Dear Parents: Fuck you.

This would have been shot off in an email, but my better judgment decided against it. Thus, this is primarily for my own catharsis.

I just wanted to lash out for all the shit I've dealt with because of you that's only just coming to a head now. I'm not even going to bother on the positives, because, well, if they mattered more, then I wouldn't be having the problems I am having now.

I'm really sick of your shit. I am still reeling from the absolute shit-show that was my psychiatric history. Dr. Martin was perhaps the biggest fuckup of a doctor I have ever met, and I had to deal with him piping putrid chemicals into my body for several years.

You've had me diagnosed with nearly every fucking psychological disorder out there, barring (thank god) schizophrenia. You almost had me convinced that I had bipolar until I dropped in the lovely major depression I am in now. I am a fucking wreck. And it's all because you and your stupid shit doctors dealt with me by the book. When I told you time and time again you were doing it wrong. Instead, it forced deep rooted problems that were not responding to your treatment into the core of my brain, causing literally physical damage to my neural pathways. I have to undue all this fucking shit, on top of deal with whatever was there at the very beginning.

Asperger's? Are you fucking kidding me? It's fucking ridiculous that you would even entertain this idea, let alone try to get me to go to a support group for it. Even with my tendency to form-fit to those around me I STILL could tell I was completely different than those other kids. Once again, you didn't fucking listen to me.

You have resisted pretty much every aspect core to me of who I am while trying to "bring out the best" of my intelligence, curiosity, and so forth. You tried to hard to make me socially acceptable, and you know what? It started to sink in. And I have one more thing to deal with because of it. I am that much sicker because you tried to change me instead of let me be who I am and let the social graces go second.

You may have achieved making me more acceptable to be in public, but now, that I have potentially the most difficult year or two of my life ahead of me, and will have to fight not to be dead a year from now.

I'm on 300mg of generic bupropion, the most successful antidepressant I've been on in my life, and the only thing it's succeeded at now is giving me enough feeling to actually feel how fucking sick I am, rather than wallow in a dismal abyss. Regardless of whether or not the generic is shit compared to the prescription, which there is significant evidence for, it's still not doing it's job.

I know you tried your best to raise me, but you still fucked up. I didn't need diagnoses, I didn't need presciptions, I just wanted to not feel like I was lonely. But no, all the fucking shrinks told me I was obsessed, and you nodded along in agreement. And now that I actually have the simple thing I needed all along, I can't even feel myself because I'm so fucking jaded.

It's going to take a lot on my part, and until I am good and ready, for all intents and purposes, the universe revolves around ME.