I hated him so much because he kept changing everything and yelling at us for things we’d done all our life or even for situations where he didn’t know even half the story and it broke me. When he saw how bad my room was back then, he threatened to put all my animals in the shelter and never get another. Then left me at home while they went camping to clean it, I spent 72 hours feeling like the worst piece of shit to have ever walked the earth, coming up with chemical cleaning solutions that
I knew could kill me if I stayed in the room with the fumes too long. But I cleaned it. When I fell down again and it was getting bad, I would hide it and some spots were still hidden and forgotten about and so now I feel like I need to hug younger me and tell them it’s okay and they deserved help instead of being berated and treated as lesser than
The thing is, the first time it got really bad was when stepdad gave my husky with a super sensitive stomach chili that I told him not to give him and he yelled at me for telling him what to do, I was woken up at 3:30 that morning with my dog having severe diarrhea and vomiting all over my bedroom. I was exhausted and we didn’t have a fence back then so I just had to lock him in his crate and put it outside while I cleaned, but I didn’t have anything but paper towels and some of it was already
Drying. So some of it didn’t get fully cleaned and then I didn’t know how to ask for help without getting in trouble for not cleaning it up immediately, and so it stayed. And it stayed. And it stayed. And the longer time went on, the worse it would’ve been when I did ask for help, so whenever I could get the motivation to clean, it was in the middle of the night when I would try to steal stuff to do it quietly, but it never fully worked. Then they found out and it was bad.
They got the stuff I needed yeah, but I was left with orders to not leave my room unless necessary while they went on vacation. I still haven’t told people why I was grounded that month because i felt so disgusting for how bad I let it get. The worst part I think was when I told stepdad it was his fault (the morning after, not the month later) and mom defended him and said it was no one’s fault and I shouldn’t make him feel bad over an accident. I learned then that I couldn’t go to her anymore.
I started seeing a therapist this first year of college and while I’m not nearly as depressed as I was back then, she says I’m still “passively suicidal” like I’m not going to actively off myself but if a car was coming I might not move, which is probably accurate because some days I still feel like the disgusting blob of shit they made me out to be back then and those times I usually feel like I’d be better off gone