I'm filled with rage. I grew up hearing about how people who are adults shouldn't "blame their parents" for their mental issues. How they easily blamed their children for theirs.

It was my fault the dishes weren't done. It was my brother's fault the living room was cluttered. I went to school, made straight As, worked my way through college on my own dime, protected them from the prying eyes of strangers, projected a perfect shiny well balanced exterior, have my own home and career, am to all appearances a successful adult, and the thanks I get now?

The real damage they inflicted on me with their junk and depression is conveniently not their fault, either.

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This form was submitted:  Dec 28 2007 / 12:13:40

I'm filled with sadness. Now that I'm an adult, living on my own, I try to help them. I visit and clean. I get told not to. I try to get them out of the house and into a healthy environment. They say no. I bring my younger brother for visits to my home. I try to show him REALITY and share the coping mechanisms I've learned. They say I spoil him. He hides his feelings. I see it damaging him, too, and I cry. I feel helpless.

I'm filled with guilt. Why didn't I help more? What could I have done?
Why don't I visit more often? How can I sit here in my clean house and not drive to their house and HELP THEM? Why do I always bring it up and hurt their feelings?

I'm filled with fear. I have panic attacks when I have dust bunnies and a load of dishes to do. I hate the laundry. I fear having friends over if anything is even slightly out of place. I don't call the apartment maintenance unless the place is spotless. I keep obsessive track of spots where dust accumulates like baseboards and behind the TV because I'm afraid that if I don't keep watch over them, that's where it will start. I throw out food that's probably still good, but I can't bear to bring myself to eat it because the expiration date is today. I force myself to throw away things I really wanted to keep, because I'm afraid that it will happen to me.

I'm filled with rage. I grew up hearing about how people who are adults shouldn't "blame their parents" for their mental issues. How they easily blamed their children for theirs. It was my fault the dishes weren't done. It was my brother's fault the living room was cluttered. I went to school, made straight As, worked my way through college on my own dime, protected them from the prying eyes of strangers, projected a perfect shiny well balanced exterior, have my own home and career, am to all appearances a successful adult, and the thanks I get now? The real damage they inflicted on me with their junk and depression is conveniently not their fault, either.

I still feel loyal to my parents, and I want to help them, but every once in a while, I have a bout of complete rage. I want to drag them out to safety and burn the whole house to the ground. I want to yell at them until they hear me and apologize. I want to work with them to make a plan to fix it. SOMETHING, anything, as long as they STOP. I have moments of rage and disgust when I just want to throw all of their stuff out the window. I want to save heirlooms and buy them a new house and hire a maid. I tell myself I want to help them, but a tiny part of me also wants to let out my anger and to MAKE them SEE how selfish they're being. All I ever wanted was to fix it, and I can't.