The Power of Resilience: How My Story Inspired Me to Write

Trigger Warning: Mention of sexual abuse, physical abuse, mental health issues, chronic illness, addiction, suicide, and medical gaslighting.

Let me start by saying I am inherently driven towards goodness, resisting the temptation to veer into darker paths such as Illicit substance abuse or unethical behaviour as a means of coping. Despite enduring a lifetime of being undervalued, my core values remain rooted in love and kindness, prevailing over greed and self-centeredness. While the prevailing world ethos may seem to favor the latter, I steadfastly cling to my belief in the inherent goodness of humanity, even as I grapple with the dimming of my inner light. By sharing my narrative, I aim to inspire others facing similar struggles to stay true to their moral compass in a world that may not always reciprocate kindness. Writing out my experiences is not only cathartic for me but also serves as a beacon of hope for those who choose to engage with my story. Your time in reading this is sincerely appreciated.

My life experiences have shaped me in profound ways. I am the primary caregiver for my mother, who has struggled with health issues for as long as I can remember. Additionally, I have faced multiple chronic illnesses since a young age. Despite the challenges, I have always shown resilience. When my mother was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia in my early 20s, it confirmed what I had long suspected due to her behaviour. I vividly recall a traumatic incident from my childhood when our car was involved in a severe accident, leaving lasting physical and emotional scars on both my sister and me. While some may have crumbled under such circumstances, we have emerged stronger and more determined to make the most out of life. This however was not the case for my mother, who stopped pursuing her university degree and regressed even further from the world which was a sad outcome to see.

As time passed, she became increasingly paranoid. She insisted on keeping our lives private from extended family members and would become furious if we left the blinds open at night with the lights on, fearing that "everyone could see us," despite our secluded neighborhood. I never quite grasped her obsession with others' opinions or visibility, but reflecting at age 31, it's clear she was struggling. Living in a rural area where mental health issues were stigmatised and ignored, it's disheartening. As children, we accepted her behaviour as normal since she was the primary adult figure in our lives because our father worked away from home for months at a time to provide for our family. Over the years, her control intensified, fueled by constant fear and distrust, even predicting my death from a medical condition she misunderstood. It turns out I likely have a connective tissue disorder, explaining my easy bruising and joint problems. Ironically, she failed to shield me from actual harm during my youth, seemingly prioritising her own agenda over my well-being.

This became glaringly apparent during my teenage years when a male family member began sexually abusing me, often while I was trying to sleep, causing severe insomnia as fear kept me awake. When I mustered the courage to confide in my mother, her immediate response of "Are you sure?" filled me with regret. Seeking assistance only to be dismissed as fabricating the truth was disheartening, especially knowing that my mother's financial stability depended on my father's family who provided for her. Not wanting to sacrifice material comforts while barely lifting a finger to protect your child seemed like a heartless decision. I had faith in humanity, but that belief was shattered. Despite her getting what she desired, it left me broken. When she was diagnosed with breast cancer as I turned 17, I felt sorrow but was not surprised. It fell upon us kids to care for her, accompanying her to chemotherapy and going the extra mile to cater to her needs, all while she never reciprocated the care. Even when I faced my own health challenges, her assistance was merely a facade to maintain favor with my father for financial security. To this day, if she could still function, she would do anything necessary to stay in my father's good graces.

I began university when she was completing her chemotherapy treatment, but shortly after, I fell ill myself. Dealing with constant nausea, I spent about a year trying to diagnose my condition. I took a break from university for a semester and then switched to an online program so I could study from my bed, as my tutors would often send me home, commenting on my terrible appearance. After a year of struggling, a tumor in my head was finally discovered, and I underwent treatment for another full year until it disappeared. Despite feeling even worse due to the treatment, I continued my studies from bed, hoping it would all be worth it. I remember going to bed at night, wishing to wake up feeling better or not wake up at all. The tumors have since returned on both sides, but as long as the situation remains manageable, I won't undergo that treatment again. My parents believed I was seeking attention, but all I wanted was their care, which I lacked. Feeling alone didn't help my health, and I believe genuine human connection is essential for everyone. While I appreciate my mother taking me to appointments, I was also upset because I felt she was only doing it to maintain her relationship with my father for financial reasons. Her behaviour during my hospitalisations, like prioritising the gym over my needs, hurt me deeply. I was accustomed to her lack of support, which left me drained. It made me wish I didn't have a mother because that would have made more sense to me.

