I'm not trying to be upset by that reply, but I am.

I should have said that I am the primary caregiver to my parents. I was the secondary to my brother. I dropped out of college to stay home with him, manage his meds, the lines to his heart, draw blood, when my parents were at work. We were less than a year apart in age. I spent every waking moment with him, and my mom did the same when she could. I am not angry that she has PTSD. I have it too. I am angry that I'm not enough for her to realize we're still alive. I'm not a mother, no. But the pain on me isn't any less. I went 22 years with him. I was his care giver for the first time when I was 12, he was having an asthma attack, and I brought him outside with me. Okay? My life, though not his mother, was as devoted as she was.

I don't need her to be stronger. I don't need her to be anything she isn't. I WANT her to realize she has two living kids who need her and want her. PTSD is terrible, she's not the only one who found him face down, purple and dead in that kitchen. I did too. And my father saw the same thing. She is strong. Or she wouldn't be here.

I'm not angry at her mental illness. I am angry, and jealous of someone who is dead because they get more care than I or my sister do. I am always there for my mom. I am always the rock that listens and reminds her that things will be okay. In her words, I am her "god given solace". So yes. I am hurt that my mother and brother are gone from me. I am hurt that she would rather be dead then see that he'd want her living.

I haven't been mean to her. I didn't slam a door in her face and have it hit her. I didn't deny her care when she came to me about withdrawals. I didn't pull my sisters hair and scream at her. She did. PTSD is awful, but a mental illness isn't a get out of jail free card. You can still do awful, terrible things. And she has. And she wont get help for it because she doesn't want it. I am not saying she can help it. What I am saying is, PTSD or not, what she has done, has been borderline abusive. And it is within my rights to be angry and scared at that. I'm not mean to her. I don't say a word to her anymore. She does the mean herself.

So I'll be stuck with the living dead and a disabled father to take care of before he dies and a little sister to protect and forget that I ever had a life I wanted in the first place.