How do I ask my mom how she could ignore all of the obvious signs of my severe depression?

Okay, I have finally worked up the courage to post to Reddit. I have been lurking in the shadows for years, but every time I sat down to create an account and share my stories I lost the courage. For the first time, I feel ready to put my experiences into words and turn to the wisdom of the internet for some guidance. Positive or negative, I know that I am strong and can handle it.

Here it goes and it is long, so thank you to those who read it through. For some background, I am 30 years old and my husband and I found out last month that we are having a baby! I am extremely jazzed and looking forward to this adventure with him, but have been struggling with some negative emotions I can't seem to shake.

I had kind of a rough start to life. My father was abusive and my mother had no clue. He died when I was 8 but the damage was already done. When I was 10 my mom started seeing someone new, which never bothered me. I love her but she was hard to be around growing up. It never felt like being there with me was enough for her, no matter what I did or how hard I tried, so I welcomed a distraction for her that might bring her some happiness. He is not a bad guy and to this day they are still together.

When I turned 11, she told me I was old enough to be home alone and would spend a lot of evenings and weekends with her boyfriend. She was still pretty involved in my life at this point. She gave me money whenever I needed it, I had unlimited access to the internet, I got whatever foods I wanted. It wasn't the worst set up for a kid. She made a lot of sacrifices for me and she worked a ton because my father refused to hold a job and then died and left her with a mountain of debt.

What I cannot move past is how she willfully ignored every sign of my depression until it was nearly too late. When I was 12, I swallowed two bottles of pain pills I found in her bathroom and got in bed to die. She ended up coming home from her boyfriends house that night because he was sick and she found me. This was never a cry for attention. When I made that decision, I genuinely wanted to die. Obviously, I did not die as I am here typing this. (Though sometimes I wonder if I did actually die and this is just some elaborate version of hell.)

Anyway, she acted shocked at the hospital, shocked in the in-patient psychiatric wing, shocked in front of our extended family, shocked in front of her boyfriend. You get the point. I was a severely depressed shell of a human so I played along with her whole spiel. But years of therapy, hard work, introspection, etc later and I cannot stop obsessing over the details.

Before this, my teacher came to her with pictures and stories I had made that were clearly indicative of something wrong. We had to draw a self portrait and write three adjectives. Every single kid wrote three good things about themselves next to a smiling face they drew. Mine was some Scream-esque looking, black and gray blob with dull eyes and a frown. Next to it I wrote "selfish" "pessimistic" and "dramatic". I had to redo the assignment and write "generous" "optimistic" and "kind" and my teacher expressed her concern to my mom.

In addition to the stuff at school, I was making increasingly disturbing art projects at home. I'm not sure I realized it at the time, but she saved all of it and I recently saw them with her right before we went into lockdown. I asked her if she had seen this stuff when I made it or if she found it later on down the road when she sold her house, hoping it was the latter. Nope, she was seeing it as I was making it. Here is a direct quote from a piece of poetry I wrote: "I hide myself from unhappiness, but it loves to be there. A weight on my shoulders that doesn't fade away." Keep in mind that I was producing these things between the ages of 10 and 12. I could list all of the things I wrote, the pictures I drew, the diary entries that all shouted "help her, she's hurting!" but I don't think I need to.

I love my mom deeply and fiercely. I respect her and have come to terms with a lot because I am empathetic and understanding. I reconciled with her laissez-faire parenting styles using the understanding that she was incapable of being what I needed and I do think she did her best with me. It comes down to her best was almost never enough. She is really all I have in terms of outside support anymore and I desperately want to maintain a relationship with her, especially with a baby on the way now.

Maybe the hormones are leading me down this path, but I genuinely do not know how or if I even should approach this conversation with my mother. I want to know how and why she looked the other way when it was so clear that I was in pain. Why did she turn a blind eye and leave me unattended still, when she was aware of the mental state I was in? Why did she keep all of those poems and drawings? She gets defensive if I try to shatter the image she keeps in her mind of the mother she was. Am I holding on to a relationship that doesn't serve me out of a fear of being alone? I have my husband and his family but for two years before her boyfriend and after my dad it was her and I against the world. I know I've said this but I love her, so much! It makes everything so confusing. I did not love my father, I do not miss him, I feel no conflict with his memories. In some ways her neglect was as impactful and debilitating as his abuse, but I have always brushed it under the rug. I am her only child and I feel this burden heavily. I like the person she is now. Me being an adult has strengthened our relationship, but I feel as though I can no longer pretend this huge piece of me doesn't exist.

