I managed to drag my mom to an appointment with my therapist today. That turned out to be a huge fucking mistake. To start, I reminded my therapist (*Jane*) that I prefer male pronouns and asked her to use them frequently. Then my mother entered, and right off the fucking bat she's in crazy fundie mode: she's screaming that I'm deluded, that Jane should be insisting that I'm female, that she has the Absolute TruthTM about my gender identity because she's lived in the same house as me. She ranted and raved for about twenty minutes, with me occasionally shouting actual information. Jane calmed us down a little before letting me try to explain what it's like to be transgender. She kept insisting that it was a lie, that I was making it up to distract people from my "terminal laziness problem" (depression). I tried to explain that, because of my depression simple tasks are painfully exhausting. She accuses me of being a lazy bitch and points out that I'm not really doing anything productive with my life right now. Jane asks me to leave the room, in order to talk to my mom one-on-one. This lasts about ten rather awkward minutes, after which I'm pretty sure Jane detests her almost as much as I do. Jane reminds me to focus on my depression self-care, my mom walks out thinking she's won something (as if shouting somebody down when they can't run away is something of which to be proud), and hours later I'm still pissed off. She didn't win jack shit but she's acting like she's made some big breakthrough for Jesus. Argh.