Finding the Bright Spark

Today I was thinking about my almost manic need to live independently. I remembered my childhood and how I’d never had any sense of family. I was just one of three people who happened to live in the same house. I remembered how, by the age of around twelve, I couldn’t wait for my parents to go out occasionally so that I could have the house to myself. I remembered how, at around the same age, I went into hospital for an appendectomy and hadn’t wanted to go home afterwards. And when I did get home I sat by the open doorway in the sunshine feeling depressed. Now that I do live independently, I hate the thought of being in hospital.

I’m sure I’ve said all this before on the blog, but today it took me into a new realisation. I realised that the only time I felt comfortable and relaxed at home was when my parents were out. And that led me to think that I probably spent a large proportion of my childhood in a state of repressed and unrealised stress.

So where did it come from? Was it genetic, some abnormality of the brain, the general atmosphere of separation and tension in the house, or something I haven’t thought of yet? Maybe it was a combination of things, and I don’t suppose I shall ever know. Further, I don’t suppose it really matters.

But it was interesting to suddenly see the seminal roots of my lifelong tendency to be prone to both anxiety and depression, a tendency which is becoming more frequent and pronounced these days. And there is a little light to be found here. If my problem really is caused by some abnormality of the brain, it probably isn’t anything acute. It’s probably been there for most of my life.