Amidst all these challenges, while I was still unwell, a close friend of mine and my then-boyfriend tragically took his own life at the tender age of 19. The funeral was a somber affair, and witnessing the profound sorrow etched on his mother's face, it was evident how deeply she cared for him. This contrasted sharply with my own experience, as my mother's narcissistic tendencies, coupled with her battle with schizophrenia, seemed to render her incapable of prioritising anyone's needs above her own self-preservation. Despite my father's and my efforts to support her, it became clear why my sister and even my father harbor resentment towards her to this day. In my view, harboring hatred is not the solution, even in the face of mistreatment. I have learned that holding onto anger over circumstances beyond my control only leads to further pain and can cause me to mistreat others due to my own suffering, feeling misunderstood. Therefore, I strive to approach all individuals with empathy, seeking to comprehend the shortcomings within my family dynamics and recognising that harmful actions may stem from distorted perceptions in some individuals' minds.

Approximately four months after attending my friend's funeral, I found myself in a similar situation when my boyfriend's brother attempted suicide while intoxicated, trying to overdose on pills. Despite his family being away at work, I took immediate action, intervening and preventing a tragedy until the paramedics arrived. The family expressed immense gratitude for my presence, particularly his mother, whose genuine care for her children deeply touched me. Witnessing such compassion from individuals outside my own family was a profound revelation. Despite the hospital's oversight that led to another suicide attempt, I remain hopeful that he now values life more. This experience shed light on the shortcomings of mental health systems, compounded by a series of stressful events and my own unresolved issues. Although I initially relied on anti-anxiety medications like Xanax and Klonopin after that incident without full awareness of their implications, over a decade later, I have successfully weaned myself off most of them. Letting go of this crutch was challenging, as it felt like losing my only source of support. The stark cost disparity between medication and therapy sessions underscores the unfortunate reality that many individuals resort to drugs or other addictions as coping mechanisms.

I persevered with my degree and took on part-time work while steadfastly pursuing my dreams of becoming a graphic designer. Despite the challenges, I remained committed. Although my parents insisted on a "fallback plan," I ended up with a business degree that seems useless, burdened only by debt. I often wonder how different things could have been with more support for my passions. Meanwhile, my mother battled breast cancer once more, thankfully without needing chemotherapy. Amidst starting a new job, I had to rush to her side after surgery, as other family members had distanced themselves. Despite feeling abandoned, I can't bring myself to turn my back on any of them. I refused to become like those who have caused me pain. Throughout this period, my mother's mental state deteriorated, and she became paranoid and detached from reality. She would send me alarming messages about a supposed mind-altering virus, accusing me of being a spy, and making me perform bizarre tasks while questioning my honesty.

At some point, she became extremely paranoid, believing that I was plotting against her and viewing me as a terrible person because I refused to support her delusions. This angered her greatly, leading her to search for knives in the kitchen and threaten that I would face consequences for "everyone". In response, I left the house and sought help from the police, who advised me to contact emergency services while I waited outside. Upon their arrival, one of the paramedics questioned my intentions, suggesting that I might be trying to deceive them to have a party. This experience, along with similar incidents, eroded my confidence in the mental health system. I accompanied my mother to the emergency room for 12 hours as she resisted being admitted, eventually requiring security to intervene and forcibly take her as she blamed me for the situation, insisting that I would still face repercussions.

She was granted a one-year release by court order, but she soon realised that by concealing her true feelings and claiming to be fine, she could be discharged from the order. This led to several setbacks over the subsequent years, as she intermittently stopped taking her medication due to her belief that she was not in need of it. After her third admission, she became reluctant to return, managing her medication intake sporadically. Despite expressing my concerns to healthcare professionals, I was repeatedly informed that my hands were tied without a power of attorney. However, in times of limited bed availability, doctors contacted me, asking if I could oversee her daily medication intake. It was baffling - as if I were a trained psychiatric nurse. I reached out for help, but she adamantly refused assistance and I was turned away by doctors. The system preaches seeking help, yet when some do, they are left to fend for themselves. How can I trust them, or anyone, when the burden always falls back on me?

