my thoughts at 12 a.m.

3/1/17

I knew, way before it happened how hard it would be to move on. I knew that all I'd want is to forget, to erase the pain that now consumes me. Its hard to admit that for three years I spent my time preparing for that one night. You see, there comes a point in life where you've been around death too long, you learn the signs, and each day that passed proved that death was near. I knew it, no one had to tell me so. My mom was dying and there was nothing I could do because at one point it was actually going to happen. You can't cheat death, you can't play god, and whats meant to happen will happen, sooner or later.

How do you continue when the one person that kept you on this Earth is gone? Alive for 18 years, and being depressed for eight of those years really changes the way you view life. Depression starts off slow at times, just sadness here and there, and at the age of 10 you really don't know what that can lead to. As the years go by you develop suicidal thoughts, but they still mean nothing, because whats a 12 year old gonna know about depression and suicide. Then out of no where you stumble upon books, and social media that deal with mental illnesses, you start reading what they have to say, the stories, the way they feel, and you end up relating to that more than you thought. You keep reading, and then diagnostic tests  pop up and you take them, only the results agree with what you're feeling, you are defiantly depressed, suicidal, with who know how many more mental illnesses, the problem is you don't know how to speak up because at this point theres more to worry about. At the age of 14 your rock, your whole world, your mom suffers a stroke, and that just starts up a snowball effect. 

See, depression was already a big part of your life, but the pain you felt, was some what bearable, then your world falls apart and the pain becomes too much. You feel like you're losing your mom, you feel like you're losing control of what can cause you pain, so you take thing into your own hands. One night, you find something that will let you control your pain, even if its just for a few minutes at a time. You start to cut, you use what you can and with a razor from your old pencil sharpener you make the first cut. The first cut turns into two, and as the minutes tick by you end up with ten fresh cuts. When your out of that trans, you realize what you've done, theres blood on the floor, and all over your arms. At first fear over takes your thinking, but then as you clean up the wounds and the pain kicks in, satisfaction starts to settle in. Moms in the hospital, you're home falling apart, and family is everywhere but no where at all. They worry about mom, leaving you in the sidelines hurting, and all you want to do is tear yourself apart because thats the only pain you can control.

Its July now, seven months into the year and your mom is still in the hospital fighting for her life. You're home with depression at its fullest and suicidal thoughts every minute of the day. Your arms? They're covered with scars and fresh wounds, and every day like clock work, ten more cuts are added. The sad part is your family doesn't know, and only three lucky people know about your pain. Although thats not something to be lucky about. From July to September you attempt five times,  each one with the strongest pain killers available and a few sleeping pills, but each time you end up waking up. When you wake up you can't help but cry, be angry and sad at the fact that you're still on this Earth, as well as the fact that all you want is to die. You think to yourself, how did I get here, when did I become so sad, why do I want to stop living. Anger sets in, and when family's around all you want to do is raise your sleeves and show them the damage, you want to scream at them and make them help you. Yet, you never do, because doing that means taking away your only way of controlling the pain.

All of a sudden right before your birthday, mom wakes up, she gets therapy, and is on the road to recovery. When you speak to her she wishes for you to have a quince ( like a sweet sixteen but for when turning 15 in Mexico) and all you can say is no, you don't want one. She questions it, but you can't go out and say that your depressed and cutting yourself. Along the road the party happens and the scars and cuts are covered with makeup, and any other way possible. That day you feel everything: happy, sad, angry, excited, depressed (of course), and suicidal... One of the worst and best days of your life. During the party everything is fine, but its like in Cinderella as soon as the clock hit 12, everything changed. Your mom went back to the nursing home, you went back home, and the voices started calling your name. When your least expect it you're in the bathroom covered in blood, this time its not ten fresh cuts, there's only two, and the deepest ones you ever made. Your only concern becomes how to stop the bleeding, eventually it stops, but the cuts are too deep to hide, and the pain is too real. 

In October you go into rehab, it helps for the time being, but you know that as soon as you're out the depression will come back. Fast forward from October (2013) to 2015 depression has complete control over you, but in 2016 something clicks and you start to recover. Your mom is better, she's home now, you're starting to be happy again, but the signs become to real and the feelings come back. As the months go by and its now summer of 2016 you realize somethings gonna happen, that your mom won't last that much longer. How you know this, it can't be explained but you know its true. The up coming months they tear you down, and even though you try to be strong, you can't because its too much. You think cutting will help but it doesn't, the pain is still there and the effect isn't the same as before. October comes along and you just feel it, the end is near, and the time with your mom is coming to an end, but what can you do other than watch... She's slipping and you're drowning again, but you have to be strong, because if not you then who? October 16 2016 your mom passes away, right in front of you, right after you get to tell her that you'll be okay, that she can go. Yet months later you sit in your room and your realize that she's gone, that no matter how you try to mask the pain, or how hard you try to forget her, you can't change anything. She's gone, and you remember that the only reason you didn't end things the years before is because she was still here, but now she's gone, so you think to yourself  whats the point of living anyway. She's not here and you want to die.