u/Fuzzy-Industry1439

I finally sat her down and talked to her about how hard this was for me, that she never actually listens to the words I say; that it’s like I’m a non-entity, a ghost, a humanoid projection of her mind; that my mental health is failing badly, so incredibly badly, and could she please try to focus and listen to what is coming out of my mouth, rather than hear a bunch of other words that she makes up to make me the bad guy. I said this calmly at first, and she laughed and giggled. I gently guided the mood to more of an “I’m serious, this is serious, your daughter that you claim to love is having a terrible life, can you please help her” kind of thing. And yes, I can cry on cue, probably because I always feel like crying.

She listened. She was paying attention. Then she started to cry. When she cries she usually starts saying she wants to die. Sometimes she’ll hit herself with her fists, or slap her own face, and I have to physically restrain her because I don’t know if she’s really going to do damage to herself. I was braced for the worst, but then… no. She treats me to a weepy hourlong trauma dump of her life, things I’ve heard verbatim tens of thousands times before, comparing herself to her evil sister (to be fair, her sister sucks), how difficult these last six months have been for her (funnily enough they were only difficult because she didn’t listen to me, kinda crazy right?), how she wishes she could have had an autism diagnosis seventy years ago because her life was So. Damn. Bad. An avalanche of bad. Nothing in her life was good. Ever. She is the pinnacle of suffering and woe. And of course nothing was said at all about how, theoretically, a child who was raised by a pinnacle of suffering and woe might grow up to be a wee little molehill of woe herself, and maybe possibly might need a little bit of help too.

But no… I comfort her. Again. As per usual. I know it’s hard for her. I know she’s trying. Or trying to try. Or trying to try to try. But it’s like Groundhog Day. We keep rehashing the exact same conversations, and I, like the moron I am, keep thinking this time it’ll stick. This time I’ll find the right combination of words to convince her to make the effort.

She loves me. I know she loves me. Or rather, I know that she loves “me”, the hologram/ghost/non-entity. And I know that’s the best I will ever get.

I want to scream into the void. May I scream here?

My mom hasn’t been diagnosed, but she has all the clinical signs of autism. There’s no question, really.

I am, I believe, neurotypical, although I have about ten thousand mental illnesses myself so tweezing it all apart is difficult. I used to joke that I was “born this way”, that somehow I was genetically predisposed to pathological people pleasing, apologizing way too much, avoidance and intense social phobia, and the weird superhuman ability to read, process and react to minuscule changes in behavior to head off any sort of conflict before it starts. Yeah.

I wish she’d never had me. And I wish to god she had never homeschooled me. After the age of eight, I had no friends. Zero. By the time I was in my teens, I’d dropped out of homeschool. I developed eating disorders and stopped grooming. I didn’t leave the house at all for four years. My mother didn’t know how to help me, so she did what she always does when something is unpleasant. She ignored it. I had to try to fix myself by myself, and if you ever met me you’d realize what a shit job I did.

Anyway. This sub has been so amazing. I realize I wasn’t born this way, I was made this way. I’m not to blame. I love my mother. She did her best, she’s doing her best, but she was a terrible parent, and I’m paying the price now. There isn’t much chance to salvage what’s left of my life, it’s too late and I’m too broken, but at least I know.