Living life with mental health illnesses

It started at the early age of 5. This feeling took over my mind and body. I was so scared but I didn’t know why. I’d run around crying and screaming for help but “Quit the crocodile tears or go to your room” was always the solution.

I felt so alone and scared of when it would return. Nobody listened to my cries, I lived in fear ever single day.

Nobody hugged or acknowledged my behaviour. It was like I didn’t exist. I was experienceing major signs of anxiety which of course, I didn’t know at the time.

As the years went bye going undiagnosed, obsessive compulsive disorder emerged. I was petrified my parents would die so I cried and screamed when they’d go out which was just irritating I suppose.

Going forward I started erasing “the evil” on paper that had nothing written on it, could only touch or see things using only my right side because my left side was evil and if I didn’t follow through with my compulsive thoughts, something bad was going to happen.

I started doing circles at the bottom of the stairs to make sure my right eye saw the stairs I had come down. I could only touch anything with my right side. If my left side touched anything, I had to go back and touch it with my right side before I could move forward.

Sidewalks were a killer. So exhausting having to make sure my right foot left each square or running back to the other side of the street and touching it with my right because I remembered I walked off the curb with my left side touching the curb.

I had an imaginary friend who was the only person I could talk to. I started standing naked in my parents window knocking on the window in hopes I’d be seen.

I washed my hands every 5 minutes because I was deathly afraid of germs. I was afraid of everything. Even finding a four leaf clover paralyzed me with fear, I guess because I didn’t know how to feel joy. I was always consumed with guilt, fear and sadness.

I could go on and on but it would take up too many pages so I’m hoping with what I’ve wrote that you get a glimpse of my childhood.

My mom finally acknowledged that there was definitely something not right with me so she took me to a physiatrist.

I remember drawing a girl with a crown and a bird. That’s it! Never went back and have no idea to this day what was said about me and mom doesn’t remember so I’ll never know.

You may think I had horrible parents but your wrong. Times were different in the 60’s and being adopted was a subject that was never discussed. It was too difficult for my mom to accept I was given birth by another mother even though she was only my mom for about 5 minutes before catholic children’s aid took me.

They did the best they could and mental illness was taboo back then so in her mind she was protecting me from the ridicule I’d experience if people found out.

There’s no doubt they didn’t love me as their own, it was me who didn’t know how to feel love.

I have two older brothers who were also adopted. I found out later in life that my oldest brother was really my dads son and my other brother was my moms cousin’s. She didn’t want him so my mom gladly adopted him.

I don’t think my older brother ever treated me like his sister. All he ever did was make fun of me, call me names, slap me on the forehead and laugh at me when I cried.

He even made me go to my room one time in New Brunswick while he was partying instead of taking care of me. He wanted me to say a bad word and I wouldn’t because of course, I believed if I swore, I’d go to hell. That’s what I was taught at Sunday school, They all laughed at me.

My younger brother was also mentally ill. He was a kleptomaniac, stole anything and always denied it, burnt down all the garages in the lane way. He was a handful and took up all my moms time and energy.

She was having a mental breakdown trying to help him which made it even more difficult for me because I was overlooked while she was consumed with trying to help him.

He went to a group home when he was around 8 or 9. At the group home a bunch of guys held him down and started sticking a broom stick in his rectum.

I can’t imagine what that did to him. To this day, he is a drug addict and lost soul who spent most of his life in and out of jails which I had to go to in order to see him.

One day she snapped, she started strangling him. She didn’t know what she was doing until I walked into the kitchen and started screaming, “please don’t kill my brother?”. Hearing me scream apparently snapped her back to reality and she let go.

I can’t even imagine how she felt after.

My father was the best dad ever and he adored me. Unfortunately, he was an alcoholic which caused fights all the time. My mom would always say she would leave and then ask me who I’d want to be with?

Before I could even answer she’d say, “ I know you want to be with your dad, your daddy’s little girl and can do nothing wrong”

I loved them both with all my heart and it hurt so much constantly being asked to choose.

I have an entire life still left to be written, trust me you won’t believe what I’ve been through however, I’m not sure if anyone’s interested.

I’m going to stop here for now. If there’s anyone out there would like to hear more, I’ll gladly continue.

Please let me know if even 1 person wants me to go on.

My only hope in sharing my life story is to help others.

Looking forward to finding out I should continue.