It's been 29 months since I last took Citalopram. I haven't coped that well. I have tried my very best though. I've had days when I thought I was going to go mad with anxiety.

I don't know where I'm going with this post, but just felt the need to sit down and write.

I spoke to my mum on the phone a little while ago and it has left me feeling inconsolable. You could say my reaction is completely over the top, but I think if you'd lived a day in my shoes you would understand.

She managed to get sober in 2009. There were a few minor relapses, but on the whole she was (is?) a recovered alcoholic. Since I moved up to live near them 3 years ago she's been my best friend. She's been my only friend. She's listened to my soul searching, been patient when I've disappeared into my own thoughts- I must've been a right bore at times. Having anxiety was all I could think about some days. It's not all been doom and gloom though, I've had days when I've felt pretty good and not so worried, I've worked hard to be gentle with myself and carry on even when I've felt awful. We've laughed, we've gone shopping together, gossiped, bitched, everything you do with a best friend. And now she's had a drink.

I could tell as the conversation went on she had. Others would not be able to. Children of alcoholics have super-human sensors when it comes to detecting whether someone has had a drink! She was not slurring, but the conversation was erratic and jumped about and not very coherent. Even her tone was different. It's hard to explain. I just know. I told her I knew she'd had a drink and that it worried me greatly. She, predictably, denied it. I explained to her I know how this ends, and it is not well. You lose everything. Your family, your freedom, your dignity (I didn't say that bit to her!) I was gentle and suggested she book a doctors appointment to get some help. To be fair she did book an appointment after our call.

My reaction when I put down the phone overwhelmed me, and it surprised me.

Tears started and would not stop. As I am writing this they're bursting to escape again.

It is still so raw. I think I am well over the trauma of growing up with an alcoholic parent, and then this small incident happens and it completely engulfs me. It makes me feel helpless, alone and just very sad.

I moved up here to be near them. If I don't have her, then what is the point of being up here? I have no other friends. I've spent my whole adult life worrying about my parents. Trying my best to control the situation, trying to help. I've created a weird, unnatural co-dependency.

I'm berating myself for not just living my own life. My whole adult life has been about waiting for some sort of absolution or redemption from the abject pain I felt as a teenager and young woman. Trying to right wrongs, change my history. Feeling sorry for myself. Why can't I just be normal, get on with it? This last paragraph sounds so melodramatic, and a bit egocentric. Once again, as is a common theme with me, I feel so lost and so alone.

I've made the mistake, yet again, that if I try hard enough I can control things around me. I can stop bad things from happening, I can keep those I love safe and well and happy. I take on this role for myself. Fixing other's problems, even when they have not asked me to. Is it any wonder I suffer with anxiety. I need to let go. Let other people look after themselves. I wonder if my mother has had an impact on me in other ways, not just because of her alcoholism. I wonder if she's always looked to me for help, or if I've given myself that role.

My thoughts are shooting all over the place. A recurring one is thinking of friend's parents, and their relationship with them. Their very normal parent-child relationships. Most do not have to worry about them, they know that their parents are there for them, as the child, and feel content and secure. They can go out into the world knowing that their mum and dad will always be there in the background, getting on with their own lives. I wish with all my heart that was the case with me. But deep down it's not. I'd love to emigrate but I could never leave my parents, worrying about what might happen to them. I have a feeling the same consideration would not be afforded to me by my dad. But maybe he is right. I'm an adult for goodness sake. Why am I perpetually stuck being 15 years old! Why do I care so much! This is a bit of a mind-dump and will probably make me cringe tomorrow when I read it back.