#much like spraying my house with lysol constantly or having to do my door lock routine like 3 times a night it makes me feel better

[this-doesnt-endd]

I dont need these things but i wanna get those like finger pulse oxygen readers and the like blood pressure wrist cuffs. I dont need them i go to dr appts all the time and ive never had issues but like all of a sudden i feel like i really need them and i need to know these stats daily

[wildcraftedwoman]

Being at my parents’ house for the last two weeks while I transition to Berkeley and await my apartment has been severely exhausting, exasperating my suffering greatly. I just need to vent even if nobody reads this in the end.

Within a few days of getting here, my dad screamed in my face suddenly about how “fucking stupid” I am and “have been my entire life” right in front of my children who were afraid. We left in such a hurry that my daughter had no shoes and we stayed out late into the evening. He also becomes suddenly anxious and yells at my mom and me, a constant source of chaos. Like when he recently belittled me and reminded me that I didn’t have a real job like my brother and yelled at me for simply wanting to get ready in the bathroom one morning. They said they would provide me with a mattress but instead have my husband and me sleeping on the couch. This has triggered a new painful ongoing ache in my spine that keeps me awake all night so I’m very sleep deprived while attending a full time online class for Berkeley. My dad literally sleeps on a camping blow up mattress in the kitchen, and everyone in the household treats this as normal. When it’s not taking up the kitchen, it’s pushed against the wall in the living room and no one cares how trashy this is. He whines in pain all night and will not stop talking about how he’s in so much pain, he would like to throw himself off of the Golden Gate Bridge. I keep reminding him that a whole lifetime of sleeping on the couch every night and eating unhealthily got him here, but self awareness has never been their thing. I’m exhausted. The hoarding here is not as it was in my adolescence (extremely distressing) but still very much stressful and causes me great anxiety. My parents literally shop 2-4 times a week for things they don’t need while forever (literally) neglecting my grandma’s house, letting it slowly ruin. They constantly buy my kids cheap crap that breaks, despite my protests, and my girls are starting to get materialistic here and value trashy items like their grandparents. I have declared that none of it will come with us to the apartment and that my parents aren’t allowed to buy them gifts or take them shopping all weekend at malls and garage sales any longer. There is a nasty mold problem here but they’re so afraid of a potential burglar coming through a window, that all windows and blinds are always to remain closed. We get in trouble for not locking the door for this reason even if we are home. Putting an item in the fridge is like playing Jenga, you hope it doesn’t fall or make everything tumble out. There’s no room in there and my mom often refuses to let me get rid of rotting food in there. It was so disgusting, I found mold growing on the shelves. I got into an argument with my mom the other night because she insists on keeping old plastic tubs, and says she collects them and then gives them away in batches on FB Market. I told her to get a real hobby like reading! My parents insist they just need a bigger trash can and house, that they simply do not have enough space. The dining room table and floor is covered in trash and hoarded items, so my poor girls eat their meals on step stools. I hate that they sleep in my mom’s bed and that each night before bed, she has to go outside and smoke cigarettes exposing them to secondhand smoke on her. The hoarding is bad enough where when my parents are away, I throw away as much as I can without them noticing. They got mad at me for throwing away the intense Lysol spray they use as an “air freshener” for rooms, as I was tired of my children and I breathing it in constantly multiple times a day. I was horrified the other day when my husband sent me a photo of my dad in the backyard holding a plate of raw food to be barbecued while simultaneously spraying weed killer around the grill. As I type this all at 4 am, I can feel the anger boiling up inside as my dad screams out in pain non-stop and the camp mattress shifts in its rubber. The last two weeks have been absolutely distressing and I’ve felt terrible for exposing my children to this dysfunctional home.