The one positive aspect of the situation is that my mother has managed to retain limited control of my father's finances, allowing me to have a place to stay and a roof over my head when my chronic illnesses flare up. However, this arrangement feels like a trade-off as it hinders my ability to lead my own life due to someone else's refusal to take responsibility. It leads me to ponder how different life would be if mental health stigma didn't exist. I feel like I am being penalised for my compassion and reluctance to completely abandon my mother, despite the toll it has taken on my physical and mental health, job opportunities, and independence. Balancing work, caregiving, and managing my health concerns has become overwhelming, leaving me unable to pursue my passions in motorsport or graphic design as I had hoped. At 31 years old, I find myself living with my mother, who is struggling with paranoid schizophrenia and has withdrawn into a routine of watching TV and eating, neglecting personal hygiene, sleeping 12-18 hours a day, and refusing to communicate. Despite my efforts to work and pursue careers, it seems unlikely that I will be able to realise my aspirations while juggling these responsibilities.

I have always believed that I am capable of achieving more in life, but many of my aspirations have faded away. Now, my biggest dream is to have my own space where I can spend time with my dog and work a regular job. With my health declining, I no longer envision a successful career or financial independence. I feel lost and stuck in a never-ending cycle. I am convinced that love, kindness, and connection hold the key to a better life. Having someone who truly cares about me would greatly improve my well-being. I also believe that people, including my parents, might be different if they had received a different upbringing themselves. Life can be tough at times, but it is crucial to cherish the small moments of joy and share positivity with others. By doing so, we can reduce the reliance on unhealthy coping mechanisms to fill the void of love and support that many yearn for but struggle to find.

Living with chronic illnesses has been a significant part of my life, shaping my daily routines and interactions. The journey of managing these conditions has been fraught with challenges, particularly stemming from repeated misdiagnoses that have led to prolonged periods of uncertainty and frustration. In addition to the medications I rely on to keep my chronic illnesses in check, I also have to contend with nerve pain resulting from a back injury sustained during a distressing physical abuse incident. This added layer of physical discomfort has further complicated my treatment regimen, requiring additional medications to manage the persistent pain.

One of the most pressing issues I face is coping with sleep difficulties, which have been exacerbated by the absence of benzodiazepines in my treatment plan. To address this challenge, I have turned to medical cannabis as an alternative approach to improving my sleep quality. The decision to explore this option was not taken lightly, as I weighed the potential benefits against the stigma often associated with cannabis use. However, the relief it has provided me with has been invaluable in improving my overall well-being and quality of life.

It is essential to delve into the underlying reasons why individuals may seek out alternative treatments, such as medical cannabis, to address their mental health struggles. Despite the stigma attached to substance use, it is crucial to recognise that mental healing is just as vital as physical recovery. By acknowledging and understanding the complexities of managing chronic illnesses and the impact they have on mental health, we can foster a more compassionate and inclusive approach to healthcare that prioritises holistic well-being.

Currently, I am facing another health challenge with heart inflammation, while my dog, who suffers from epilepsy, has developed pancreatitis twice, plus a kidney infection. This has been happening while I have been in and out of the hospital, making it difficult for me to work or function properly. Despite these struggles, I continue to persevere although my goals have become more modest. The string of unfortunate events that have brought me to this point has made me seriously contemplate turning to illicit drugs instead of relying on the healthcare system, as a means of escaping my life. However, deep down, I still believe that I am capable of doing more in life and hold onto hope for a better future. I am exhausted from battling illness while being a caregiver and trying to still work all on my own. Yet, there is a glimmer of optimism within me, pushing me to strive for more and maintain faith in the possibility of improvement.

I know I am not alone in feeling this way; there are others who, like me, are uncertain about the future but continue to take small steps forward, anticipating a change in their circumstances and I hope this finds its way to them to encourage them to keep going. I aim to spread love, support, and connection in the world, offering whatever hope I can muster, no matter how faint, to let others know that even in life's darkest moments, there are tiny silver linings that, if acknowledged, can provide the strength to persevere. There is much more to my story that I may share at another time.

Sincerely,

All I want is a real life; all I get is bullshit. xoxo