Family apparently isn't forever.

There's very little that I hate more than family get togethers. It sucks, because that used to be the one thing I loved the most. But now, I can't stand them. In fact, I dread them. Here is every holiday, birthday, family dinner whatever in a nutshell.. .

Mom; bitches about everything I do. Nothing is ever good enough. I can not make her happy. All I do is fuck up. She also likes to bitch about her ex-husband. Sometimes her job. But mostly it's about every single thing I do or say and how I'm not good enough.

Granny: Listens to mom, fuels her fire. Nags at me about the things I'm doing/not doing etc.

Gramps; Has to obsess over Sydd and Daisy (dogs) and everything they do. Whatever move they make, he has to talk about it. Even if it's something that they do all the time. If I had a dollar everytime he told me how Sydd likes to sleep at night, and how much Daisy likes butter. . . But this only goes on until he eats too much and gets sick. And then he'll whine and moan in between talking about the dogs. And then he'll fall asleep. Also he makes a point to fart and burp as loud as he can and repeatedly ask everyone to kiss his ass.

Uncle Nick: The only reason these things are tolerable. He tells hilarious stories and gives terrible advice. Sometimes he makes sacreligious jokes, which gets my religious grandparents panties in a bunch. He's great.

Aunt Annie: She's almost always "sick" anytime there's a family get together. She really does get sick a lot, but frankly I think she just hates these things as much as I do. So she usually stays at her house, lucky bitch.

Me: I sit on the computer, eat when I have to, only talk to my uncle really. Occasionally play with the dogs. Avoid listening to the family tell me how awful I am.

I don't really know when everything changed. I can't pinpoint a particular time, but I know we used to be happy. And now we aren't. We used to be the family that I thought couldn't be broken.  And then we broke. I don't know if the whole family changed, or if I just realized that things suck. Maybe I was in denial before, I don't know.

I used to think my mom liked me, but I think she blames me for her marriages failing. Especially with Travis. It was never a secret that Travis and I didn't get along. We would fight all the time, and that probably was part of why they split up. I think if I had never been born, she would still be with my real dad. Or at least she would have been until he died. I think that if I wasn't born, she would still be with Travis. I think she knows that too. I think that's why she hates me so much now. She won't admit that she hates me, but I can tell she does.

People tell me not to be silly, that my mom loves me, I'm her daughter blah blah blah. And maybe she does, partially. But at least a part of her resents me. I'm very good at reading people, and I can tell that she doesn't like me. Not that it would take a genius to figure out anyway, but really. . .

I know she used to love me. She used to be there for me, when I would go to her upset she would move heaven and earth to make things okay again. And then one day she stopped.

Now, anytime I try to talk to her about my depression she goes out of her way to make me worse. She bullies me.  She tells me how my problems aren't real. I'm over-dramatizing. I don't have real problems because I'm still young. Her problems are so much worse. I let other people control my emotions. Blah. Blah. Blah. Belittling. And then, as if having my issues brushed off like they don't matter - and knowing that to her, they don't - isn't bad enough, then she has to point out every flaw I have. And she doesn't even try being nice about it. In fact, I think she tries to be as mean as she possibly can, bring me down as far as I can go.

I don't know why I keep having these conversations with her. . . I just, I want her to care. I want one time to be different. I want her to listen to me. I want her to understand that half the time, I don't even know what's wrong. Some days I'm just really really down. But that's not okay. I just want her to understand that all I want is for her to make even a half-assed attempt to seem as if she cares.

Instead, I end up crying until I can't breathe and I always want to kill myself. I really do seriously consider suicide, because I feel so low and my heart physically hurts. The only thing stopping me is that I never had the guts to hurt myself, much less kill myself. I'm too chickenshit.

Crying is not allowed in my family. My grandma hates it and now so does my mom. They both say that they "didn't raise a pussy". My grandma has no tolerance for it at all, and if I'm crying when my mom is bringing me down, it just makes her meaner. The more I cry, the more awful the things she's saying to me get.

Right before thanksgiving, I had a particularly bad day. I had nightmares all night the night before, and when I woke up, I had a major migraine. I checked my facebook to find out that a friend of mine had passed away. I knew it was coming, he had been diagnosed with brain cancer. I didn't know him super well, but it hit like a ton of bricks. I neglected my chores that day and left my house. When my mom found out I didn't do my chores, she demanded an explanation. I explained what happened, and how I didn't want to be alone. Instead of asking me if I was okay, instead of hugging me or comforting me in any way, mother of the fucking year started yelling at me for not cleaning my room and that's all she focused on. Still to this day she hasn't asked if I was okay. I am, but that's beside the point. I just want her to care.

For the last almost three years, since Travis said he wanted a divorce in January 2010, she's been so wrapped up in hating her ex husband that it seems she's forgotten how to love her daughter. Because the honest to god truth, I really don't think she loves me anymore. I know I have it tattoo'd on my wrist, and honestly sometimes I regret doing that. Because it's a constant reminder that though she did when I was 10, 12, and 15 (the birthday cards I got the handwriting from) she doesn't now.

I don't know what feeling is worse. Having a dad who never loved me, or having a mom who used to love me but changed her mind. . .