Hi, I'm new here. I'm sorry it's long, but this is something I've never told anyone fully and googling my problems has run dry. It's just been Christmas day with my family and we've all gone to bed, but I've been crying alone for 3 hours now. I've been to the doctor about anxiety in social situations, work and university and received a letter to give to the university and 50mg anti-anxiety/depression medication to take everyday. I've been taking it everyday, but it doesn't seem to be helping. I am in last year of univrersity now ans the stress to get a first and to be as good as my twin sister (a year ahead of me) is getting worse than ever. I've always felt like the mistake twin and that I've had to earn my parent's love and respect by doing well at school as I am automatically lesser than my twin and my younger prodical sister. I get 1sts but I am constantly afraid that I will fail and feel guilty when I am not studying, only sleeping for a few hours a day, or not at all, constantly rechecking my work and submissions. It is made worse by the fact that I have always felt that my family have not understood me, which I think is mostly my fault. Since I was about 8 or 9 I felt lumps in my breasts and hearing stories of my grandfather and greatgrandfather, a young girl in my school and my mum's childhood friend dying of cancer, despite my family's strong faith I knew I had cancer and that I had to hide it from my family. I don't know if I hid it because I was afraid to accept it, that I wanted to live a normal childhood, that I wanted to protect them from the pain or if I didn't want their pity. Even when I was 16 and groomed by a man in his 30s for 6 months I feared telling anyone, or taking actual action to resolve the issue, I just quit work and ran away. I have always felt that I had to solve my own problems and if I survived the ICU at birth then I could survuve cancer alone. I developed some OCD-ish symptoms believing I would die or have bad luck if I didn't follow certain rituals. I thought that a sudden death would be better than a long drawn out one. Fear everyday that I would not wake up in the morning and the constant pain in my chest that kept the thought pressent pressured me to try and achieve the very best as my legacy. I also argued a lot with my mother. children and teenagers always argue over stupid things, I look back now and see how silly some arguments were, but knowing I may die that day I felt I needed to stick to my principles and stick out the fight and win, only driving a wedge between me and my mother and solidifying my identity as the difficult child. My mum has said that I have always been a difficult child since I was a baby, always having tantrums. My mum also told me that I was narcicistic like my grandmothers (who gave my parents childhood trauma with their mental games and mistreatment). I also felt anger and resentment that none of my family knew my mental and physical pain, and that I couldn't bring my self to tell them and that they couldn't tell that I was unwell. My sisters also suffer from physical manifestations of mental illness (self harming and collapsing etc), so I felt that my feeling were not valid or big enough. My mother has also been telling us over the past 2 years that my father is cheating on her with pur illegitimate older cousin and that he will leave us and we will need to support her and ourselves and whether or not she should divirce him first. IDK whether she is putting undue pressure on us or as she assures me, just making sure we are informed of the worst reality to come. But last year (2018) I finally thought, 'I'm not dead yet' and 'I haven't planned this far' and that I felt I was sick of being sick and I wasa going to go to the GP on my own, get a diagnosis, get the tumours cut out and go through chemo, even if it meant doing it alone. I even thought about moving out so that I could hide it from my family. I cried all the way to work, during work and all the way back home on the bu, but finally got the courage to tell my mum (cause I couldn't afford to move out) and she helped me book an appointment. I went to the GP and it turned out I don't have cancer, I never did, I have a fibrocystic condition that causes large cysts to form in my breasts and a lot of fibrous tissue to form as scar tissue right up to my lymph nodes. It is attatched to my chest wall and the nerves there and consists of half my breast tissue. It doesn't ussually affect children, or women under 30, but I guess that's just my luck that I got a condition so young I didn't understand what it was. I has no known cause or cure and pain killers won't dampen the pain. It will only begin to go away at menopause. Immediately I felt so embarrassed and in anguish that I had wasted my life thinking I was going to die and fear that growing up I had made no plan of adult life. I also fell into a big slump of the new realisation of the chronic pain I was going to have to deal with for the rest of my life and how I was going to get a man to love me when I have hard cysts for breasts. Over the past few months as my friendships have broken down (my sisters say my friends are toxic) and my mother saying that I am blaming her for my problems, and getting bit on the face by my dog and my exams and my dissertation, it has all got too much and I can't sleep, eat and cry a lot, I have come to the realisation that I can't cope with this problem, but I has been a problem that I created. Do I have the gall to ask for help when it is me whose fault it is? If I have childhood trauma then surely it is of my own making. Yet now my mum and sisters know I can't help but think that that still don't understand, like they're trying to brush it under the rug, like they think that when I stay in bed that it's becuase I'm lazy and not because my chest is in a lot of pain. Is it just complaining to keep on telling them. My mum and sisters tell me that when I tell them my problems I am a drama queen and just complaining and that I should not tell them. I spent all my childhood till I was 17 telling all my problems to my teddybear (litterally having a conversation), and now I open up no one sympathises and takes it into consideration on a daily basis, only when I breadown crying does the understanding voices and huggs come out. I don't want to die or permentantly hurt myself, but perhaps not getting myself diagnosed was a form of self destructio and why? or when I walk down the road and wonder what would happen if I just walked into oncoming traffic or if I just never came home and lived on the streets. Am I just an attension seeker or do I actually have an innocent mental illness.