I’m writing this as a self-affirmation to myself, for myself.
I’m having a hard time at the moment. It’s painful, and it’s difficult.
A long time ago, I was seriously ill with clinical depression. Shortly after my fifteenth birthday, I wanted to kill myself. I had suffered a mental breakdown after my mother was allegedly attacked and raped by two men she was involved in drugs with. I was upstairs, with my headphones on. I also don’t know if what she told me was true.
My mother is a profoundly ill woman. She is an extreme, compulsive liar. A manic depressive, and many other things. She abused me severely as a child. Mental, emotional. Most profoundly neglect. I was placed in situations no child should be placed in. I loved my abuser. I was taught it was my duty to protect her and not disobey her. Then I did.
I cut her off, permanently. I haven’t seen her in over ten years. I’m now nearly 26. After my breakdown I sought treatment myself. Medication, therapy. Over many years, I slowly figured things out. I learned to address the pain and call the abuse for what it was. I felt very lost for a very long time, damaged, confused, lonely.
Piece by piece, I put myself back together. I found within myself, even at the darkest moments, that I have an iron resolve of willpower. The belief that I had the power to get better. That somehow, I was a good person, and I was worth saving. In therapy I probed every wound, and cut out the fragments. Slowly my wounds turned into scars, and I learned to love them and myself.
From those experiences I found myself having unexpected strengths. That iron faith, but also maturity, empathy, wisdom. It was whilst volunteering in Africa, aged 18, that I realised the effects of my childhood made me stronger, not weaker, as a human being. I found I had the capability to lead others, to achieve goals, and an open heart that could accept my own vulnerability and flaws.
I fell into the world of work and ended up with a career. I knew how to work hard and apply myself, to see problems and find solutions that others didn’t have the gumption or courage to try and fix. Promotion was swift. “Lieutenant Commander” – a middle manager by 23, the youngest in the organisation. I bought a home, saved money, became financially successful. I won friends, and reconnected with my family. I volunteered to make my immediate world a better place and won the respect of the people around me.
Then, quite on a whim, I decided to take a six week introduction course to studying therapy. Then a year, and now a degree. I’m good at it. I know I am, because I see it and feel it in my clients. Even when they are three times my own age, my ability to empathise and connect with another person in pain – free of judgement or me trying to tell them what to do – is a gift. It will continue to be honed and developed over a long process. I’m undecided yet if it will become my next career, but my instinct tells me to keep going.
Lockdown has been difficult, overworked and isolated from my colleagues. I still work full time, and yet my night school degree is full time too. It’s long hours, and hard work, and for now at least on my own. I’m a major force in my union and on top of everything else, I volunteer to fight others’ battles, and I’m good at winning them. But I was getting tired, beginning to feel myself burning out.
Then I got the call. My mother is dying. Terminal liver cancer, prognosis two to six months. Not helped by so many years homeless, on heroin. That was six weeks ago. I hear she’s now in a wheelchair, because her legs are so full of fluid that her body can’t process. Her abdomen is grotesque, spilling out of her, misshapen. Now the cancer will head North, and her death will slowly begin, in agony. Only my grandmother still visits her, putting up with the abuse each time. And the lies, the constant, unending lies. My grandmother looks far older than her years, even at her age. She looks to me for support, because no one else quite understands. Do I go to visit her, before she dies? Probably. Not to reconcile, no. But to face the monster, this time as a man and not a little boy, and face her down. Even now, I’m stronger than I’ve ever been. I’m as ready as I could be.
I feel the weight of the world on my shoulders. I’m so. Very. Tired.
I’m beginning to feel my depression return. Not thoughts of harming myself, not at all, but prolonged burnout. A continuous, subtle, low mood. Lethargy, the loss of energy or motivation. I’m more irritable, and I’m seeking love in places I know I won’t get it. I’m better than that. But it’s hard. It’s really hard.
I already know how this chapter of my story ends. I win. I know I’m going to get through this, but it’s going to take time. I’m going to be tested again, but it won’t be anywhere near as bad as before. I still have faith in myself. I’m just tired. And lonely. And low. I’ll get through this. I always do.
“Give me another horse: bind up my wounds.Have mercy, Jesu!—Soft! I did but dream.”
Edit: I never expected this post to blow up, thank you so much for the heartfelt messages. It means a great deal. I’ll respond to each one.
Further Edit: Holy shit, someone call bomb disposal. Thank you Reddit. I had a scheduled doctor’s appointment this morning and your words helped me be able to admit I’m not okay and I need to take some time out. I’ve been signed off work for four weeks, full pay, my employer is very supportive. Orders are to exercise, socialise, drink less and enjoy more.
