I grew up with a depressed parent who had a full-on nervous breakdown after I moved out.

I know I've never been sympathetic, if anything, I was an evil little thing who liked it when she was having a depresive episode because I could finally be left alone for a little bit, and didn't have to report my every movement to her, she wasn't around to say no if I wanted to watch TV, etc. That inherent narcissism comes out in particular whenever she would try to talk to me about the whole "putting on a fake smile" thing, or talked to me about her dysfunctional upbringing. It's always unnerved me, made me feel guilty. I never know what to say. I know it's wrong to feel that way, but I can't help it. Even now I have minimal sympathy for her psychiatric struggles, except guilt that I may have caused them.

At the same time, it terrified me. I'm used to hearing someone blithely talk about suicide and when I was younger I would sometimes keep vigil if I was afraid she was going to kill herself; if she was late picking me up I would worry she had finally done it. And spending all summer inside because your mom sleeps 22 hours a day is...weird, I now realize.