Читать книгу The Road to Resilience - Adam Przytula - Страница 26

When I was a teenager, I didn't know what self‐awareness was. By Year 8, my self‐esteem had spiralled downwards. I blamed my problems on other people: my parents for splitting up; most of the kids at school for bullying me. My ANTs were getting worse. Everyone hates me, I thought. I don’t have any friends. I’m ugly and I’m fat. The ANTs were making me feel depressed and anxious. Things were getting worse by the day.

During this time, there was one person in my life who I knew truly cared about me: my grandmother, whom I called ‘Oma’ because she was German. Oma and my grandfather (Opa) had fled Europe after World War II because he was Polish and their relationship was frowned upon at the time, if not yet downright verboten. Oma was a nurse, both during the war and when she and Opa moved to Australia. Oma was known for her caring nature. All of the kids on Oma's street used to visit Oma with scraped knees, insect bites and various other injuries. As he became older, Opa developed Parkinson's disease and Oma became his full‐time carer. I don't have a lot of memories of Opa as he tended to keep to himself, but Oma had a huge influence on my life.

Here is a photo of Oma as a young woman living in Germany.

When Mum and Dad split up, Mum moved out and Dad started working really long hours. He would be gone from 6 o'clock in the morning until at least 7 o'clock in the evening. Sometimes he wouldn't come home until close to midnight. Not long after, my brother moved out. I was on my own a lot. Time felt like a gaping hole and the hours seemed to stretch endlessly before me. I actually missed the noise of Mum and Dad yelling and arguing with each other.

Every morning, Oma would drive to my house to make sure that I got out of bed, ate breakfast and went to school. This was no easy feat for Oma. I'd wake up each day filled with a sense of dread. I knew I was going to get bullied, but I didn't know when it was going to happen. When I arrived home from school, Oma was always there, cleaning and cooking. Oma's presence was comforting. I soaked up the unconditional love and attention she offered me. At the same time, I dreaded the moment she'd need to leave to go and take care of Opa. Each evening, 6 o'clock rolled around and Oma's car would drive away. An overwhelming sense of despair would surge within me. The hours stretched endlessly before me. There was no relief in sight.

At the time, I didn't understand what was happening to me. I knew I was feeling depressed and anxious, but I tried to push these feelings down and ignore them. The only thing that got me through each day was the sense of comfort and unconditional love that Oma gave me. But my emotional state continued to plummet. I hated myself. My grades began to suffer. I started turning to behaviours that I thought were helping, but that were actually only making things worse.