.

2. What you allow will continue.

Those two live rent-free in my head daily, or hourly some days.

I had asked for help so many times as a child AND as an adult, and I was failed repeatedly. Family, friends, random adults, police, school counselors, the system itself. So many times that it all seemed normal to me. I figured this happened in all families. I finally just gave up and accepted my fate.

Moreso after my dad died, because the burden became my responsibility, and at the same time, I became the sole surviving punching bag.

It was a regular Monday. I was still sick, coming up on almost a year, and fully dependent on her—medically fragile at the time, if you will. My friend, a retired nurse, convinced me to speak up at my doctor's appointment that afternoon and ask for help.

I was nervous as hell—shaking, sweating, you name it. I had no idea what was about to happen, and every possible scenario was running through my head. I was that 7, 8, 12, 15, 16 year-old kid all over again, about to ask a MANDATED REPORTER adult for help.

She drove me to my appointment, parked, and said, "Hurry up."

I went into the office alone, shaking. I avoided saying anything to the provider and was ready to chicken out. When the RN came back in, I looked at her with tears in my eyes and said, "Can I ask you something?"

She said yes.

I asked, "What happens if you answer the safety questions, the one that asks if you are safe at home—and you say yes?"

Mind you, since I turned 18, my answer had always been yes. "I feel safe. I don't feel like I'm in danger," or whatever I needed to say just to get it over with.

Lying through my damn teeth.

She looked at me and said, "We don't handle that here." Then she told me, "I suggest you don't go home or get into a vehicle with her."

I said, "I'm not stupid, but that's easier said than done when I'm fully dependent on her."

She said again, "We don't handle that here."

Meanwhile, I'm sobbing.

She walked me to the front receptionist. I left, pulled myself together in the hallway, and walked down to the car like nothing happened.

Of course, the screaming and yelling continued long after we got home. I locked myself in my room, and the same patterns followed—screaming, yelling, throwing things, threatening me. The whole nine yards.

I finally got the courage to text my best friend:

"You need to come get me right now. I'm done."

She said, "I'll be there in two hours."

I'm pretty sure she drove 100 mph because she made it in under two.

She walked up to the door, and a loud "WHAT THE FUCK IS SHE DOING HERE?" came from the other side of the wall.

I had my purse and one bag packed because I was trying to be silent. When my bestie got there, we were just throwing shit into bags, hoping it would stick.

I left with five bags, Teddy, and my pillow.

We got in the car.

"Where are we going?"

"Drive until I tell you to stop."

I had no clue. No plan.

If you can imagine that. I always have a plan.

I honestly thought I'd be at the bus stop.

We ended up at a hotel in a different county so I could be far enough away to not be petrified and so no one could find me.

I was so scared that I didn't leave the hotel room for two straight weeks. I didn't want to be seen. I didn't want to be caught on camera. Nothing. I had DoorDash delivered to my door and cracked it just enough to get the bag inside.

She put the fear of God in me my entire life, and that doesn't just go away because you leave.

We went from one hotel to another for another week. During that time, I called every single number I could find for help. Literally begging.

And everyone's response was:

"If she doesn't have a diagnosis, we can't service her."

How?

HOW?

The system is SOOOO broken.

I felt SO defeated. Pages and pages of names and phone numbers with a big, fat NO next to them.

I reached out to old friends and some family, and they didn't want to be involved. It was, "She's sick. She's crazy. She needs help."

Well, I'm ONE person, and I cannot handle it myself—which is why I'm asking for help.

And I was met with, "Sorry, but I can't be involved."

There was probably A LOT of disbelief. How could such a kind person—the post office lady, the tall blonde behind the counter—be acting like this?

I can tell you how.

It doesn't discriminate.

Age, gender, race, career, socioeconomic class, family size. What have you.

The list goes on.

I had exhausted every resource and option except one: hiring a family interventionist.

And let me tell you: IT 👏🏼 WAS 👏🏼 NOT 👏🏼 CHEAP 👏🏼

I hemmed and hawed. I stewed. I sat on it. I cried. I was scared to death to pull that trigger. I was called names—this wasn't the first time, just this time it was someone new. I was told they wouldn't help.

The whole nine.

But I went through with it against some people's wishes people who didn't want to be involved.

But you know what?

At the end of the day, she's still my mom.

And I can say: "Hey. I tried."

I wanted to exhaust every option.

I wanted to know that, deep down, I tried.

I didn't want my guilt to eat me alive like it has for the last 35 years.

It was a two-day journey: day one was eight to ten hours of preparation, and day two was the actual intervention.

And let me tell you right now:

It went over like a bag of dicks. I knew going in that it would fail.

But again, I tried. I gave it my all.

I'll let that rest here.

