My Life As A Young Carer- I Still Cry At Night

Soo, sit back and grab your coffee cause this is a quite long story.

My mum was 35 when she had me, who ended up with mental health issues. My sister cared for me, did the night feeds, helped my mum and took me out almost every day there is 14 years between us. As they ( my sisters) got older the caring got more intense. Trying to look after me while my mum was accusing them over every little thing. From trying to kill her to moving stuff to mess with her head.

My sister let’s call her Callie who was 14 years older than me and my other sister let’s call her Ellen who’s 10 years older than me, had her own child at 19 and ended up moving out because of my mums mental illness, my Ellen lived with her dad. From 6 years old I watched my mum smash her house up every weekend, hear she was going to kill her self, that people were trying to kill her, kill us.

From 6 years old I began to look after my mum. Not being able to go out, not being able to leave her side and being scared every single day and night because all I ever heard was that people were trying to harm us. She would stop her meds every time she thought she was better. I also got told that I got left with her while she over dosed.

Bad went to worse. We moved house because of her thinking people were trying to kill her… then what was about to happen next changed our lives. Someone ( who I can’t name) tried to petrol bomb us at just 10 years old I woke up screaming because I thought I was going to die.

Every night I couldn’t sleep because I had to make sure my mum was ok, sit at the bottom of the bed so she could nap, not leave the house, not go to school, not leave her side. Help her cook and clean. We eventually got out after she had a ‘break down’ as she was admitted to a hospital. For almost a year I didn’t live with my mum.

I went from seeing her every day to thinking she didn’t want me. When she eventually got out, we lived in a flat. Still depressed she would sleep all day so I’d have to clean my own clothes, try make meals ect. Then I slowly started going off the rails… drinking almost every night, drugs. I was 14 screaming for someone to care someone to listen. But no one did.

At the age of 15 I would be drinking so excessively I would be brought home by the police, going through liter bottles of vodka. Then I met my boyfriend, who then I fell pregnant to, at 16. the As I settled down my mums mental health got worse again, blaming my bf for everything that he was trying to kill her. I then had my son.

Yet again bad went to worse. My son was 2 weeks over due. Struggled at birth. Went home the next day, something wasn’t right this wasn’t the baby I had last night… he was just different.

Rang an ambulance and it was almost as if I was getting made a mockery of, no one listened NO ONE. 6 days later after getting called over panicky mum and my mum not wanting to leave me alone with my own child because she thought I couldn’t cope. A midwife that dealt with teenagers came out. I told her how I was feeling. She checked my gorgeous boy and rushed us to icu.

Our son had pneumonia and because it had been left for so long they didn’t know if he’d live cause his lungs were so weak. At 16 I thought my son was going to die. My life was ending. After getting admitted another 2 times after leaving icu for people not listening again. We almost lost him in total of 3 times.

After countless visits to hospital and him being on oxygen for 8 months our baby boy became strong again, while all this was going on we were still getting accused of things, accused of taking my mums meds to mess with her head, trying to kill her. Until one day she tried to act the way she would when I was little. That day I went to leave, she rang the police after trying to beat up my bf and threatened to take my son.

For months she drummed into my head that my bf and his family were going to take my son away. We finally got our own house and left after she tried to start again. She has schizophrenia. Now because of this, I have a mental illness. I’ve got a personality disorder. My son is 3 and I’m now 20, I’m still with my boyfriend. But now I suffer every day with the thought of loosing my son.

That is always there in the back of my mind. I still cry most nights because of the thought of it. I go to play group and explain every single bruise. But guess what I’ve made it. I’m in a healthy environment now trying to pursue a dress making career. My mum is still poorly but I took a step back after my sister suddenly passed away a year ago. Life does get easier I promise. ‘Remember everything will be ok in the end and if it’s not ok, it’s not the end.