Losing a parent and it's impact on my mental health

I literally don't know how to start this post, I've written about 100 different openings and I'm not feeling any of them. This is a story I've been wanting to tell for 6 years, but have never been able to get the right words out.

On this day 6 years ago I lost my step-dad Steve aged 39, he battled non-hodgkin's lymphoma, a type of cancer, on and off for around 3 years. Steve was pretty much my dad, I never called him dad as my biological dad was around until I was 10, but my dad decided to cut me out of his life for no reason Christmas 2010. I say no reason but I'd already realised that I wasn't wanted anymore, I asked him to sign to allow me to change my surname and I refused to stay at his house anymore. My dads a lost cause, but I had Steve, I had his surname, and maybe one day he would have adopted me.

Whilst Steve was ill, I never really thought that he might die. He was a very strong character physically and mentally, earning his fearless title. When the chemo made his hair fall out, he was already bald and so I didn't see much of a difference. As I've got older I can see how his weight dramatically decreased, he had no eyebrows and his skin was very pale. At such a young age I didn't fully understand, but I knew it wasn't good. Steve went into remission several times, and each time it came back. Steve went through several rounds of chemotherapy, radiotherapy and a bucket load of drugs. My sister and I spent a few weeks at our Nan and Grandad's whilst Steve had a stem cell transplant, after months of searching for a match. I was quite selfish at that time, I've always been a person that needs my own space and I didn't have that for a while, I was angry that I was suffering when I wasn't the person who had cancer, I was angry that cancer was even in our lives. I have flashbacks of white ambulances in the morning hours, exploring a number of different hospitals - which I am now pretty much petrified of. 

There are happy memories too, but I'm crying now even thinking about them haha. Me and Steve weren't the kiss and cuddle type, but new years eve 2012 I felt the urge to just cuddle, and we did, and we watched the fireworks on tv because he couldn't move from the sofa. Steve was also a massive Eminem fan, and one day we just sang the whole of when i'm gone to each other - I had no idea how much this song would come to mean to me. On January 20th 2012, mum and Steve renewed their vowels. I never knew why it had happened so fast, I was just buzzing for the party if I'm honest. It wasn't until the actual ceremony that I knew something was wrong. I later found out that Steve had been told his cancer was now terminal, and he didn't have much longer to live. I'm grateful that my mum never told me, I'd never have been able to live the next 7 months as normal as we did. 

A few days before Steve died, we had a family BBQ, I remember it being such a hot day, and Steve had to go and lie down with his oxygen - this was a normal occurrence at this stage. That night I went for a sleepover at a friends house, and I called up the stairs 'Goodbye'. Mum shouted down to say that Steve said he loves me, and the last words I said to him were I love you too. I wish I'd gone up, but I never knew. The night he died I knew, I stayed awake all night and when my mum's car pulled up in the morning with her in the passenger seat, it was confirmed.

Steve's funeral is a blur, all I can remember is lighting a candle on Steve's coffin and holding it in the air. I was an absolute mess and the priest tried to get me to hold it up for the entire of 'Run' by Leona Lewis - I was mad but felt obliged and I'm glad I did. The priest also read out my poem and I remember it made most people cry. I've shut out the memories of the rest, I wasn't able to go to the cemetery for months after as I was having horrible flashbacks of the burial. 

The next year I felt like I became the support, mum was understandably not stable, but she did more than anyone could have asked of her. Her side of the family abandoned us, my aunt was pregnant and my Nan was happy that the 'attention' was no longer on us. After a year it was my turn to grieve, and it hit me hard. I was 15, making excuses to leave school, not eating, having breakdowns in class, and having multiple sessions a week with multiple different counselors. In the space of a year I was seen by so many different psychologists, and no one could help me. I felt let down by the system and struggled to find reasons to keep going, I was at the lowest I've ever been.

We moved to Redditch in 2015 and things improved. Over time I've learnt so much about myself, and accepted that I'll never be completely okay. I'm a very emotional person, I struggle to deal with the smallest amount of stress, I get anxious about the smallest things, and sometimes I have bad episodes where I can barely get out of bed. With acceptance I've managed to get some help, but I still struggle to maintain friendships and relationships because people don't understand. My mum is the only person who has been through it all with me and more, and I sometimes believe that she is the reason I'm still here, I am beyond grateful to have her in my life.

I've wrote this post around 1000 times over the last 6 years but never been brave enough to post it. I feel as though getting this out of my mind is another small step towards moving on, and there are people out there who will be able to relate, and maybe even find comfort in my words. Although I struggle, I'm so much stronger than I was, and I know Steve would be proud regardless.