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You know what, sure, my depression is being worsened by you telling me to drop out of the one school in the one town I’ve finally found a home and a family in. It’s you telling me that I don’t have a future for myself because my boyfriend’s life is expensive, because of your ungodly transphobia and unwillingness to learn anything. It’s you telling me you think me going home to where I’ve proven I’m happy is going to cause me to kill myself and you want to keep an eye on me, because I’m obviously /so much happier/ in this fucking town. It’s you telling me that I’m gorgeous, and there’s no reason for me to dress like a boy or try and pretend to be one, because Heaven forbid your child turn out to be trans. Heaven forbid your only daughter might not be your daughter after all, but aren’t I still your child? It’s you telling me that I’ve been straight for the past 5 years instead of queer like I’ve been identifying because I’ve been in three long term relationships with men.
It’s the way you treat me and my fucking brother, calling him a fucking idiot instead of talking and reasoning with him, and then wondering why he doesn’t want to talk to you anymore. It’s you making him feel unsafe in his own fucking house. It’s you pretending for 5 years that I haven’t been dealing with this depression because “I’m too young,” “I have a good life,” “they’re just excuses to get away with not trying,” you’ve never once listened to me when I say something’s wrong. It’s you telling me I’m being overdramatic, that “why should I feel suicidal when I’ve got everything I could ever want” well maybe you should fucking do some research and realize that depression doesn’t /have/ to be caused by any trauma. Depression is caused by my fucking brain not working, and maybe the trauma I experienced was the first girl I ever loved taking a fucking eraser to my arm to show me how to properly hurt myself.
Maybe it was her screaming at me and starting fights every night because I was talking about a cute girl at cheer, maybe it was her sending me pictures of her fresh cuts and maybe it was her blackmailing me the next day. Maybe I did experience some fucking trauma but you’ll act like I made that up too, won’t you. My depression got worse this summer and you told me it’s because I’m isolating myself but my best friend doesn’t talk to me anymore, and all my high school friends cut me off when I moved away. And that’s my fault? So tell me again, when I try and tell you I want to go home early and you tell me that I’m going to upset my mother by that, and that I don’t need to go back that early, tell me why not? It’s for your own, god damn selfish reasons. If you ask a question, maybe be mature enough to handle the answer.