I first was diagnosed with general anxiety and depression when I was 11 years old after contracting PANDAS. The doctor suggested to my mom that I see a therapist, and my mom after a few weeks asked me if I wanted therapy while we were out shopping. Not wanting anyone to know the thoughts I really had, I said no, and started crying in the embarrassment of being asked that in public. My mom said OK and that was the end of it. She read somewhere that therapy could do more harm than good if the person didn't want it, so she never asked me again until my late teens when she found out I self-harmed. I said no again, and she didn't push it. She didn't talk about my self-harm to anyone, and she didn't bring it up ever. Now I'm in my early 20's and while visiting home she said that I should really get help and that therapy wasn't a bad thing, but I kinda hate her for even asking me now. She abandoned me when I needed her the most, she KNEW that I self-harmed, she KNEW that I tried to kill myself, but didn't care to do anything. I hate how she thinks that she can say anything to me after not doing anything for over a decade. I hate her for not taking care of her child. I hate her for using me as her own therapist despite knowing what I was going through. I hate how she didn't care. I hate how she won't take responsibility. I hate myself for blaming her for my own undoing.