The Vanishing of Brandyn Taylor

Kiera

I suppose if I am going to tell my story, which I am, I should introduce myself. My name is Kiera, Kiera Manford. I am 34 years old, and single. I've never been married. I passed all my GCSE exams with grades of A's and B's. I then went on to college, gaining a further three Grade A exams, and from there I went on to university, to study psychology. I attended a year of university before I began to have mental health issues. This interrupted my studies greatly. I became severely depressed, and my doctors tried a number of medications, none of which seemed to help me very much. During my second year of university I fell behind with my studies, and after many discussions with my tutors I decided to drop out. I couldn't cope with the schedule required of being in full time study. My dreams of becoming a psychologist were brought to an abrupt end. Ironically I became a patient instead, attending weekly sessions with my first of many therapists, Julia Swindon. Julia was a great therapist, with over thirty years experience in her chosen career. She was an older woman in her late fifties when I met her. At first I was a reluctant patient, I didn't want to be in sessions. I tried to make excuses not to go, and often cancelled at the last minute. I didn't want help, I didn't even want to admit I had mental health problems for a very long time. Gradually though Julia managed to get through to me, we struck up a good patient doctor relationship, and I began to realise how much help she was to me.

I found coping alone more and more difficult, and when I was twenty one I moved back in with my parents, who, by then, knew of my problems. I had multiple diagnosis over the years, clinical depression, paranoia, borderline personality disorder, anxiety, agoraphobia, and more. Half of those terms, and conditions, I barely had an understanding of. I didn't see any problems with my mind; to me my way of thinking, of acting, of being me, was normal. It was just me. But apparently my normal isn't societies normal, and so I began numerous treatments, medical, psychological, anything and everything that any half witted doctor thought might help me. I attended a few groups, they liked to call them support groups, or day groups. I made a few friends along the way, all people with varying mental health illnesses. Some I am still friends with to this day, and I'll tell you more about some of those as I tell you more of my story about Brandyn.

I tried to hold down a few part time jobs once I left uni, but never managed to keep them for long, once employers started to realise I had mental health problems they would begin pushing me out, or they would ask me outright to leave or be fired. So I eventually admitted I wasn't able to work, and living alone was probably never going to be possible for me. I hated being dependant on my parents again for so much, missing the freedom of living away from home at university. I could no longer come and go as I pleased, I always had to tell my parents where I was going. That would inevitably lead to twenty questions, about where was I going, why, who with, when would I be back, how was I getting there and back, and on and on and on. It drove me nuts and in the end I gradually stopped going out at all. I spent eighteen months at home, only leaving for my therapy sessions, doctors visits, and on rare occasions shopping with my mum. That's not to say I didn't have a good relationship with my parents, because I did. I just resented their interference in my life. 'Their house their rules' was always the excuse for any argument they failed to have a valid answer to. I lost a lot of friends during that time, I didn't want to invite people round, where they'd find out I lived with my parents. Those friends I did keep are still friends today, and I class them as extremely close and trusted friends.

During all of this I still yearned to see Brandyn as much as I could. He had gone to a different university than I had, and although he kept in touch it was seldom we saw each other any more. Yet I still classed him as my best friend, I still hoped that we could reconcile our friendship, and even still hoped that he would one day ask me to marry him. He had very few girlfriends while he was away studying, and I took that as a sign that somewhere deep down it was because he still loved me. I had one boyfriend, Chris, it lasted three months. It just wasn't destined to work. Probably because all I did in my head was compare him to Brandyn. I know I shouldn't have done, but I couldn't help myself. Brandyn had been my rock for most of my life. When he finished his studies Brandyn returned back to our town, living on the other side of town to me, and becoming a teacher at a senior school there. I thought that, with him now living closer to me again, I would get to see him more. I suppose I did see a little more of him, but it never felt like I got to see enough of him, I always wanted more.

I couldn't even start to count how many times I decided I was going to tell him how I felt, it could have been hundreds, or possibly even thousands of times. Each time I would tell myself 'this time I will tell him I love him." Of course I backed out every time. I would talk myself out of telling him, worried he would reject me and I would look like a fool. I knew he would never do anything to intentionally hurt me, but if he rejected me it would have broken my heart.

Things stayed the way they were for a number of years, until I met Rachel at one of my group day centres. She was new there, and I remembered how difficult it had been for me on my first day at those sorts of places. She stood near the doors, looking about anxiously and then staring at her feet for a while. Nobody else took much notice of her, even the staff barely spoke before rushing about seeing to other things. After ten minutes I decided I'd go and speak to her. I asked her if she liked scrabble, and she said not really but she'd play a few games with me if I liked. We compromised and settled on the game of life instead. As we played we began to talk about our diagnosis and treatments. We struck up an immediate friendship, and i found out she was two years older than me, single, and also lived with her parents still. Four months later we rented a two bedroom flat together, despite the worries of both our parents that we wouldn't be able to cope living alone. (I told my mother to stop worrying, I was living with Rachel not on my own. My mum didn't get my point.)

Various departments of the multi disciplinary team, as the hoards of doctors liked to say, had worked together to set up help for us. We would have someone call in once a week, to check we had food, we are taking our medications, and making sure we were generally coping. We still went to our day group once a week, and things worked out great for both of us. If I was having a bad day Rachel was there for me, she would cook and we would sit on the sofa watching romance films. (My favourite films.) If she was having a bad day then I would cook, and we would sit on the sofa watching action films (Her favourite films.)
Somehow we always managed to cheer each other up, and the bad days did get fewer and fewer. Fast forward to now, and we're still living in the same flat, and still doing well, mainly. There is of course the odd setback, there's always going to be with mental illness, but we always manage to bounce back.
I've even brought Brandyn to the flat, a lot, and him and Rachel get along really well.
That is, I did when I still heard from him.