As a young teen, I had so many dreams of what I would be once I “grew up”. It was so far away; still so much time between now and then. I had all the time in the world to travel, study, party, love, and go on adventures.

Today, I am 28 years old, married to my best friend for almost 8 years, and a mother of a beautiful, bubbly and relentless 3 year old girl. My Mother-In-Law is living with us for the time being, and we have a beautiful home. Albeit its modest with minimal conveniences, but its so peaceful here and I’m so thankful to call this home.

“Growing up” turned out to be completely different from what I expected. I thought I’d have to go to college, date, be engaged for a bit, get married and buy a house before I was considered an adult. That was what I was raised to believe anyway.

Needless to say, it went a bit differently.

I have been diagnosed with PTSD, a severe anxiety disorder, bipolar, Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) and fibromyalgia.

Growing up meant learning what the “real world” was like. I was so sheltered and abused in my parents home that it kept me from learning what being an adult was. My husband actually jokes around that “he raised me well” because of how much he’s helped me.

I had to learn to work through the flashbacks of the torture of child abuse, domestic abuse, rapes, and forced adoption I endured. A constant mini screen in my vision that plays constantly of the different events…often reliving emotions and sensations. I learned how to wake up from a night terror and still make it to work with my hair and makeup done. I learned how to get up and be a damn decent mom while having such severe dissociation episodes that I couldn’t remember who I was, who my husband or daughter were or where or when I was at! I learned how to make it to bedtime. “Just make it to bedtime,” I’d tell myself. Bedtime meant sleep. Sleep meant not being awake. Not being awake meant not dissociating and reliving shit.

I learned how to tackle each day I had one at a time. Eventually I learned how to find joy and peace in my day as well.

Along with mental health issues, the fibromyalgia also poses it’s own set of obstacles in my life. The first winter it really hit, I could still sort of work. But the second and now 3rd winters…I’m mostly out for the count. This winter is the worst. Stress has been extremely high, so that’s doing me no favors. (Thankfully, it’s slowed down lately tho.) The pain is constant and severe. The muscle spasms feels like my muscles are just rolling around in my body. My hands shake and I’m dropping stuff all the time. It feels like my bones have been replaced with liquid metal but I’m freezing. I’m dizzy, how much due to the meds, I’m not sure. I stay nauseous for the most part. Running around playing Zombie, my kids favorite game, is not in the cards my friends.

So why word vomit all this personal information? Because I know I’m not the only one going through this. I know I’m not the only one who searched the internet late at night with tears running down my face for someone…anyone who understood what I was going through. Who do you turn to when you start losing your independence at 28 and you’re freaking terrified? Who do you turn to for advice when you just don’t have the energy to correct your crazy energetic child every time?

I’m not alone. You’re not alone.

If I only ever positively affect one person…it’s worth it.