To My Mom, From My Bed in a Mental Health Crisis Center
As I write this I am laying in the bed of a mental health crisis center. You know I’m here.
You think I’m mad at you, but I just don’t know how to make you understand.
I know you’ve felt depression, I know you’ve had times you want to die. I know things aren’t easy for you. I would never compare our battles. For me, right now, the only way I can explain mine is that I am fighting with a dark cloud of thoughts — thoughts you might have been able to overcome, but I can’t.
I want you to know you have nothing to feel guilty for.
Nobody wants to believe her baby is depressed or wants to end her life. No parent wants to face the reality that she can’t help her child, no matter how much she wants to.
I’m sorry I’m making you feel so helpless. If you could help me, believe me, I would be flying high. You have enough love for me to fill me up to the top of my head, but sadly I’m leaking through holes my illness has poked.
You can’t understand this illness, and that is OK. It has to be. I hope you understand that sometimes, I will not be able to speak to you about the pain I feel and the way this cloud of darkness makes it hard for me to breathe. I hope you understand that I love you.
This is in no way your fault.
This illness is nothing to do with you, with the way you raised me or anything you said or did.
It is a predisposition, a path not chosen but laid out. And I believe we will get through it. I want to believe we will.
If I can channel the strength you have, I will be just fine.
I hope you know I’m trying my best, just like you.
Your little girl
If you or someone you know needs help, see our suicide prevention resources.
If you need support right now, call the Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.