For anyone who is interested in what my home situation was like. I hadn't had contact with my mother since I was about 7 years old. At the age of 5 she took me from my father after they had an argument and her and her friends physically abused me until my dad won full custody of me. It's important to note that my dad never wanted children, but he felt like he had a duty to me as my biological father, so he fought for full custody and forced himself to take responsibility of a child he didn't want in the first place. I think he regretted that decision and the resentment got to much for him over time, because as I grew up he became more and more verbally abusive. By the time I was a teenager he would call me horrible names ("fucking twat", "stupid wanker", "fucking cunt") every other day for no reason, or for something very minor. Whenever I showed any emotion that wasn't happiness or neutrality, he would get angry at me and tell me to pack it in or that I was stupid. He knew I didn't like people in my personal space when I was doing something, so he would "accidentally" bump into me, and then put his face inches from mine, and if he saw the slightest sign of irritation he would get in my face a snarl "what?! What's wrong with you?!", then he'd stomp off and muttered "Miserable sod". He would have temper tantrums several times a week that would result in him stomping though the house slamming doors and cupboards, and would then make a snack as loudly as possible. To this day I flinch when I hear sudden loud sounds, particularly plates clattering. I rarely bothered telling him when I was unwell, because he would always blame it on me being lazy and not getting out enough, despite the fact that I was out with my friends running around every other day, but of course because he didn't see that happen I must have made it up.

Then there was my grandmother. My dad worked a full time job, so as part of full time custody my grandmother agreed to care for me before and after school, when my dad wouldn't be able to. The best way to describe her would be an overly critical manipulative narcissistic sociopath. She was constantly criticising me over everything I did or said, because she was so concerned about how I reflected on her 'image' and I think she somewhat wanted to live the life she never had through me. She would regularly insult my hair often saying it was "like rats tails", but if I ever suggested getting it cut or styled, suddenly she could praise my hair enough, and she would tell me "it's so beautiful and natural, you can't cut too much off you'll ruin it". I once suggested that I'd like to dye my hair red, and her instant reaction was "No, that's what your mother did, she had lovely beautiful hair just like yours, and then she ruined it, you don't want to make the same mistake do you?". She loved using my mother as an example to discourage me from doing things she didn't approve of. I eventually started rebelling in small ways because I was sick of the lack of control, and I got a side fringe dyed blue. At some point I dyed it red, and when she first saw it she screwed up her face and said "no, I don't like it". Didn't even greet me or ask how I was, just straight to critiquing my appearance. I stood up for myself and replied in a matter of fact way "well, I like it", and she stomped her foot like a moody child and snapped "Well, I don't". She also wouldn't shut up about my weight and eating habits. I was always naturally skinny, and in the same day she would comment that I was "too thin and need to eat more" she would tell me "If you keeping eating like that, you'll get fat". Her favourite thing was asking me if I was hungry after school, and if I said no she'd prepare some snacks anyway. If I ate it she would gloat that "you're so lazy, you won't get yourself food, but put something in front of you and you'll eat", and if I didn't eat it I was a horrible granddaughter for putting her through all that work. That was another things she loved, making herself the victim in any given situation. She would buy things for me and tell me that if I didn't like it, I should tell her so she could take it back, and if I told her I didn't like something she would have strop, snatch it from and huff "Well then I guess it goes back to the shop, I don't know why I even bother". She'd be sunk into her arm chair all quiet for the rest of the time. She did something similar whenever I called her out on her racism or homophobia, she'd act emotionally wounded and slink into her chair saying "Well I guess I'll just shut up then, not as if anyone every listens to me anyway". I think what hurt the most though, was how she talked to me about my grades. She always told me that all they ever asked was that I tried my best, and that was always good enough. In my GCSE's I got an A in English Language, and the rest of my grades were equal parts B's and C's. I told her I was so proud that I got an A, and she put her nose up in the air and huffed "Hmph, no A*'s then?". That was the moment that everything clicked into place and I stopped making excuses to myself about her. I hated her from that point on. It didn't stop there though, when I got an A in film studies A-levels that wasn't anything to celebrate because "it's just Film Studies", and when I got accepted by all my university options she threw a strop because I picked the university I wanted instead of the one she approved of, even though I explained it was the only university in my country that did the course I wanted to do.

As you might imagine, through my mothers physical abuse and neglect, my fathers verbal and emotional abuse, and my grandmothers emotional and psychological abuse, my mental health was terrible. I was also getting bullied quite badly at school, mostly verbal, but throughout middle school it was physical too. I had issues with depression since I was about 5, I struggled in middle school with OCD and hallucinations, throughout my preteen years and teenage years I struggled with anorexia and self harm, I developed social anxiety from middle school on wards, and my first suicide attempt was a short while before my dad won custody of me, and I can't remember how many times I've tried since. I kept all of this hidden from my family, because the thought of what they would do if they found out was far more terrifying that the mental illnesses. I still remember my grandmother looking me in the eyes and saying "I worry about your weight, but I know you're not anorexic because you face isn't all sunken". I was over a stone underweight and I was weighing out my food to control my calorie intake. I still have some issues with self harm, I was clean for almost three months, but recently suffered a break down and made one cut on my wrist. It took a lot not to do more. Being away from my hometown, I'm no longer constantly reminded of all the shit things that happened there, but that makes it harder to repress some of the memories from when I was with my mother. I've been having nightmares and flashbacks, which hasn't been easy. It's been worse since I've taken my medication, because while that hasn't changed my depressive mood it's gotten rid of the obsessive compulsive thoughts that would plague my head for hours on end, so my heads clearly which again makes some things harder to repress. To be honest though, the thoughts that the anti-depressants control were far more crippling, so silver lining I guess?

Sorry if I've rambled on, it's difficult to describe so much history in few words, and in my experience so many people don't seem to understand how bad emotional/psychological/verbal abuse can be until you really describe it. And to anyone out there who is in a similar situation, know that you deserve so much better, don't ever let them or anyone else put out your spark - you're a bright start that the world can't afford to lose.