This is me venting about what's going on in my life. I'm not doing well.

I study university and I live with my parents - I couldn't leave because I was suspected to have cancer (which took doctors almost a year to confirm if I did - I did not) and my mental health was not doing well, though it hasn't done well ever since I was a child so there is nothing new at that.

My childhood was not great. My father was a man who was always at the edge of violence and my mother was the dutiful wife in a machist home - I was told growing up that my job was to serve a man, to marry, and that stuff. We could pass days without talking, which I loved because if we did talk it always was about school. Throwing papers out of the trash, screaming, tears, insults thrown at me were common when we were doing our homework.

My father never did hit me, but we (my sisters and I) always had this feeling of walking in eggshells - go quietly, be seen not heard for if you anger him he'll kill you; my mother sometimes threw the cruelest insults and I always felt a hole in me, deep.

I won't say it was the worst - I was fed, clothed and certainly never attempted to be murdered and contrary to what I explored I was loved deeply. But if therapy has taught me something it's that someone can love you AND hurt you deeply, believing it's for your own good. Which it's not good and you are not obligated to forgive them.

Which brings me to this issue.

You see, I've been going thorugh therapy for 4 years. I've been working through my issues and I can confidently say that, though far beyond stable, I'm not as bad as I used to be, when I dissociated so much teachers believed I was constantly drugged.

I'm not gonna say university has been easy - but quarantine hasn't helped at all. To tell all the bad I would better write a book , but I had this session, I had a relapse due to the pressure on family issues and I cried. When my parents noticed me crying they sat me down and told me to man up, to not be weak for the world will eat me raw with some machist, queerphobic and suicide shaming thrown in the mix. I expected it, because every single conversation I have with them I end worse than when we started.

But after this things *got* way worse. They would hug me from behind (which I hate, but if I complain is used against me so better stay quiet) and suddenly I'm dissociating, being six and terrified of my father killing me while sleeping, or I'll be listening to my sisters talk about their likes but my mind will be in a maniac state where the only thing I want is to take a hammer and squeze all my fingers, or I'll be doing my homework but suddenly my chest stops breathing so I have to take steps back and calm down, but when I calm down my parents pass and I suddenly enter this state but *worse.* 

It fucking hurts because I was somewhat doing better *before* quarantine, I stabilized somewhat and now I'm reverting to my earlier states. I hate I can't do the things I used to do, I hate I can't listen to my sisters' likes as usual because when I do it makes them so happy it makes me happy as well. And they are happy, believing the worst thing in my life is that I'm not popular in my class, my scores are dropping and sometimes everything is just too much and  - 

Well.  It's too much.

I'll live through, like all the things before. But - I deserve to vent, right? Let me cry, let me rage, let me *feel.*

That's all.