26. Jul, 2013

Genes

I think I was only about fourteen when I lost my grandmother to cancer. She was always something of an enigma to me. She was very hard to get to know, very distant and troubled. I loved her dearly, and perhaps at the time as most children do, I felt she didn't love me as much as I loved her.

I think this was made worse because I had never had the privilege to have met and been loved by my other grandmother; she had passed away when my mother was just eighteen.

It is only now that I live, eat and breathe depression and anxiety that I have finally gained an understanding of who she really was. You see, she loved me but she couldn't love herself. On reflection I think she was buried deep under an avalanche of anxiety and depression.

I reflect on the journey I have taken over the past few years and I am beginning to realise how lucky I have been. My grandmother it seems suffered in silence. I have spoken with many members of my family about her, they all remember her as I do, caring and kind but also aloof and complicated.

When I fell to pieces, I was surrounded by support, not only from my family and friends but also the best Psychiatrist and Mental Health Nurse I could ask for. Everyone in this network was in part responsible for helping me to keep my feet on this earth.

I am a realist and know that my real journey is just beginning, and even though I may have inherited a few genes from my grandmother she has really given me the gift of life. And maybe one day instead of searching for rays of sunlight to warm my soul, I will be basking in its glow!