I blame my depression

 on my parents.

Because they set me up for failure.

Because they failed to give me the tools to navigate life.

Because of direct things they said or did.

Because of how they reacted when I was in the thick of it.

And my depression ruined my life.

That seems to be what I "feel", at least.

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I feel fundamentaly broken and unfit for life. Someone who doesn't belong anywhere.

Someone who isn't capable of doing anything.

And while I remain feeling like that, I'm not sure I'll be able to forgive my parents.

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Every morning when I hear my mother nagging as soon as she wakes up, I reject her.

I reject who she is, what she thinks, what she does, how she does it.

I bottle it all down. I zone it out. I drain my resources just to erase her from my perception.

Everything she does reminds me of everything she has already done that "ruined my life".

And I resent.

No matter what she does, what she gives, the progress she makes.

The gap between us is a giant gulf, and it all gets thrown in the abyss between.

The abyss that I feel she carved because of all the past bridges I feel like she burned when I tried talking to her, because of what to me looks like the inability to see past her own perspective.

It has come to the point I feel joy when she gets upset. That I fantasize about her getting hurt, about me hurting her. That I feel vengeful in my actions, self destructive as they may be, because my life has no worth and hurting her feels justified.

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I know this is all wrong. But it seems like no matter what I think, what conclusions I come to, even in good days, as soon as I open my mouth all that comes out of it is venom and spite. And I poison the air and it hurts me back.

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I will not kill myself.

Now I know, with more certainty than ever.

Maybe a future crisis will do me in. But the base me knows that I will not do it.

So everyday. Everyday. Is another day.

Another day I try to live my best.

Even if they're repeat days.

Even if they're meaningless days.

I'm still stronger every day.