I don’t remember much of my childhood; I have learnt to block it out as it’s just too painful to remember. My mom has mental health problems; she has borderline personality disorder, manic depression, bi-polar and mild schizophrenia.
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From birth I was beaten on a regular basis by my mom. She said it was because of what my biological father did to her and to me (this was before she was diagnosed). From when I was 8 her health deteriorated and I became her full career. Some days I would come home from school and she would be the best mom in the world, some days she would sit rocking back and forth in the corner of her bedroom and other days she would take out her aggression on me.
I dreaded hearing the final school bell, I never wanted to leave. I used to have to come out of school a lot to look after her. I remember seeing her self-harm for the first time and there was so much blood, I just calmed her down and cleaned her up and tucked her back into bed stroking her hair.
It became so bad I would go into her room and search for razor blades and chuck them away. I also removed any sharp objects from the house. She went through a stage of refusing to eat and I would have to force food down her. She would often leave the house and leave me on my own for 2 or 3 days then come back to take her anger out on me, because the police had been called as the neighbours had seen I was alone.
As I got older the worse it got. I would cook, clean, pay the bills, do the food shopping, do homework, whilst looking after my mom. It was as though I was the mom and she was the child. At 13 I was prescribed with anti-depressant that an adult should have and then at 14 I took an overdose.
I spent 6 months in hospital. I was too scared to tell anyone the truth as at the end of the day she was my mom and she needed me. I became a member of a young careers group when I came out of hospital as my nurse therapist referred me. They provided me with support and a rest bite family for me and they were amazing. I eventually told someone when she bit me and threw me down the stairs and broke my arm and ankle at age 16. My sister and I were placed on the child protection register.
I eventually moved out at 17 and now my mom has the right medication and the right help she is coping on her own. She has her down days but now we are closer than ever. I know what she did is wrong but it wasn’t her fault, it was the illnesses making her do it. And I am so proud of her for how she has learnt to control it and so happy she is still alive.
This post is an anonymous guest post to highlight the effects of caring for someone with mental illness.
