So my mom calls me and tells me not to take anxiety medication. "When you panic a few times and deal without it", she says, "you'll soon realize you don't need it". Yes, marvelous assumption there. The only problem is that I'll never realize that I don't need it because when I panic, I can't control myself without it. So then she goes on to say how my brother, who is 12 years older than me (I'm 21), listens to her all the time and now has a career because of that and I'm only halfway done my associate's degree at 21. Again, there are several problems with her theory. One, my brother is 12 years older, which makes him 33. My mother is 57. He is closer to her in age than I am, and much more likely than me to accept certain values and ideals of her generation. Two, my brother and I were both born in Ukraine - except I spent 6 years of my life there and moved to the US and he spent 18. He finished school there and learned all there is to learn about 70s-90s Ukrainian culture. I learned 90s-10s American culture, American values, etc. Quite a difference there isn't it? Especially with mental health. I don't even think they knew what it was back in ukraine at that time, let alone how to treat it. And yet my mother is trying to convince me that she knows everything and I know nothing. And when I argue this, she tells me "don't you realize you're hurting me when you say some of the stuff you say?" What am I hurting you with? Pray tell. Because I'm telling you that you're from a different generation and don't know everything you think you know? "Well your brother respects me because he listens to me, blah blah". That doesn't mean he respects you, it just means he agrees with you. Are you saying that the only people who respect you are those who agree with what you say? Yeah, I don't think so. Then I mentioned how this same brother used to call me fat every day when I was younger and make fun of me for having acne. Every time my mom would bring me dinner, he'd say "how are you giving her so much to eat? She's fat enough as it is." I pretended like it didn't phase me at the time, but it stuck in my head. And my grandmother would call me fat every chance she got too, and then buy like 10 frozen pizzas when she went shopping to make sure I stayed that way. I told her this, and then the excuses came. "Oh they were just trying to help", "They were just joking.", "It was such a long time ago, you should forget about it. You're not fat anymore so it's irrelevant". Just trying to help? Help what? Help make me hate myself enough that it drives me to suicide? And as for "joking", these so-called jokes are part of the reason I now need anxiety medication and have a bunch of disorders that stop me from finishing school (and functioning) properly. She claims how she's never said anything mean to me only tried to help me. Except she let my brother say those hurtful things to me without any sort of punishment or acknowledgement for how they might make me feel. She let my grandmother say shit about me. And yes, she wanted me to join dance class to lose weight and I said no. How is that helping exactly? I already had social anxiety at that point and not to mention I'd be the only fat one there which would only give people more of an opportunity to make fun of me. Of course I fucking said no. I just wanted to be left alone at that point because of what I'd already endured. As for forgetting it because "I'm not fat anymore", NEWSFLASH! I still feel fat every day of my life because of what used to be said about me. I despise myself now. And yes, you all may have forgotten what you used to do, but I remember. I will always remember. It'll never just be gone to me no matter what. "Well your grandmother used to say a lot worse shit about me when I was growing up and I dealt with it". It's like wait a minute, shouldn't that make you REFRAIN from having the same thing happen to YOUR children, knowing how much it hurts? It shouldn't make you follow her stupid example. "Well if you think I was such a bad mother then whatever". I never said you were a bad mother. Yes, you've made some mistakes that ended up hurting me, but I don't think that makes you a bad mother. You did the best you could. If that, to you, equates to being a bad mother, then that's something you have to deal with on your own...but I never said that. All I want is recognition that you and the others were wrong for what you did and an understanding of why I have to take anxiety medication. She's my mother. I'll always love her and forgive her. And she did plenty helpful and good things for me too. But what my family did to me when I was young was straight up verbal abuse, and she let it happen. I just want her to realize that and say sorry and it'll be good enough for me.