Let me explain.

all my life I have made excuses for my mum.
“oh shes just moody”
“oh shes has to raise five children all by herself”
“her husband cheated on her”
“she had a bad childhood”
“she deals with a lot of stress”
“she loves me really”

None of these are okay excuses, to wreck my life. None of those above, are reasons to make your child ill. None of these, are why you should put all your troubles onto your kids.
Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t blame my mum. I know she doesn’t mean to hurt me. I honestly think she believes this is what love is.

But when she blames me for my own illness, blames me for the reason I cant walk, the reason I cant talk. When all I have ever wanted to do was get into uni. I spent my childhood studying. I didn’t go out and played with friends. I stayed home. I did all that she asked, washed up, dried up, cooked, looked after her children, on top of school work and extra lessons. I had a brain. I had a life. I could of been something. But now look at me. A small sack of bones. Pale and weak. Go on tell me I have a future, I Dare You.

what was the most sad, is a saw my life slip away, I saw myself getting ill and more ill. I watched as I couldn’t cope. Yet I pushed on. She made it seem like there was no other way. I used to tell her I couldn’t go into school today. (to me that was a big deal.) The stress, of me missing a lesson, would eat me up as all I could so was hide, from the big monster that I called depression. (little did I know, the killer was bigger was some sadness)  But all she would do was tell me that I was just tired. “Should of gone to bed earlier” “shouldn’t have that phone your dad brought you, keeps you awake all nigh” “control yourself better” But as I said before no excuses are good enough reasons to ruin me.

I got told for 3 years that I was just tired. As a children, aren’t we meant to believe what our mothers tell us? So how can you blame me when I gave up saying I was ill, when I was clearly “just tired”. That was before the pain began.

One day, I told her. I said I’m not okay. I asked for help. And that my dears was a big mistake, from there she only made me feel like I crazy, sick, wrong in the head. She  found out I wasn’t eating, She was told to offer support. So she shoved food down my throat till I gagged and threw up. Yelled at me, told me I was going to die, because I couldn’t eat a whole meal. She would force me to the bathroom, make me take layer after layer of clothing off, till i stood there naked and bare, so she could weigh me. I mean, what could I be hiding. A fucking elephant.
She would tell her friends, parents, anyone on the street, about me. how damaged I am. How it’s all my dads fault, and she was left with the mess to clean up, how hard it is on her, the poor thing.  Always when I was about, to hear. I mean she must of struggled. Must be hard to watch you child choke on the food your force feeding her.
The funny thing was, I would of eaten on my own. I was trying to get better. I was doing all I can, to push past the pain, the aches, the consent feeling of that I was going to  throw up just from the smell of food. But, I can tell you that’s made even harder when someone personally makes eating a bad experience.

Once they worked out, it wasn’t my eating, That was making me tired. Which didn’t surprise me at all.  They concluded it was depression, sent me off to the doctors that play with your mind. Oh how my mother hated that. She hated it more when they gave me pills. She even told me not to take them. Told me it was my fault, I was sad. Because of the films I’ve watched and the books I’ve read. Told me it was the devil inside me. Told me to pray.
By then I doing more than praying.
She took, all knives and anything sharp out of the house. I told her I don’t cut. I don’t even want to. If she even looked at my body there was no harm there to be seen. But why trust your own kid?  She wouldn’t even leave me alone in a room. even if she was in the same house. I mean why should she trust me? I was too damaged to be sane.

She made me feel so wrong. So bad for being sick. She made me feel guilty. But worse, she took what was left of reality and crushed it, before my eyes. Telling me I can’t trust myself. Telling everyone around me I have the bad in me. You made talking to people who knew me so hard. You made me feel like I had no one. You made me feel so much worse than I actually was. You made such a big deal. But did you once tell you parents that I struggle to eat. No you watched as they questioned why I didn’t eat a lot. You watched as I was forced out to restaurants. Telling me, in front of everyone, it was rude that I didn’t eat everything.

What still, confuses me, is how none of the doctors, nurses, anyone from the mental health team I saw. Never picked up on the difference I was when my mum was in the room. How what I said and what she said was two different stories. How she would always talk over me. Didn’t you pick up on how I’d dodge the subject of her completely. Didn’t you see how scared I was when you wanted to discharge me and leave me in the hands of her. I mean why should I blame you? I was just a kid, everything I told you could of been a lie. who would you choose to believe, a attention seeking teenage girl, or a mother, who has the whole church to back her up?
I mean I was just a patient, and you jumped at any chance to pass me on to another, was I took much for you?

It was only when I couldn’t sit up. I could hardly walk. And all I could so was sleep. That’s when everyone started to take a serious approach to me.
Yes I am ill, but what I have isn’t an eating disorder, isn’t depression. But yes I struggle to eat. and yes I get sad. But none, of that is who I am. And more Importantly. I am not crazy. or mad. or wrong.
I have a disabling illness. please explain to me how and why this makes me the devil mum?

She blames me for being ill. she blames me for choosing my friends over my family, for a day, when I have the energy to go out. And then when i’m ill after, its all my fault, and why would I do this to myself, she punishes me for being ill. But if I spend the day with her, and her family. How dare I say i’m tired. How dare I ask to go home, when I cant even sit up any longer.

And before you ask. why did I stay? where else was I meant to go, she cut my friendships down. so much I hardly had anyone. I was too tired, to even walk most days, All I wanted was to get away from the thing that seemed to encourage my illness. but I was too far gone.

Now I’m stronger. Now I’m going to run.



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