Open Eyes, your analysis of the situation is really spot-on. You are right that my depression stems from feeling I have no control over my life. You are also right that I don’t feel like they listen to me. Thank you so much. And thank you to everyone else who replied as well. I understand my sentiments are normal for that of a depressed person. I know I am not alone (not glad about it because it sucks to be living like you’re not living).

JJBX, I recognize that I need to maintain boundaries and that moving out would be a good step in that direction. I’ve been slowly saving up enough money, so the timeline might be slow, but I can deal with that. What I can’t seem to deal with is the actual actions of moving out. Finding a place. Packing my stuff. Moving everything out. Because if I do decide to do any of these things on my own, my parents will do the following:

1. Ask me if I really don’t love them and just want to abandon them and never contact them again for the rest of my life.
   
   (Why don’t you want our help? You don’t want our opinion? Our experience? You don’t really appreciate us do you? You just think we’re nagging you. You didn’t want to tell us you were moving because you secretly don’t want anything to do with us huh? You don’t love us? After all we did for you?)
   
   
2. Try to completely take over for me…after they have gotten over step 1.
   
   (Where are you moving? No that’s too dangerous, look for a different area. What price are you paying? No that’s too expensive, ask for cheaper. We have experience with this. Why don’t you want to hear our opinion? Oh whatever you don’t want to hear it anyway I get it. Do you want us to move everything over for you? Why not? You can’t move this furniture! *insists to load everything in the van one weekend to drive it over*)

I don’t like feeling guilty for wanting to move out. I get that they’re not doing it on purpose. But it feels like they are guilt tripping me. They think I don’t love them because I got into a fight with them over who my boyfriend should be. It wasn’t even about the guy in the end. It was about my ability to choose my life for myself…… How do I tell them my moving out has nothing to do with my love or lack of love for them?

ManOfConstantSorrow, Thunder Bow, I get that I can get professional help to get rid of my guilt. But when I told my parents I was depressed, they told me that I need to learn to talk to them instead. Not a stranger. If I don’t talk to them, how can they understand me? Touche. Makes sense. But I don’t know why I just get so anxious about talking to them that I avoid it altogether. Maybe because I feel like they won’t listen to me? Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Them not listening, or me not speaking?

When I do speak it’s all lies. That I’m happy.

They tell me I can control my life. Which I can. (When have we ever opposed you?) Almost never. But why is it every time I do something they disapprove of (i.e. seeing a professional counselor), I start feeling so guilty that I end up doing what they want anyway (not going to the counselor anymore)? Probably has something to do with the self-esteem. If I can’t maintain the boundary between my needs/wants/feelings from somebody else’s, then I can’t stop the guilt. I can’t stop the people pleasing. Maybe they were right the guy was not for me. Maybe they are right that seeing a therapist isn’t going to get me anywhere. Because I have to do it myself. If I don’t take action, nothing will change.

Why is it so essential that I need to love them? Why can’t I express my love for them?!?! WHY DON'T I FEEL ANYTHING?

I appreciate their guidance. I appreciate their willingness to help. (I really can’t move furniture.) But do I really appreciate?

Whenever I make choices, they treat me as though I don’t have a brain sometimes. I think that is why I have such a hard time telling them I love them. Because if I say I love them and how they treat me like I have no brain, then I won’t ever get my brain…??? Stupid paradox.

I think I have to start with love for myself. I like the creative outlets idea.

Sorry if my thoughts don’t make sense in this order. I sound like a teenager. A rebellious one. It’s dangerous.