Maybe trying to figure out life should take a whole lifetime. There are little things I worry about as I get older. My life with cleft lip and palate is an ongoing battle I worry will turn as I get older. With a hole in the roof of my mouth I run risk of infection, collapse and other little things. Not imminently, but the threat of it causes anxiety. As I have worked on myself in the last year I have learned a lot about what causes my anxiety, it’s usually triggered by a half thought out of nowhere and my brain picks it up and runs with it. Social media, specifically seeing people happy causes me a lot of depression. I was always taught that people have it worse off than me. But, at the same time I would like think that more people are happier than I could be. Things like holidays trigger my anxiety and depression. Growing up Christmas was always the home run. My mom went all out at Christmas. Still yelled and got temperamental. But there is few Christmas’ in my life I don’t cherish every memory of.
Which leads me to this. I love my family, I love my mother. I forgive a lot, I have forgotten a lot. I am truly not ready to talk to my mother. There is years of stress, depression and memories I have to try to work through. You only get one mother. My mother was a champion for sticking up for me, for looking after my health, for being what I needed as I got older. Along with that is the fights, the arguments, the swearing, and ultimately the depression I would learn that I have. I encountered depression for the first time at 6. As a kid, it was called being sad. But, I remember the feeling and it is similar to my everyday life now. As I got older I wished my mom told me what depression is, but when it is undiagnosed through most of my family, and not dealt with. It manifests, you become numb to what depression does to your everyday actions. There was a lot of love. There was arguably more vitriol and anger that filled the house. Up until the way the relationship with my mother that was put on hold. Which all of what was said to me has been forgiven and forgotten. Attacking my uncle who raised, cooked and cleaned for us is something I have a hard time getting over. The ugly, sad, and hateful language that you would lobby at your brother and his wife is what crushes me when I think about calling my mom again.
I think when I get older, maybe the anxieties and neuroses I have about talking to my mother again will ease. Christmas time is usually my time for reflection. It was always when I was happiest and when I felt like our house of yelling and name calling was happy.
This is a blogpost I have had written for 3 years. Maybe it is my fear of disappointing my mother one last time. As I have nearly disappointed my family/mother at every turn in my life. I am ultimately my mother’s child, with the same mental health problems, the same grudge-holding ability and the same regret when I get mad.
Love you, mom. I will be ready to talk, someday.
Much love,
Regards
Devon
This is my life, contains anxiety and the constant struggle with the unknown.
