The Beginning.

I was always a bit of a worrier growing up. I can remember being scared something bad was going to happen all the time. Its not something I was really open about, if I was open about being scared I was told to harden up, stop being a sook. So I thought I just had to be tough and hide my fear, because I felt like letting it show would make me look pathetic. This probably sounds like i had a crappy and traumatic childhood- really it was quite the opposite, I had no more drama in my life than your average kid (other than the fact I was relentlessly bullied from age 8 til I hit my early 20’s), I was just scared alot. Then my teenage years, the ones i like to call the dark years, was when i was introduced to depression. I was self destructive, I self harmed, at times I was suicidal and I threw away my education, and I started doing drugs and drinking alcohol. To be honest I thought I was just going a bit batshit crazy from all the crap I’d put up with over the years, until I spoke to the doctor about my moods, and after asking multiple questions, I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety. For the first time I had a valid reason for the way my brain had been working. Over the years I thought I was learning to deal with it, but in actual fact my drug addiction was just taking over to the point I wasn’t feeling anymore. And then I got into my first abusive relationship. This was a man 20 years my senior, I was 19. We got along great at first, but it didn’t take long for true colours to show, and the fact he had a drinking problem turned him into a rather nasty person at times. Him holding a 20cm blade to my throat threatening to cut me was the most terrifying experience I’d had to date, I actually for a second thought he might do it, and if he did, I was done for. Thankfully he didn’t and I got away from that relationship, but in trying to manipulate me not to leave, he pushed me right into abusive relationship number 2, a man my age who I’d met through my ex… What did we have in common? A love of drugs. Only he was far deeper in the drug scene than I could ever have guessed. 3 weeks into this brand new relationship, I discovered I was pregnant. He said he’d stay and support me, I said he couldn’t promise that, but I didn’t know whether I was going to keep it because I didn’t know if I wanted to be tied to my ex for life.. but I didn’t know if I could go through with an abortion either, because I’d always wanted to be a mum. Before I could make a choice, it was taken from me. I’d had a miscarriage. It was a really tough period of time, and if I thought i was broken before, it was nothing on how i felt then. Within two months, I went from someone who’d said she’d never do drugs beyond smoking and snorting, never ever needles, to injecting drugs into my veins at any chance I got. I’d spend days awake, blowing my veins apart and spending hours trying not to miss my shot. All the while, spending 24/7 with a person who said he loved me, but did everything to show me otherwise. Pushing, punching, kicking, choking, when his eyes turned black you knew what was coming. A year into this relationship, a week before my 22nd birthday, I realised I was late. I had to wait 2 days to get paid to get a test, but I was pretty sure I knew what it was going to say. It was a long wait, but finally I was peeing on the stick and awaiting the results…. Positive. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I told the dad. He was excited? Maybe this would be what we needed to motivate us to sort our lives out, to get settled and on the straight and narrow, to give our little human the best life possible, the life they deserve. And that’s when my world tilted. I went from this broken wreck who could barely look after herself to this fierce Mama bear who was going to anything and everything to do what was right by her baby. I was no longer going to do drugs. And I wasn’t going to allow that lifestyle to continue around me anymore, meaning he’d have to change his ways too. Neither of us wanted to bring a baby into a toxic and broken home, so we both promised to put in our all. But it didn’t stop. I had stopped taking the drugs but he hadn’t and we fought alot over it. He was still physically violent towards me, pushing me around and punching me in the face, he did this thing where he would force my chin down onto my chest, making it impossible to breathe. He even kicked me in the stomach once. So I knew I had to get out, I had to grow up and accept that this wasn’t right, I couldn’t live like this anymore, I felt like it was either escape that life or end mine. I had no other options. Then a huge bombshell was dropped on me. I was 7 weeks pregnant by this stage, and I’d had my first lot of routine blood tests, they’d tested me for hepatitis C. I had tested positive. And it was at this exact moment my anxiety kicked into overdrive, and I’ve been fighting it ever since. It’s been 6 years now, I’m cured of hep C, but I’m definitely not cured of my anxiety. This is the start of my story.