General update: I'm on pristiq and Invega and doing very well generally. I can finally stay awake all day. I get things done.

My problem is with my mom. Specifically her respect towards my stuff. She lost a Scentsy plug in Fiance's mom bought me last summer. She said she "threw it out." I don't know what you think "to throw out" means, but to me it means to throw into the trash, to go to a dump, to sit there and rot. To my mom it means "to put away." That's something that's always bothered me, that something is thrown away when it doesn't need to be. Thinking about an object, a beloved teddy bear, a Barbie, anything, sitting there alone in the dump; birds pooping on it, the wind, the weather beating on it. Perhaps this object has some sort of feelings, once feelings of a loving home now turned to bitter regret, wishing "mommy" would come and save it. I really like my personal items. I don't like throwing them away. I'm not a hoarder, though my house is a little messy.

My mom threw everything on my bedroom floor into a bag. She was going to throw it away. She ruined a pair of PJs because a pen was open. She almost threw away my most worn favorite pair of shoes. I must have been around 12. I had a feather boa and fan from Cracker Barrel (the south is littered with them) and I loved them. My mom threw them away because I didn't put them away. I had a debate tournament that was close to home so I could go to bed early, get up later, function on a normal amount of sleep. She wrecks my room. All the things I shove to the edges she tosses on my bed and the floor. I stay up three hours just to go to bed. Why? why does this woman do these things to me? She gave my barbies away to a charity. I was there. I should have begged to keep them. I miss them so much, each had their own little personality. I loved playing out movies with them. I know some little girl who is underprivileged has them, probably loves them just as much. But I want my future daughter to have them. I want to love them still. But that doesn't matter to that woman. All that matters is a clean house.

I am simply lazy and selfish and fat to her. Let me state that I am not fat, I'm very slightly chubby. Every time I see her there's a comment about my weight. I had female issues, my periods were a year long and she never took me to a doctor for it. I went when I started college. She knew I had a mental problem and never took me to see someone. I would have loved that. Someone to give me answers, someone to tell me I wasn't crazy to think the world is a horrible place and people are always talking about me. It's just a chemical imbalance, here take these. High school was a living hell and it was just "these are the best years of your life," or "it's all in your head." Thanks.

To make up for it, my dad was chill. He was just really sick and passed away a few years ago. I'd gladly give all the barbies in the world to have him back.