I just need to be angry for a second:
I don't know what to be more angry about; The fact that I had answers to things I've struggled with for almost three decades under my nose the entire time. The fact that I had those answers since I was seven. The fact that no one told me anything, and that I stumbled onto those answers by accident. The appendix at the back that lists detailed, practical at home interventions that could help curb the impact of what I was dealing with, and the fact that not one of them was done. The only things that were done were the accommodations given by the school, and not one by you. The fact that when I told you I had found this, and told you one of the diagnosis, it was clear that you had not even attempted to read the paper because it's damn well obvious you would have remembered that. The fact that your ultimate response was "it's okay we didn't know, because they would have just put you on medication."
I try to have empathy and compassion when I remember how I grew up. For a long time I was in denial about how bad things were, and shrugged things off as not being a result of neglect or selfishness. But this is so blatantly negligent. I can't emphasize the fundamental impact on my life if someone had told me this sooner. I'm not saying everything would be different, but holy shit, even just going as far as to read the damn assessment and learn a little bit about what I was dealing with would have made a huge fucking difference.
So why? Could you just not be bothered? Were you ashamed of having a kid that was in some way disabled? Was it too inconvenient? Was it too hard to accept the responsibility, that both of us needed you? Was it too difficult to look past your idea of what having kids is, and at the two actual kids sitting in front of you?
I tried to give you the benefit of the doubt for so many years that you cared about us. I thought for years that I was just profoundly needy, but is it needy when you just wanted the bare minimum?
I care about you, but I will never trust you.
