and then?

So the conversation happened on a Saturday. We got into it again on Sunday, and it ended with them saying "we don't want to bring it up again for now". The explanation was so I can focus on my school. Looking at it, I look at it as a positive and a negative. It's bad because it really meant we didn't have any open line of communication, which meant they can deny it, and I can kind of bury it. The positive, I think I had a slightly more consistent mood, as I didn't have random blow ups in the middle of midterms or assignments. 

My friends were a great help. I was able to crash at one of their apartment so I didn't have to be alone, and morning after I was able to Skype with another in order to deal with it. This really metaphorically stopped the bleeding from the trauma. Their support really prevented anything seriously damaging from happening. 

It was a very difficult year. Just academically, it was one of the most challenging, with thesis, a heavy biochemistry course load (which I've never done well), and a big core course focus (It's the first time I didn't have any sort of elective to offset the core courses). This also was the first time where most of the people I study with are already graduated, and I really didn't have any academic support system at that point. 

For most of the early part of it, I either felt awful, or I didn't feel anything. It really was the first time I understood what people meant when they talk about depression. It's usually described as not about feeling sad, but about not feeling anything. I never went to get diagnosed, so I'm still hesitant to say it, but I was most likely depressed for a period. That was probably a stupid decision to deal with it my way instead of trying to seek professional help. But I did, got through most of it. 

My parents and I never returned to the conversation. This is probably something that'll come, but not in the close foreseeable future. Although before I left Vancouver, I had to deal with my nephew crying so much that he puked. I was very upset, and at one point my mom asked "if you can't even deal with your own blood and flesh, how're you going to be able to deal with someone else's?" I might've read way too much into that, but it seems like the first time she considered the possibility that I might adopt.