I’ve always had anxiety since I was a kid, big time. I grew up in an abusive home and my brain was so fucked from it for such a long time that I nearly ended up dead from suicide WAY too often before I was even 20.I have worked so incredibly hard to get better and feel better, to make my brain work like a normal (non-abused) person’s brain. My grandma was the only family I had who stuck with me through everything. She couldn’t have rescued me from the abuse (Because she wasn’t fully aware of it) but she did her damn best to put some love into my life, to show I was important and cared for. Even when I was diagnosed with bipolar, ptsd, chronic pain disorders and psychosis. Even when I was sexually assaulted and developed an eating disorder. All the time, she believed in me and she only wanted me happy. in 2017 I left my hometown to study at university. She knew this. It was a long way away, hundreds of miles. I thought it was okay. Three months or so before I moved away to school, she died. Suddenly. She was sick, I mean, like ‘smoked for decades so in poor health but still makes us all a feast-dinner on a weekend’. So nobody was expecting it. My world has never been the same. I grieve for her today with the same exact piercing, aching, empty pain inside me that first grew when I sat for hours watching her die. Nobody told me, a 19 yo with fragile mental health and no support system outside of my grandmother, that watching this very woman die over the course of an evening, watching her take the last breath... nobody told me what it would do to me. By the end of the sixth hour I was silently, internally begging for her to die, for her suffering to stop. And that is the worst feeling I’ll ever have because my begging did nothing for her. I just watched her slip away, wishing for her to disappear faster than she already was. nowadays I have a feeling of FOMO that never goes away. I’m older now, mid-20s, happily in a relationship, more healed but not fully. And some days I wake up like this. Like I am now, writing this post. Crying, crumbling to the kitchen floor clutching the last ever dressing gown she bought me as a Christmas present.With nothing but agonising FOMO, and the inability to put down my phone because some stupid part of me still subconsciously believes that she might call me or text me. That it might be over. She might come back. Maybe?? Or maybe it’s out of anxiety that someone else will call me and I’ll hear those horrible words again “you need to get down here, to the hospital. Now.” About someone else I love. this is such a messy post. I just needed it out of me. I’ll never be able to explain who she was to me- she was more to me than ANYTHING I could hope to explain with words. She kept me alive. I fought for her, when I was sick it was for her. Not for me. And she disappeared, like a rug from under my feet, and then I moved away months later. I am still in my school city. I miss my family because they’re all I have left of her. And I can’t put down my motherfucking phone. Because what if?