Everything is Poop, Chapter Three

I have come to the conclusion that it really doesn't matter what I do; it will never be good enough.
Last night I stayed up late to get some extra cleaning done. Part of the cleaning involved hand washing some clothes as I do not have a washing machine, and hanging them around the house in an effort to dry them. I hoovered the floors, I made a start on folding some washing that I'd left sat in a bag for over a week, and generally tried to pick myself up out of the rutt I've been in of late. After all that I went to bed proud that I had done so, and with a head full of plans for tomorrow's chores.
This morning as my parents were dropping off their dog for me to babysit, I heard their muffled voices downstairs and my self-worth exploded into little wet smelly pieces all over my bedroom. It was too garbled to hear every word, but I got the important ones.
"Look at that ___, it's still here from ___."
"Of course it is, WE didn't move it."
*light sarcastic chuckles*
My parents, no matter how much of an effort I make, can always find one small thing I didn't get round to and turn it into a major malfunction of mine. I remember when I lived with them I'd sometimes feel so good that I'd give the whole house a go over. Hoovering, dusting, reorganising, dishes etc. And when mum came home from work she'd find something I HADN'T done, and make me feel like a failure. As she was tired and grunmpy from work she'd often then ignore me, or speak to me in irritated tones which, had she not just flattened my mood, I'd have recognised as simply having a hard day. But as the first thing said was always "That's still there from this morning", "you haven't done the dishes again", or "I'll clean all this up, shall I?!", I took every single huff, grumble, whinge and growl as completely personal. And that would be my own good mood gone, and back to sitting in my room hiding and eating sandwiches.
I am struggling enough with trying to manage a house and cope with the ego-trampling symptoms of sociophobia without having my flaws bandied about and my achievements holepunched like a bloody colander.
The bottom line is that I am trying my best. I am NOT a normal person, and despite pride making me begrudge admitting it, I am inexperienced, naive and immature. I have terrible bouts of depression which can last weeks, in which I find it much harder to gather the will to clean the house or myself.   During those times my parents look after me as much as they have time for, for which I'm very grateful. However, sometimes I think I'd rather suffer alone than have to listen to resentful sarcasm as they do it.
Looking after me has clearly become a chore that my mum no longer cares to tend. She resents having to drop by on her way home from work, she resents having to go to the shop for me, she resents having to clean up after me (despite NEVER being asked, and constantly being requested to leave it and let me do it later), and now that money is getting tight she resents me for that too.
I considered moving home to ease the money issues. But then I remembered that however bad I get it from her now I'll have it back in full force if I went back. At least here I can use the phrase "It's my house, my rules, and I'll do it when I damnwell please".
The more she moans, the less I do. It's like that saying "If you hear something enough times...". I'm turning into the person she always treats me as. And I do NOT want to.