I really strongly dislike my family. I have never really felt connected to any of them, and I feel as if they don't give two [expletive] about what I'm doing. My mother asks me all the time why I don't ever talk to her about anything but my grades, and I usually just shrug and walk away.

The truth is...I don't trust her to listen to me. I don't trust her to be nonjudgmental and to have an open conversation. Every time that I talk to my family, they either tell me I'm exaggerating and looking for attention or they tell me why everything that I'm doing is wrong. Honestly, it's exhausting.

Well, I realized quite recently why I harbor these feelings for them, and I am feeling kind of guilty for it. When I was five years old, my older sister (then seven) was diagnosed with Autism. My whole life has been "Kat come to the school with me and watch your little brother while I deal with teachers" and "Kat enroll your siblings in this new school so I can go to this IEP meeting" and "Kat invite your sister along with your friends to the movie so she can socialize" and "Kat move into an apartment alone with your sister since she can't support herself." I gave up a childhood, much of my college career and a huge chunk of my social life to care for my sister. And that's fine. My sister is a lovely person who deserves the best in this life.

But what about me? Who is giving themselves up to take care of me? When I was a toddler and a child, I would tell my parents that I was alarmed because I was sad for no reason. They just thought it was cute (my mother's word). I was nine the first time that I thought about killing myself, and to this day they don't know that. If I misbehaved in school, it was because I was seeking attention. When I fell asleep during classes in middle school, it was because I was bored (not tired from disturbed sleep). When I had a manic episode and slept for weeks on the street my freshman year of college, I was just stressed and overwhelmed by moving away from home. Every rage attack was just me being a drama queen. Every depression was just attention seeking. It was like I wasn't allowed to have emotions because everyone was so busy dealing with my sister's.

Today, I was in the car with my mom and I told her that I used to be terrified of riding the subway because every time that I got on it, I would have these fears that the car would break down and we would have to get out and I would accidentally step on the third rail and die. So I'm sitting there telling my mother how the subway used to send me into panics and used to make me have visions of death, and she laughed. She thought it was funny. And in that moment, I didn't think, 'Damn my mom is a [expletive].' I thought 'I really hate my sister.'

And that's not fair to my big sis that I resent her for getting help while I spent my entire life being shoved aside. It's really not. It wasn't her fault that my mother never really saw my behaviors or emotions as disordered. Honestly, I think I'm a stronger person today because I was so persistently ignored. But really...am I just awful for blaming my sister for all of it? I try not to, but sometimes, I can't help it.