I suppose my stress and anxiety started at a young age, you see I was born into a mixed race/ mixed religion (or lack thereof really) family. Now that wouldn't have been a problem had I lots of friends in the same boat, but I was not given that stability and comfort. Nor was I given the comfort that many have sought through religion. So I was a small child with completely different parents and a whole bunch of other issues to boot.
You see my big brother- whom I loved the most in the world- was born with an awful hereditary disease that only affects boys. The disease in question... duchenne's muscular dystrophy. I hate that name as much as I hate what it did to my brother. As hard as this is to tell, I basically watched my most beloved friend lose the use of all his muscles over the course of his life. He went from a sweet little boy who could walk and play, to a wheelchair. He was forced to watch from the sidelines whilst others got to do the things he wanted. He had to suffer the stares of others, whilst I would block their view and "snout" at them ( which I can still do to this day if called upon).
Whilst I always worried about him (which incidentally is only something I just discovered right now, at the age of well... over 25 let's say) I never thought of the real impact it had on me. How I suffered and took on his emotions.
I lost my brother when I was just starting secondary school and it still hurts to know (even more than 20 years later) that I shall never see him again. I lost someone so precious to me. Even having a child has not taken that sting away. There's a small hole in my heart that will never mend.
That has been my biggest sadness, loss and anxiety. The complicated feelings I felt about being different, having weird family and not knowing who I was and why I could be so spiteful were all background noise after that. However they were still there. Still a low thrum of confusion and anxiety.
Today I discovered that I am mourning again (not that I'm sure I ever stopped) but this time I am mourning the loss of myself. I have been missing for a number of months now. I've lost my positivity and joy. I can't enjoy food, I can't rest and relax, I can't truly laugh and mean it. I can't even take delight in the wonderful sensation of a cool breeze on a hot day.
After talking with my boyfriend I am trying to find ways to recover, to pull myself out of the hollow, husk that was once me. But I can't see how I can do it and no way am I consulting doctors, they have never helped. Tablets only make things worse for me and I have so many responsibilities, I can't afford to be worse than this. So here I am, writing... doing the thing I love most, in hopes that it might help recover the missing pieces that are me.
I hope I find them.
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