Following my “dear mum I’ve got depression” post, I actually have been thinking a lot about my childhood and how much I struggled to communicate what I was going through.
I wish I could have told my parents what I was feeling, what I needed and wanted from them. But hindsight is a wonderful thing! In the process of moving forward, forgiving and forgetting, and growing, I have written a moving on letter: From young me, to my mother.
I’m scared. I’m scared of myself and my own brain. I’m scared that this illness is going to kill me. I’m scared that one of these voices will overtake my own. I’m scared you’ll give up on me. I’m scared I’m damaged. I’m scared that I might always be this way. I’m scared of everything. I’m scared of life, of experiences, of friends, of boyfriends, of change, of the new, and of the old. I’m scared of being scared. I live in true, unadulterated fear. I’m scared of coming home and wondering what mood he will be in. I’m scared of what he may do to me. I’m scared of what he may do to you. I’m scared in my own house. I’m scared of the shouting and of the throwing, and of the blood.
I’m sad. I’m sad about how my behaviour is affecting you. I’m sad about how it is affecting me. I’m sad that I can’t tell you everything that I want to say. I’m sad that I can’t understand it all. I’m sad that I’m different from everyone else. I’m sad that nobody understands me. I’m sad that I may never know a life of happiness. I’m sad that this is my life.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for being a pain and a pest and for my behaviour. I’m sorry for screaming and crying and hanging on to your leg. I’m sorry for worrying you. I’m sorry for causing you sleepless nights. I’m sorry for swearing and for physically hurting you when I lash out. I’m sorry for telling you I hate you, I don’t. I’m sorry for being this way, I promise you it’s not a choice. I’m sorry for making you cry. I’m sorry for keeping you home from work on all those days I didn’t want to go to school because of anxiety. I’m sorry for all the trouble I have caused. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from him, and I’m sorry that you didn’t know I wanted to. I’m sorry you didn’t know how much I wanted to rescue you. I’m sorry for it all.
I’m tired. I’m tired of this internal fight that lives with me 24/7. I’m tired of listening to the nasty voices in my head that only will me to be unhappy. I’m tired of pretending I’m ok. I’m tired of carrying on when I don’t feel like getting out of bed. I’m tired of not being able to live a normal life. I’m tired of missing out. I’m tired because I never sleep. I’m tired of making you embarrassed by my behaviour. I’m tired of lying awake listening to arguing. I’m tired of waiting for the next fight, the next bang, the next crash, the next scream.
I’m confused. What did I do to deserve this? Why me? Will I ever get better? How? Does anyone else feel this way? Will you give up on me? Will I give up on myself?
I’m hurting. This hurts. All of it. It’s hurting because I’m sad. It’s hurting because I want to die.
I’m lost. I don’t know who I am or where I am. I’m lost and scared and I need my mum.
I’m worried. I’m worried that this is all there is to life. I cannot go on like this. I can’t live a nothing life, in fear of fear itself, living on the edge; and constantly fighting myself to not just throw in the towel. I’m worried we’re all in danger.
I need you. Now more than ever. I need you to listen, to be patient, to be kind, to not patronise, to help me, to hold me whilst I cry and to wipe away my tears. I need you to hold my hand as we come up with a plan to make this all better. I need you to tell me I’ll be ok, and that you’ll be right by my side the whole way. I need you to promise that I need never feel alone. I need you to hold me up when I fall down. I need you to be my voice of reason. I need you to talk me down. I need you to be my strength, as I don’t have any left.
I need you to remind me why I should live, and why it is so important to keep fighting.
Love, your daughter.