This is me... Who am I?

Let me paint you a picture of my struggles in life, but first let me tell you something about myself, I struggle with illnesses everyday, which wasn't found until about two years ago. I am over thirty and have been slowly dying since I was a little girl. The problem was, no one could figure out what was wrong with me.

When I was young, I had some trauma in my life, and my situation left me to the disadvantage when it came to medical treatment in our lives. When we were sick, we saw doctors, but if you didn't show physical signs, then the sickness was in your head. My mother however did see the signs and tried to get me to the right doctor.
As a small child, I wasn't allowed to go play with the other kids, and no one saw the harm in the fact I would only be allowed a small amount of time to play with the other kids. Until I was to out of hand for them to deal with. The fact is, I remember my bedroom more than I remember the sun in my childhood. But most of my memories are buried under dark clouds of medication, and I'm not sure even to this day what I went through, and I don't intend on searching into the matters further. From the age I would say, shortly before my 14th birthday, is when I started to come out of my fog, You see, my mother was convinced I just needed a pill to settle me down, but the problem was, I am not a problem child, I was forced to be alone, and I wanted to be free, Forced to wait for a man to do god knows what to, because of a sickness in his brain, Tumor, Who knew? The fact of the matter is, after everything that happened, After finding out why, I still don't know the full story of what happened when the lights were out in my brain, and that he took to his grave, and I will never know. But I wish him peace. I wish him happiness in his after life, and i wish his family peace, and I still love them all. He lost the fight with a brain tumor, and I may have gotten caught in the cross fires, but I survived and I've made my peace with the past.
My teen years wasn't much more of a pleasant walk either. Yes things were normal from the outside view, but a sickness had a hold of me, and it was eating away at me. My mother tried to find the answers, but the doctor couldn't find anything wrong. They kept telling me my pain, my tiredness, my everything, was in my head. I kept going to school and struggled to keep up with the other kids. I couldn't walk as fast, or run. I was barely able to move, i just wanted to sit down. But no one would let me. It was a dark cloud over me and I was weak from it. Which in turn drew in the bullies, they prayed on me every chance they got. I was lagging behind out of earshot of the adults, I stuck to the shadows to not be see. I closed inside myself. I locked my mind behind a door, and I just let life walk me where ever it wished, because I had left one war, for a new one.
By the time I reached my twenties, I was highly convinced, by society, I wasn't good enough. And beaten into submission by almost every guy I had come across. There were some, who tried to reach out and hold my hand, but my brain couldn't process love, because I didn't know love. As a child I was hidden away, and trained to be a servant to a man, who eventually, turned into the monster in my closet, or the glowing eyes under the bed, or the feel of someone in the room and not answering, because he was there, always there: and then went strait into a world unprepared to not get trapped over and over, but then isn't it ok? That was what I thought love was, and that is what I tried to find. Only to have it blown up in my face over and over again. All the while, I wished for someone who wouldn't touch me, just let me warm up to them, someone who would just wait and let me do what I wanted, and when the time was right, would let me open up to him. Someone who could take the dark cloud and tare it away from me piece by piece until he saw me, every scar, every blemish, Every pain, and still looked on me with wonderment and desire in his eyes. Someone who could see the creature they forced to hide, and thought she was beautiful.
Somewhere in my twenties, I found a man made me look twice. He lofted into my life with a knowing smile on his face, as if he looked right through every wall, every cloud, every mirror I had and saw me. The one hidden behind the locked doors, and for a moment took her hand and just admired her. And for once someone touched me, the one I kept hidden, and it filled me with emotions I couldn't understand. Over and Over I broke away from my life, just to feel him touch me, to feel him wrap around me, to have his lips dancing across my skin.... That's for another story.
Finally,  the doctors found a heart condition, and a liver condition. We thought we had some answers but they didn't explain everything. Like my massive weight gain, because, but this time I'd gained so much weight that they couldn't see past it. They believed I sat at home eating nothing but fast food and assumed I was killing myself. After having it pushed in front of my face so badly, i gave in and started to punish myself for not being skinny. I tried to throw up after every meal, but that quickly gave away to fuck that, when I had to gag myself to near passing out. So i started to over eat and then not eat for as long as I could. That just made me look like a pig every time someone ate around me. I was starving myself to loose weight that when food came around I just wanted to eat it all, but the problem is I knew i couldn't eat it. Then One day I couldn't take it anymore and I started eating, I was so hungry, I ate. By this time I was even hiding my struggles from my mother.
I lost my whole family, slowly one by one. At first I couldn't understand why they didn't love me anymore, but eventually realized, it wasn't that they didn't love me, its that it became too hard to watch me die. And I eventually had to come to terms with the fact, I will be alone in this struggle. I don't blame them in the least, they didn't understand what was going on.
I couldn't tell anyone about the voices in my head, or the shadows on the wall, or even the crippling fear of taking another bite of food, because it was all going to kill me. I begged my doctors to check my thyroid and they did, it came back normal, but it wasn't normal. I couldn't be so fucked up that I can't even get my weight under control. I started every diet, every pill i could afford that would make me loose weight, every treatment that wouldn't break the bank. I did everything in my power to just fight for my life.
There was always one place I could really find peace, and that was at my grandmother's house. When my mom was working, and my stepfather and her were out making their deliveries, my grandmother would let me come stay with her. I was free there, I was able to talk to someone, and my granny understood everything. She had lived her life, she had fought her wars. She knew what my problem was, and she helped me cope. My grandmother and my mother, were my heroes. I knew the battle they had fought, and I wanted to be half as good as they were.
Through the fight for my life, I have lived in many places, and only had my mother and granny as my best friends. We were bound by love and a bond of blood, but we all shared the same story. I couldn't blame them for not being able to cope with me dying, it wasn't until my grandmother was on her death bead they told me my liver was dying, and there wasn't anything I could do. I spent the next few years crying, screaming, pitching a fit, getting angry, smoking, drinking, but not much, and just saying fuck you world. Because here, through everything, This fight was a loosing battle, and I couldn't fight any longer. The day my grandmother passed, I shut down. I turned off, and I gave up. My mother and I moved into a small mobile home and I sat watching TV, broken and turned off. I couldn't find any light inside anymore.
Along the way my mother's health started to diminish and she was mostly in her bed. The depression eked off of me and poisoned everything around me. I knew I couldn't take care of her any longer and if she were to stay she would die also. I sat down with her and told her, I can't care for her anymore, that I was too sick and I needed help. So my mother took a vacation to see my brother's and soon chose to live with them. Meanwhile, my love moved in to care for me.
It was a long first year, I was in deep despair, and he had his demons to fight also, but he let me pitch my fit, he let me scream till my throat was raw, he let the tears come, he let me blame myself, he let me tare my self apart, he let me destroy my own mind, He let me shatter my brain until I was torn into a hundred different characters, He let me try on personalities, and dismiss them, he let me feel the pain, he let me fight the hurt, he made me care for myself. And when I was sitting there curled up in my room, broken, defeated, tired, and just our right ready to go, and death didn't come, there he was. A warm smile, a cup of hot tea, and a gentle hand. He fed me a little food and nodded. The softest hint of understanding, and his words rang through my mind, "Are you done yet love?" The words coursed through me and I looked at him and with everything in me knew I wasn't. I looked at him and said, "No." And I started fighting again.