I don't even know how to begin to explain how I feel. I'm....beyond devastated and depressed. I had all these plans for how I wanted to parent. Good plans. Now I'm the mom that cries in the bathtub everyday. I had an easy birth and a good paying job, but then the job decided breastfeeding is inconvenient for my position. I lost my milk supply and quit a little later. I got a new job, but having a baby at home that doesn't sleep, a boyfriend who thinks his responsibilities start and stop with diapering and feeding, and people yelling in your face while working caused me to snap at some lady which costed me that job. I lost my apartment a little after because they wanted to raise our rent to $1111 for a 1/1 with no bathroom sink or working toilet. Now we're living in my Grandmother's spare bedroom 250 miles away from where our families are. The town is so small so I can't find a job and every other town is an hour+ away. My boyfriend still doesn't clean up after himself after a year and I swear he doesn't have common sense. I have a therapist, but without a job, I can't afford her. I can't get a psychiatrist because the only one in my network that's within 50 miles had his license revoked in Ohio for sexually assaulting previous clients. Like what the fuck. I want help because I know without it I'm just going to kill myself to escape the constant feelings of being overwhelmed, anxious, and angry. I just don't know where to go. I have not a dime to my name and no support system. That's not even getting into the fact that my daughter doesn't listen to a word I say. She looks at me so I know she hears me, but if I say "put down xyz please" or "hand mommy xyz please" she throws what ever it is at me or just away. She has eaten every chapstick I own. She opens drawers and doors so nothing is safe. I'm ready to duck tape everything closed. She screams for hours before she falls asleep at night even when she's on schedule and we've followed our routine. Every single item I own has been replaced in the last year because her or my boyfriend have destroyed them. Granted they're accidents, but still. Why is it my stuff? Why am I the one that has to struggle? How many times do I have to ask for help? For caution? For responsibility? I feel so guilty about even feeling like this that I just want to pack my stuff and go, but the guilt from thinking of doing that is a knife to the heart. I'm a horrible mom and I regret putting all of my family through this.