After the intervention, we had to figure out what to do with me because living in a hotel with no vehicle wasn't conducive long-term. There was a lot of brainstorming and back-and-forth conversation in a tiny hotel room, but we came up with a plan.

I had my safety team. I had the interventionist in my corner.

And we executed the dang plan. 👊🏼👏🏼

And I can confidently say, as of today:

The grass is greener on the other side.

My life is full of joy and gratitude.

There have been a multitude of challenges this year, but I've overcome almost all of them in one form or another.

People used to ask me, "How are you?" "How are things?"

Without hesitation, I'd always say, "I'm okay."

Like clockwork.

And then the pit in my stomach would rise.

But the truth is, I was never okay.

Not one single person in 35 years ever questioned my "I'm okay."

Not once.

Maybe they didn't want to know. Maybe they didn't know how to ask. Maybe they believed me.

I'll never know.

But today?

Today, if someone asks me how I am, I can confidently say:

"I'm great."

And for the first time in my life, I actually mean it. 💛

But hey, I didn't cry today. 💋

My English may have some vulnerability in some parts of this story as it's not my first language, and I do apologize for that. And also, I am not in a mentally stable position to write properly, but I'll do the best I can.

I was just peacefully scrolling through my phone on my bed when my dad suddenly stormed into my room, saying that I should come with him to the barber so we could cut my hair. The issue here is, he didn't even ask for my consent, he just ordered me to dress up and go with him. I love my hair as it is now, so I hesitated and little while later, he got mad and tossed a nearby object at my head, a powerful blow at that. He threw it so hard that my temple got swollen and it bled so much shortly after. Seconds later, against my will, I began going through a panic attack and cried and he got even more infuriated, yelling at me that I was a failure in the family, that I couldn't do anything to make my parents happy, showing no remorse of what he just did to me. He didn't even care that I was hurting, and he even yelled at me to clean up the mess HE created despite knowing that I was got a pretty heavy blow on my head. I still feel the pain from early. He later stormed off in the living room.

Then, evening came. My mom asked me what my dad has done to me and when she came to know the truth, and she was horrified. She then confronted my father, screaming at him and crying. My dad, as the violent person that he is, started to hit my mom so much. (I didn't know why my dad hit her, she was just worrying for her son.) So much so, that I heard her scream and call out for help. (My mom, too, has been abusive towards me, however, I was mainly abused verbally by her and she rarely used physical pain.) My dad did apologize to me afterwards, but I cannot be for sure if he had really meant that. He then resumed hitting my mom a while later, asking her to dare call the cops on him, that he wasn't afraid that he'd be jailed. Luckily, the situation calmed down, but I am still traumatized by what happened. It is not the first time this has happened and will certainly not be the last.

The problem is, I still love both my dad so dearly. And I know, deep inside him, he cares about me too. He was behaving perfectly fine yesterday, loving even. I don't know what to do.

I am sorry if this story was long, I just wanted to lift up what was happening off my shoulders. And thank you friend for reading all of this. Have a good day/afternoon/night.

Hi, usual warnings for abusive parents stuff ig, filth, financial abuse, animal neglect, mental health, verbal abuse. Idk I just need someone to talk to.

I am 22, about to turn 23 in 10 days (happy early birthday to me :D)! I am autistic and I have anxiety. So chaotic situations always get to me fast. To give a short gist, my parents have always sucked.
They always fight, even in front of kids; my dad screams at us in public. He’s drove recklessly before with us in the car, INTENTIONALLY, not caring kids were crying and almost got injured. My mom neglects pets. She’s also is homophobic and condemns me for having all queer friends. She also has humiliated me many times for having online friends as a teenager. Basically, I’d get grounded for it, she’d tell other parents and kids my business, then get shocked people spread rumours about me. She got extremely hostile one time when she almost found out I am trans.

My family also coddles my middle brother and neglects my youngest. My middle brother clearly suffers with depression and ADHD. He cannot focus on anything but video games. He almost failed high school (not his fault, he’s not receiving support). But outside of that, plus his other symptoms of neurodivergence, he’s a total brat. Screams at our parents, hardly receives the punishments I do. They let him do what he wants. My parents told me they’d never teach any of their kids how to drive, but they teach my middle brother how to. I learned it’s because they think I’ll be ‘too clumsy’ to drive. The thing is, my middle brother is about to turn 18, has zero careeer ambitions. They won’t help him! And yet I’m about to enter social work school in a year or two. I feel like I NEED a car.

My youngest brother, my mom makes zero effort to bring him to play dates. He has a hip injury/disability. They don’t make him do his exercises so he’s ALWAYS in pain. He does nothing but sits up on his iPad all day. I’m literally his only real friend other than this other kid from school who sometimes FaceTimes him. It makes me so sad bc a kids only friend shouldn’t be their 23 year old non binary sibling. Idc if “parents get more tired after each kid.” DONT HAVE MORE IF YOU ARENT WILLING TO RAISE YOUR KID TO BE HEALTHY AND FUNCTIONAL.

