Look, dude, just....tch. Hmm.
When I asked 'are you serious?' it was actually a rhetorical question. No, of course I don't think you'd joke about your silly socks being too big. I don't know why it's an issue for you, considering I'M the one who has to locate the receipt and I'M the one who has to drive allllllll the way to that mall to exchange them. I'M the one who has to do the dirty work. You don't hear me complaining or dishing out sarcasm because of it. So what gives you the right to tell me off?
That's a dick move.
It also ruined my entire day. After I tried so hard all morning to meditate myself into a good ****ing mindset, there you go killing my entire day with a few words. You're grumpy. I get it. I'm grumpy, too. Hell, I'm depressed. I'm still trying my ass off not to let that influence anyone else in our household. How about you pull up those (too big) socks and do the bloody same?
So, really it doesn't flatter me in any way whatsoever when you text me what other people think of my brilliant birthday parties and organisational skills. I don't give a **** what people think of me. I do, for some stupid reason, give a whole lot of **** what YOU think of me. And apparently it's nothing good, just going on your half of the conversation. I'm so sorry I do things differently from you. Not everyone can be a perfectionist.
You know what?
I'm done.
I'm so ****ing done with this.
I've been trying to get help and get better. FOR YOU. Because YOU want me to. I made it clear to the therapists and doctors. I made it clear to you. I'm only here because YOU asked me to get help.
But what's the point. You're just doing everything my dad always did. You're belittling me. You make me feel there's something wrong with me. You make me feel unworthy, and stupid, that NOTHING I DO IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH.
I've been down this ****ing path one time too many, with you and with my family.
I want out of this ****ing world.
When I asked 'are you serious?' it was actually a rhetorical question. No, of course I don't think you'd joke about your silly socks being too big. I don't know why it's an issue for you, considering I'M the one who has to locate the receipt and I'M the one who has to drive allllllll the way to that mall to exchange them. I'M the one who has to do the dirty work. You don't hear me complaining or dishing out sarcasm because of it. So what gives you the right to tell me off?
That's a dick move.
It also ruined my entire day. After I tried so hard all morning to meditate myself into a good ****ing mindset, there you go killing my entire day with a few words. You're grumpy. I get it. I'm grumpy, too. Hell, I'm depressed. I'm still trying my ass off not to let that influence anyone else in our household. How about you pull up those (too big) socks and do the bloody same?
So, really it doesn't flatter me in any way whatsoever when you text me what other people think of my brilliant birthday parties and organisational skills. I don't give a **** what people think of me. I do, for some stupid reason, give a whole lot of **** what YOU think of me. And apparently it's nothing good, just going on your half of the conversation. I'm so sorry I do things differently from you. Not everyone can be a perfectionist.
You know what?
I'm done.
I'm so ****ing done with this.
I've been trying to get help and get better. FOR YOU. Because YOU want me to. I made it clear to the therapists and doctors. I made it clear to you. I'm only here because YOU asked me to get help.
But what's the point. You're just doing everything my dad always did. You're belittling me. You make me feel there's something wrong with me. You make me feel unworthy, and stupid, that NOTHING I DO IS EVER GOOD ENOUGH.
I've been down this ****ing path one time too many, with you and with my family.
I want out of this ****ing world.