Hi Anita,

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to reply, a lot of stuff has come up in my life.

I’d like to first respond by saying I truly appreciate the opportunity to reflect on my life through our conversations but I think I painted my parents in a way that I did not intend to do so. My parents didn’t/don’t know how to handle conversations around depression/mental illness and I won’t deny that. But they’re both amazing people and I’m so grateful to have this family.

When I look back on my life, it wasn’t my parents that were the cause of my depression/self-harm/suicidal thoughts, it was partly our society and partly me. I’m so different from everyone else and I’m beginning to accept that I’m different but being different doesn’t bode well in high school but I also didn’t ask for help. In a way, I blame my mom. She put an absolute fear of hospitalization into me that I’ve never been able to be honest with any therapist about how I feel. I’m not currently suicidal but when I was, I was never able to tell my therapist the truth and get the help I actually needed at the time.

My mom and grad school – that was tough. I think that goes back to my parents not knowing what to do with mental illness. In her mind, I think she thought that if I stuck it out and had my own living, and earned my own wages then I’d be happy. I’ve stopped telling my mom anything about my depression because she simply doesn’t understand. I remember one time when I was in the midst of a depressive episode, I self-harmed on my arms a few days before and hid them. She told me that it’s really hot outside so it’s okay to take off my jacket. I said I don’t feel comfortable (it was only me, my mom, and my dad). She kept and kept saying it was fine because my dad knew. She didn’t put it together that I didn’t want to take off the jacket because I was so ashamed of my scars being seen by anybody else. I even wore a jacket in 100 degree weather that summer. My mom means well but she doesn’t know how to understand mental illness. She thinks people see therapists when they’re having a mental breakdown and not when they simply need someone to talk to.

My dad too – he’s so traditional and so set on how people can do well in school and in jobs that he doesn’t know how to see beyond that. He actually did say the exact same things to my brother as he did to me – my brother never let it get to him whereas I’ve let it control my life to a degree. My brother’s able to be civil with my dad because he’s moved on whereas I’m sometimes verbally a bit harsh (get irritated with little things he does) with him because it’s bothered me.

When I reflect back, I think that yes, my parents could’ve done better. The signs of eating disorders were right in front of them – taking a “shower” after every meal because I purged everything I ate or not eating/drinking very little water for many days saying I wasn’t hungry and then binging (although the binging was often when they weren’t home) or the hundreds of “I’m just tired” and then “happily” calling out my dog’s name whenever I was asked if I was fine. But they were also amazing parents too – mom has been my rock in some health problems I’ve been dealing with, she’ll literally let me vent to her even when she’s sick or has had the hardest day, she’s always there for me no matter what, and she’s so understanding with most things. My brother and I are incredibly close too and he was actually the most understanding with my depression – although I don’t talk to him about it. My dad and I have had our hard times but we used to go on a weekly hike and it was some of the most therapeutic days. It’s easy for me to talk about my depression when I’m behind a screen talking to a stranger, but it’s incredibly hard talking to anyone who might know me – which apparently is common with depression. It just feels like nobody would understand so what’s the use.