People always feel the need to make sure I’m aware of how lucky I am to have the support of those around me.
& I spend a lot of my time complaining that people always feel the need to do this because
1. I obviously know how lucky I am
2. I hate myself and feel guilty enough without the regular reminder
3. So I’m ill; does that mean people aren’t lucky to have me, too?
I’m particularly reminded of lucky I am to have my Mum – but do I ever really listen?
I mean, of course, I know it; I know I’m extremely lucky to have my Mum.
But do I ever really hear the true meaning of those words?
I believe my Mum is the only person that number 3 does not apply to; she is not lucky to have me and therefore, I’m now realising it is justifiable for people to constantly remind me how lucky I am because only right now as I have just been comforted by her following a panic attack am I truly realising just what those words mean.
What led to this epiphany, you ask?
The tone, the sadness, the weariness in her voice.
See, I have been fighting this fight for many, many years.
I have experienced relapses, suicide attempts, self harm, impulsive behaviours, emotional pain, memories of emotional sexual abuse, voices in my head, panic attacks, an array of sleepless nights, never ending pools of tears, a fear of everything, suffocation by overthinking and finally, a constant, mind numbing sadness.
But unlike most adults; I’ve not done it alone.
My selfless, undeniably kind Mum has experienced EVERY one of those moments with me.
She’s hugged away the pain I’ve felt, she’s battled pain herself whilst she’s seen me on the verge of death, she’s dried the tears I’ve cried, she’s listened to my outbursts, worries, paranoia, she’s talked me through my mistakes, fears, overthinking and finally, she’s fought this battle in addition to her own.
& now she is tired.
She is worn.
She has lost every bit of herself trying to be everything for me.
Here I am, sensing resentment, anger, frustration and sadness towards me and is it really any surprise?
She’s devoted 24 years of her life to be all that I need whether that be; a therapist, a nurse, a friend, a teacher when really, all she should ever have to be is a Mum.
She deserves far more than I am, more than I ever can be.
I’m 24 years old and I still sleep some nights with my Mum.
It’s guaranteed I’ll at the very least keep her up until the early hours, even when she has work the next day – I can’t stop myself.
I rely on my Mum for EVERYTHING because I have nothing of my own.
I am not an adult, I am a child.
I am a toddler who depends on their Mum for protection and safety.
Someone please tell me, is this something that comes with the repercussions of abuse?
Or is mental health just an extremely selfish place?
Yes, I’m thoughtful. Yes, I’d like to believe I’m kind.
But I can’t decide if it’s me, my personality, or the condition that is selfish.
Or is it in fact both?
Have I hurt my Mum more than I ever thought possible, or has my condition?
Is there a difference?
Am I the reason for the pain, the sadness in my Mum’s heart and eyes; or is my condition?
Aren’t we the same thing?
Is it me my Mum is growing to hate or my condition?
More importantly, when the condition is better managed; will the hate still be there?
Can I ever take back the years of her life I’ve stolen and broken?
Will she grow to her elder years and look back and regret the time she wasted caring for me?
What brings the most concern is that she may already regret having me all together.
I guess I’ll never truly know what she’s thinking; I do not reside in her brain.
But what I do know, what she can’t deny no matter how hard she try; the pain and sadness she feels.
How tired she is.
My beautiful Mum, you can try and hide it but I know you as well as you know me and all I can ever tell you is I am so, so sorry.
I’m sorry I’ve burnt out the most brightest sparks of your being.
I will be better, I will do better. I won’t rely on you to be anything other than a Mum. I won’t trouble you with my troubles long in to the night. I’ll be a grown up. I’ll be a 24 year old; I’ll learn to manage things. The way you do.
My condition may not think of you, but I always do Mum.
To anyone reading this post, I ask you to be aware of what your illness is doing to those fighting the battle alongside you. Try and give them a break just like they do you, but be mindful; it is not your fault.
I have to believe that, I have to.
Then maybe, just maybe. My Mum will respond with excitement again when I call her name and not a sigh.
An Impartial Soul xo