I tried to end my own life at 12 years old. I work with children in the system now and I see a 12 year old and I am truly floored at how...small and fragile they are. When I was 12 I felt hardened and tough, battered and wise. I have come to realize just how weak and vulnerable I truly was. I needed someone looking out for me. I don't want to be bitter anymore. So, people of reddit. In your experiences with difficult parents whom you love, what did you do? I do not want this to come from a place of anger or resentment, I just want to understand so maybe I can do better for my baby. And I do not want to hurt her or stir up feelings of guilt or regret in her.

tl;dr: my mother clearly ignored signs of my depression from art work I made as a child and now I am wondering how I can talk to her about this without her feeling attacked

Submitted April 12, 2020 at 12:08AM

Okay, I have finally worked up the courage to post to Reddit. I have been lurking in the shadows for years, but every time I sat down to create an account and share my stories I lost the courage. For the first time, I feel ready to put my experiences into words and turn to the wisdom of the internet for some guidance. Positive or negative, I know that I am strong and can handle it.Here it goes and it is long, so thank you to those who read it through. For some background, I am 30 years old and my husband and I found out last month that we are having a baby! I am extremely jazzed and looking forward to this adventure with him, but have been struggling with some negative emotions I can't seem to shake.I had kind of a rough start to life. My father was abusive and my mother had no clue. He died when I was 8 but the damage was already done. When I was 10 my mom started seeing someone new, which never bothered me. I love her but she was hard to be around growing up. It never felt like being there with me was enough for her, no matter what I did or how hard I tried, so I welcomed a distraction for her that might bring her some happiness. He is not a bad guy and to this day they are still together.When I turned 11, she told me I was old enough to be home alone and would spend a lot of evenings and weekends with her boyfriend. She was still pretty involved in my life at this point. She gave me money whenever I needed it, I had unlimited access to the internet, I got whatever foods I wanted. It wasn't the worst set up for a kid. She made a lot of sacrifices for me and she worked a ton because my father refused to hold a job and then died and left her with a mountain of debt.What I cannot move past is how she willfully ignored every sign of my depression until it was nearly too late. When I was 12, I swallowed two bottles of pain pills I found in her bathroom and got in bed to die. She ended up coming home from her boyfriends house that night because he was sick and she found me. This was never a cry for attention. When I made that decision, I genuinely wanted to die. Obviously, I did not die as I am here typing this. (Though sometimes I wonder if I did actually die and this is just some elaborate version of hell.)Anyway, she acted shocked at the hospital, shocked in the in-patient psychiatric wing, shocked in front of our extended family, shocked in front of her boyfriend. You get the point. I was a severely depressed shell of a human so I played along with her whole spiel. But years of therapy, hard work, introspection, etc later and I cannot stop obsessing over the details.Before this, my teacher came to her with pictures and stories I had made that were clearly indicative of something wrong. We had to draw a self portrait and write three adjectives. Every single kid wrote three good things about themselves next to a smiling face they drew. Mine was some Scream-esque looking, black and gray blob with dull eyes and a frown. Next to it I wrote "selfish" "pessimistic" and "dramatic". I had to redo the assignment and write "generous" "optimistic" and "kind" and my teacher expressed her concern to my mom.In addition to the stuff at school, I was making increasingly disturbing art projects at home. I'm not sure I realized it at the time, but she saved all of it and I recently saw them with her right before we went into lockdown. I asked her if she had seen this stuff when I made it or if she found it later on down the road when she sold her house, hoping it was the latter. Nope, she was seeing it as I was making it. Here is a direct quote from a piece of poetry I wrote: "I hide myself from unhappiness, but it loves to be there. A weight on my shoulders that doesn't fade away." Keep in mind that I was producing these things between the ages of 10 and 12. I could list all of the things I wrote, the pictures I drew, the diary entries that all shouted "help her, she's hurting!" but I don't think I need to.I love my mom deeply and fiercely. I respect her and have come to terms with a lot because I am empathetic and understanding. I reconciled with her laissez-faire parenting styles using the understanding that she was incapable of being what I needed and I do think she did her best with me. It comes down to her best was almost never enough. She is really all I have in terms of outside support anymore and I desperately want to maintain a relationship with her, especially with a baby on the way now.Maybe the hormones are leading me down this path, but I genuinely do not know how or if I even should approach this conversation with my mother. I want to know how and why she looked the other way when it was so clear that I was in pain. Why did she turn a blind eye and leave me unattended still, when she was aware of the mental state I was in? Why did she keep all of those poems and drawings? She gets defensive if I try to shatter the image she keeps in her mind of the mother she was. Am I holding on to a relationship that doesn't serve me out of a fear of being alone? I have my husband and his family but for two years before her boyfriend and after my dad it was her and I against the world. I know I've said this but I love her, so much! It makes everything so confusing. I did not love my father, I do not miss him, I feel no conflict with his memories. In some ways her neglect was as impactful and debilitating as his abuse, but I have always brushed it under the rug. I am her only child and I feel this burden heavily. I like the person she is now. Me being an adult has strengthened our relationship, but I feel as though I can no longer pretend this huge piece of me doesn't exist.I tried to end my own life at 12 years old. I work with children in the system now and I see a 12 year old and I am truly floored at how...small and fragile they are. When I was 12 I felt hardened and tough, battered and wise. I have come to realize just how weak and vulnerable I truly was. I needed someone looking out for me. I don't want to be bitter anymore. So, people of reddit. In your experiences with difficult parents whom you love, what did you do? I do not want this to come from a place of anger or resentment, I just want to understand so maybe I can do better for my baby. And I do not want to hurt her or stir up feelings of guilt or regret in her.tl;dr: my mother clearly ignored signs of my depression from art work I made as a child and now I am wondering how I can talk to her about this without her feeling attacked