Living with mental illness

This post is completely out of character for my blog, I rarely post anything of a personal nature. But my life has taken a turn in the last week or so, and this issue is weighing heavily on my mind. I feel like if I don't get what I have to say out in some form I will explode. I've never felt frustration, despair or sheer anger like this issue has caused me, and those closest to me.

The only bit of background I can give you is that we have been living with mental illness in the family for the last 9 years. My brother supposedly (I say supposedly only because I don't believe that is his definitive diagnosis) has a mental illness called semataphorm, an illness that constantly causes him to think and feel like he is dying. He has constant panic and anxiety attacks and for this he was prescribed a drug called Zimovane, which he quickly became heavily addicted to and which now rules his, and by extension, our lives. He took Zimovane to such an extent (10+ a day) purely so he could function. He was also a very heavy drinker, one who would be bed ridden with the hangover for 3 days, but didn't have the intelligence to connect the two. He regularly threatens to kill himself, but when he presents himself at a hospital he is turned away.

He was thrown out of the family home, where I still live, because his illness and addiction led him to steal from us all, and steal my mothers bank card to use online (it's politically correct to say his mental illness made him do it, in my opinion he is a morally vapid low life who cares about nothing but himself, a crippling opinion to have of your big brother). Besides being a thief, he is also a bully and an abuser. He gives us all an awful life, but to an outsider he is the most well adjusted, happy chappy you could meet once he has zimovane or alcohol in his system. And now he is home again. Today for example, while my parents were out he had an attack. My evening then involved me hiding in my room while he screamed for my help from the sitting room, dry retching and begging me to drop him to a hospital, standing in my bedroom sobbing because in his head he was dying, then calling me every name under the sun when I refused. That is a standard day in my house. He begs and pleads like a child to be brought to a hospital, purely so he can feel safe.

I guess the point of this post is purely to rant about how shitty mental illness is. My brother's illness has absolutely tore my family apart, and I have no doubt that the stress it has caused my parents will be the death of them. They are both two thoroughly broken individuals, and that breaks my heart. Finding my mam sobbing at the kitchen table is just something that happens now. Saying this will make me sound like the most selfish individual in the world, but a lot of the time I feel burdened and forgotten about. I have been living with this since I was a young teen, all the while working through my own battle with depression, one that I haven't fully come through, but can proudly say I'm on top of. No one who knows the extent of the situation ever asks how I am. No one asks if I'm ok, everyone assumes I am. My brother's mental illness hasn't just claimed one victim, it's claimed 4. He may not be my child but I have to watch what he's doing to my parents, and the pain he causes, and it's extremely hard to live with, because I love them dearly and they are suffering. It's dragging us down a black hole and we just can't find a way out. Every time we think there's a light at the end of the tunnel its quickly extinguished. The only way I can describe our day to day life is.... hard. It's so hard to remain patient and understanding. My lack of tolerance with him, because of the way he treats us, really makes me doubt myself. Am I a horrible person because I just can't stand to be in the same room as him? There's only so much you can blame on illness.

To top thing off my brother is a father. He has one of the most beautiful, intelligent, and entertaining two year old's I have ever seen. She is absolutely glorious, and oblivious. It breaks my heart that she was born into this, and will likely grow up feeling the a similar way about her father as I do, a mixture of  pity and resentment.

Please don't misinterpret this post, I am by no means trying to vilianize my brother, or make him sound like some sort of monster. But nothing I have written is untrue. He has become completely consumed by his illness, it has taken over his world, and most of ours. I would have a lot more respect for him if he didn't fight help every step of the way, but he does. In his head, he is physically ill, not mentally. I know he didn't ask for any of this, no one invites mental illness in their front door, but neither did I and it is a part of my every day life.

As it stands the only way I can live my life is to try stay as far away from him as possible, which is difficult in a 4 bedroom house. There are times I just want to scream at my parents for not adopting a more tough love approach, and reminding myself that he is as much their child I am is very difficult when im miserable because he's gone off on a tirade.

I realise this has made very little sense, but my shoulders feel a little bit lighter