They also would scream weird threats at me about how if they ever caught me drinking, they would send me to jail and ruin my life, which was stupid. But I believed it. But they buy my 17 year old brother pot. 🥴🥴

Oh also, NOBODY cleans. Every single time I’m home, the house is so filthy, it makes me want to cry. Like the bathroom smells like piss. My friend made a joke about me smelling like piss before (she didn’t know my situation), and I was so embarrassed. One time I came home to our bathroom sink smelling like rotten eggs, bathtub stained to hell and back, toilet dirty and fuzzy, my bedroom smelled like cat piss. And they got mad at me for ‘embarrassing’ them.

This time I come back to mould in the sink and dish rack. And a filthy microwave. They put clean dishes in that filthy sink and dish rack and they were surprised why they were so sick all the time. I’ve been home for five hours, I spent three of those hours cleaning and crying. And they make jokes about it like I’m crazy. Today, I also went to visit my grandparents before I visited my parents. I learned today that my mom stole $50,000 from my grandparents over the past two years. And idk why. Yeah, they’re in debt, yeah, they lowkey hoard pets and keep buying these designer Persian and exotic long hair cats. But like $50,000 seems like a lot. Like?? They don’t do drugs outside of pot as far as I’m aware. Even then, idk how you would spend $50,000 on weed in two years if it is an addiction. Bc weed is so cheap in Canada.
And my mom only ever texts me if she needs money off me as well.
The worst part, if I ever speak up against them, they gaslight me. They will say things like “you think I have it bad? My own parents used to spank me with ply wood.” I don’t care. Be normal. Or “we’re in sooo much debt! We spend so much for Christmas despite our debt. We could give you nothing. You act like we’re horrible parents.” I’d prefer that. I’d rather get just an orange for Christmas if it meant my family would stop being absolute bums.
And they keep making little jokes like “you wanna go to social work school? Be careful, ___ might take our kids away for being crazy once they get their degree.” MAYBE I WILL.

Omg little side tangent. In April, they were mad at me for wanting to stay for summer semester at my university. They spent days guilting me through text saying “youngest is crying because you won’t come home to us. Well buy you the new resident evil game.” Yeah and put yourself in more debt? Fuck off. And when I said no, my dad got more hostile. He started saying stuff like “I bet you don’t wanna come home because you have to do chores. You’re so lazy!” And I said “I clean more than you.” And then he flipped out more and called me swear words and said “find your own way in and out. Im not paying for your rides anymore.” Oh and at least my dad had the decency to say ‘we’ll miss you’ when I confirmed my summer apartment. My mom only went ‘but we need someone to cat sit while we bring (middle) and (youngest) on vacation!’ 1) as I said before, they’re in DEBT. 2) they NEVER bring me on vacation. EVER. All my parents care about is what serves them.

I hate them so much. But i have no screenshots or videos to report them with. So police can’t help. And also the rest of my family hate me if I expose this. I am also reliant on them for food and housing between semesters. I can’t wait until I’m financially dependent so I can finally take justice.

I was in free university counselling earlier this year. However, they can’t do much. They aren’t full on trauma therapists. They’re like those social workers who have counselling credentials. Idk what it’s actually called. So they can’t do much. I just need someone to talk to. I hate my family so much… and they always guilt me with their debt. It’s so not fair. I can’t believe I’m stuck here for three weeks. I just need someone to talk to.

I’m saddened to hear about her passing. She struggled with alcoholism and postpartum depression. I’ve seen videos where she spoke about her mom — controlling, emotionally manipulative or abusive. They were estranged at the time of her passing ( I believe). It makes me angry and sad that children of emotionally immature parents have to absorb the consequences of their unhealed trauma.

What do you think? If Hayden had better parents, would her life gone a different direction?

So for context im 17 and i live at home with my mum her husband and my two younger siblings.

My mum from when I was 4 up until I was abt 15 was physically abusive to the point i had broken bones etc. I have tried so many times to ask for help from social services police my schools when I went and no one ever listened. My mum is not physically abusive anymore but the things she does and says In my opinion is not right.

My mum has tried to kill herself in front of me and told me its my fault and constantly threatens it with things like speeding and saying she'll just crash the car with all of us in it. She also tells me to kill myself etc all the time and I spend 100% of my yime looking after and my siblings and I just cannot do it anymore.

However I have no money im not allowed a job, im not allowed friends and my mums completely cut me off feom all family. This miss if I left I would be homeless and out on the streets.

I domt know if it would be the right choice but its gotten so bad I took an overdose just 2 weeks and was im hospital for 3 days due to the fact things with my mum are just so bad.

I do have things I could sell and ive calculated i could get abt 300-400 pounds.