Do you remember being 13 years old?
All those years ago, not a care in the world…the freedom of youth, the promise of an exciting future ahead, a big glorious life. Stardom beckons, fast cars, a closet full of clothes and huge fabulous houses…
13 didn’t look quite the same for me, 13 wasn’t a pretty place, 13 was pretty unlucky, if you believe in that sort of thing.
I’m not one to wallow in the misfortune of my early years because if truth be told I hold no ill feeling anymore for that time in my life, it was obviously how I was supposed to start my journey, it could have been worse and perhaps my life would not be the one I love now were it to have been different.
I’m happy to not ponder on the could of’s or the would of’s, I believe in the now.
I’ve vivid memories of that time, 13, I occasionally went to the local youth club and had only a handful of friends. I was very bright at school, bullied badly most days and didn’t quite fit in. It was also then I noticed that men would stare, older men, men that probably shouldn’t.
Having never had a Father I had no idea what that attention meant towards me but it wasn’t long before they made their intentions obvious.
The first time I found myself physically fighting someone off of me, someone who had no right trying to touch me, was on a night supposed to celebrate my coming birthday.. my 13th birthday. He was a Youth Leader, a person you are supposed to trust, at least twice my age… my story doesn’t get better, it gets worse, I have a list of people, teachers, bosses & friends fathers, their faces burned in my mind that felt it ok to try and take advantage of a 13 year old, well almost 13. An innocent child and a very vulnerable one. When I think back to those couple of years I think I must have been certainly wearing a sign around my neck because the occasions were all too frequent. Fortunately and I say that with irony, none of the bastards got what they wanted.
I’ll leave those stories there now, they’re gone but not forgotten and lead me to my point, I fiercely protect my daughter and she herself has witnessed me take down (verbally but ready to get physical) a man who saw fit to gaze upon her too long to be appropriate. I know she is in a safe place, she may be young, innocent and beautiful but vulnerable she is not, she has me and she has her Dad and she has our full attention and I am thankful for that.
Why did I start to write today? It wasn’t really supposed to be a conversation about the creeps on this planet but that year held a few memorable moments for me.
Christmas was particularly difficult. It always was a hard time for me, my brothers, my sister and my Mum, she didn’t love Christmas, it was a sad time for her and as children it was a confusing time. We had the decorations, humble though they were, presents a few but not notable, the dinner, the movies on the TV but mostly, none of the Joy.
For people suffering from depression the moments in life that are supposed to be joyful can be the hardest.
The life celebrations, birthdays, weddings… I think for many who suffer within themselves their daily mental struggle, the progress in others can bring on the feelings of anxiety and extreme depression.
Witnessing people lately, losing their life to suicide brings so many feelings to the fore for me. That one particular Christmas, when I was 13 my Mum tried to commit suicide. I’ll never forget, she’d taken to her bed earlier in the day, not unusual she slept often on bad days, I hated coming home from school and seeing the curtains drawn, it was a signal that all at home was not good, my Mum was having a bad day and we were all to walk on eggshells.
I cannot say how the day had been really, my memories before the moment just don’t exist. My sister no longer lived at home, definitely a contributing fact to my Mums current state of depression but certainly not her fault, it was the right time for her to go and not too long after, I had to do just the same, leaving my brothers was hard and one that still causes me a moment of pain when I think of it.
The boys were downstairs watching Ghostbusters, they were 8 and 4.. I walked up the stairs to the dark room where my Mum lay sleeping and quickly realized she had taken an overdose, not her first but the first that I were to witness, in person and very alone.
I called an ambulance, went to find a neighbor… cried..
I’m tough you see, apparently, that’s what everyone thought, it’s hard for them to imagine that I cried but I did and I cried inside harder, over and over. Were we not enough? Could someone not come and save my Mum and love her so much that she wouldn’t want to hurt herself anymore, that she wouldn’t want to leave us, alone. I just wanted the sad dark days to be over forever…. I think that was what she wanted and that’s why she tried to do it.
I can never understand the feeling that you are so desperate in this life that you want to leave everyone, all those that love you and need you, rely on you.
Understanding isn’t my place and I don’t want to understand, I never want to feel that way.
To understand means you have been there, depression is not something I have had to deal with, I have just had to live with it, although that in my opinion is equally as traumatic, especially as children.
There’s no blame in my heart. I’ve known dark, dark days but never enough to end it all, for that I am thankful.
After the drama of the event, when we were shuttled about. Logistics finalized, placed with family, had people talk over our heads in hushed whispers or not, about my Mum, we eventually went home. She was better, at least physically and we were just to wait and watch.
That’s what living with someone who suffers from depression or mental illness is like. A waiting game, treading carefully around them so as not to tip them over the edge, not to cause a disturbance in the quiet time.
If I could wish for anything it would be that she and others in my family never had to suffer from an illness that no-one seems to be able to help. It’s like watching someone serving a sentence in the prison of their mind and as I said before it is impossible to understand what they are going through.
Mum, this post is written in love, for you and for the people that are living with depression, for those that suffer the effects.
To talk about it, to raise awareness and to at least offer people some insight to how it effects entire families will maybe pave the way for a better understanding.
I think of all those that have lost their Mum, Dad, Brother, Sister or friend to this hateful disease and I hold out my hand to you and say sorry, it’s as hard for you as it is for those that were struggling.
Lets not be sad for those that lost their lives let us do something to help prevent them from doing so.
USA
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
