I have harm obsessions on a fairly regular basis but it seems like they're getting worse. It doesn't help that I'm really angry all the time. People keep saying stupid, ignorant shit to me and I wish I weren't so scared of being "rude" because these people deserve to be told right off. Stuff like:

• When I dare talk about my problems, I am attention-seeking and immature and should just shut up and not bother the normal people
• It's "just in my head" (Really? I had no idea. Fascinating revelation.)
• I should "get over it"
• I'm not getting better "fast enough"
• I don't have it "that bad" (apparently we now live in a strange world where "severe" no longer means what we think it means)

And this is coming from my friends and family. I just want to scream at them! They treat me like I'm on vacation and I've overstayed my welcome. They said they would support me and help me in any way they could… except perhaps for examining their ideas about disability and mental illness. I'm not housebound and NEET and anxious all day because I fucking like it, it's because I have an inherited (yes, inherited from YOU, thanks by the way) disorder that is kind of seriously messing with my quality of life right now. If I could be doing otherwise, do you really think I'd be hiding in my room all the time with no money and no hireable skills dealing with you give me subtle and not-so-subtle crap all day? Really? You think I like this?

I think all this anger that has no place to go is fueling my harm obsessions, or at least giving them a sheen of legitimacy when I'm debating their merit internally. It's just stupid and typical that when I'm angry with my friends and my parents, my harm obsessions focus on children and animals. Ugh. It really doesn't help that when I try to avoid the big shiny trigger of all my nastiest intrusive thoughts (my sister) my stepmother starts riding my ass for being selfish and lazy (for hiding in my room) and for contributing to my sister's own "problems" (she's FIVE). And you wonder why I spend so much time at my mother's house–it's less fucking STRESSFUL. And while she can't seem to grasp that my OCD is a bit worse than hers, at least she freaking gets it and doesn't patronize me every other waking minute.

There's nothing like being forced to live with your parents to bring out a teenage-like sense of resentment. Familiarity breeds contempt and can I go days without seeing or interacting with any people I'm not blood to. There's a reason I moved straight out to the West Coast as soon as I was sane enough after high school… because you people drive me FUCKING CRAZY.