I don't know how to talk about my childhood, but I developed PTSD partially from abuse and an unstable environment from childhood into adolescence. My parents don't think they did anything wrong. And I'm inconvenient because I try to hold them accountable. Somehow I alienated my brother and sister by being...I don't know what I did. I guess something but I literally don't remember. After my serious psychological issues started I became the black sheep of the family that everyone resents and doesn't want to deal with. I'm always the problem, though I just try to live and not be a problem at all.

My mother's behavior suggests she doesn't love me. I accused her of hating me and she said she didn't. Maybe she doesn't, but there is no love between us. She told me to my face that she hates my personality. That she'll never forgive me. And so on. We live in the same house but we go days without talking. She won't look at me most of the time, and when she does she never smiles. When I ask her for help she throws a tantrum and acts like a 3 year old. I went to the ER last weekend due to seizure symptoms, when I got home afterward she verbally attacked me saying its probably because I don't eat breakfast. There was no question about how I was doing, what's going on, what did the doctor say. Just accusations that its my fault I was in the ER at all. Every now and then she blows up at me over small things, that most people don't get irritated about.

It brings me back to my childhood. It shakes me up. Scares me. Makes me cry and want to hide somewhere to get away from her. I feel fear. She use to be violent and volatile. While she never hit me that I can recall, she would throw things and smash things. Which was equally scary. My dad has a volatile temper too, blowing up and punching, smashing, breaking, throwing, and yelling and cussing over the smallest things. I'm really scared that he's going to hurt someone one of these days. Or hurt himself. But I get the same reaction, becoming a child again wanting to hide. It shakes me. I remember the fight my parents use to have, the door slamming when my mom would abruptly leave and disappear for several hours or almost a day. I never knew if she would never come back. Sometimes I hoped she wouldn't.

My dad has never told me that he loves me. But I think he might because he does things for me without complaint...well, he does complain, but its not the same when its my mom. My sister doesn't speak to me. I sent her texts about being in the ER and she never responded. Despite her asking me to update her, there's just...she acts like I don't exist unless she is physically there with me. My brother lives at home too, and he doesn't have much of anything to do with me, though at least acknowledges my existence and sometimes he opens up to me.

Without my cat and my friends, I wouldn't feel very loved at all. It just blows my mind, because I am the victim of abuse, but I'm the one who did everything wrong and caused all the problems in my family. How does that factor? It doesn't make sense at all.