Not As Bad As Yesterday

Last night was good. I had a glimpse of who she used to be. She wanted company because she was lonely. She wanted my help going through her makeup. She wanted me.

With this disease, I know she needs me. It’s a horrible thing, depression. To feel alone and unwanted. To feel like the world wants to devour you and leave no trace. To feel like you should help it along.

Depression is more than just feeling sad. We have a family member who says she’s been depressed before. She’s depressed right now because her dog got out of the house. She’s doing better though because she’s sure he’s getting care wherever he is. This isn’t the same thing. Being sad and depressed are different. Often with depression, you can’t put your finger on why you feel that way. You know that it isn’t that bad logically. It just feels that way.

I need to be there for my little girl. I’m going to be there when she’s getting awards I’m going to be there when the world seems to be attacking her on all sides. I’m going to be there when she has band concerts. I’m going to be there when she’s lonely and just wants some company. I’m going to be there.

Sometimes loving someone with a mental illness can be just as devastating as having it. You watch them battle demons that are often ignored, minimized by others, ones that can’t be seen. You see them cry as their world crumbles, refusing to get out of bed to eat or bathe. You are present as time and time again they are told to just be happy, wear bright colors, get exercise, eat better, get over it.

And you hurt with them. Their pain is yours. You get told to take care of yourself first so you can continue to care for them. I’m still learning that one. I’m not sure I ever will.

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Driving

Have you ever been driving and not wanted to stop? Not stopping at your destination, your home, at intersections….

I know that dealing with my daughter’s depression and anxiety are affecting my own. I am a moody person myself, snapping at my coworkers and letting my work ethic flag.

I’m doing what I can. I’ve gone to my own therapist. I’ve been put on medication. I’m hoping and praying it has the effect it normally does for me. Antidepressants tend to give me a flat mood. I’m no longer an emotional wreck, lashing out at everyone near me. It makes me feel nothing at all. I feel that this might be the best thing.

Sometimes as I’m driving to work, I just want to keep going. I want to just keep driving. Away from my problems. Away from my stress. Away from my life. It would be a quick fix and cause more problems than needed. It’s just a nice fantasy.

I have to be strong. I can’t give up on my daughter. I can’t give up on myself. I can only hope this makes me grow, make me stronger. I have to keep faith.

Mom, I Started Cutting

I was a teenager once. I know it. I was probably worse than she is. I just can’t seem to cope though. I’ve done everything I can think of, but it still feels like I’m drowning.

Mom, I started cutting.

Words you never want to hear from anyone. Words you yourself uttered so long ago. She was twelve when she started. It seems so long ago when in reality, it was nine months. She is cutting.

Those words started us on a downward spiral.

My life isn’t perfect, nowhere near it. My grandparents raised me. I’ve dealt with depression and anxiety most of my life. I was in an abusive relationship, getting pregnant at eighteen by him. The list goes on and on.

I’ve tried to be a good mom. I put her in private school since kindergarten. I’ve worked hard so I can afford to do the things she wants. I’ve gone without so she will never have to. I’ve wanted her to never have to worry about going through what I did.

Mom, I started cutting

Those four words have flipped my life upside down. Since that day, it has never been the same. Gone is my carefree daughter who would just sit in my lap, telling me about her day. She no longer sends me silly pictures or listens to Taylor Swift. She just isn’t happy at all.

We argue now, all the time. It’s about the small things. I want her to do her homework or clean her room. She has to go to school. We have to go to therapy. On and on it goes.

I will do anything for this girl, especially if it helps. In the pst eight months, we’ve had some major life changes. She’s no longer in her private school, opting to go to a diverse public school where she feels she can express herself. Her visits to toxic friends and family members are limited, no longer given free access to those that influence her to feel worse about herself. She goes through weekly body checks, making sure she isn’t currently self harming. She sees her therapist weekly and her psychiatrist monthly. She takes daily medicine. She’s been hospitalized.

All of these are large changes. Life hasn’t been the same. We have ups and downs. She has hard days, so do I. We will manage. I know we will. We always have in the past.

This blog is for me to share, to talk about the issues we are having. This is for me to get my own thoughts and feelings out. This blog is for me to show that mental illness is real, not some imaginary excuse. This is for me to know that I’m not alone.