To Mumzy,
We have always had a lot of mental illnesses in our family so it was really no surprise to me that I had developed depression and anxiety. I always knew what the symptoms were and how to deal with depression hypothetically. First step is to tell someone, second is to go to the doctor and third was the worse. The third step is to get put on happy pills and go talk about your feelings while sitting on some couch. I knew what was going to happen to me if I told you I had depression and I was not ready for all of the work it would take to fix me. Plus, it was always pretty obvious that I had anxiety and I was scared to tell you I now had another mental illness. As much as I tried to hide my illness you started noticing things. Remember when I was in the seventh 7th grade and you told me I was acting different? That's because I was acting different. I was trying to figure out how to hide all of these feelings inside of me so you didn't put me on happy pills and send me to sing Kumbaya with a therapist. Which is exactly what happened; you found out, put me on pills, and sent me to therapy. Despite all what I thought everything you did for me helped a lot and I think it's time to repay you with what I was actually feeling all those years by myself. It's time to tell you exactly when I developed my illnesses, the everyday battle that went on in with my emotions, and where I found my peace in. It's time you knew everything.
Our life wasn't always the greatest as you know. It was always filled with a lot of anger and hurt, but I had an escape. It was you mom. You were always telling me that everything was going to be okay and we would get through the rough patches, but some rough patches were worse than others. There was one rough patch that broke me. Seventh grade had been a horrible year, not just for me but for our family. Dad had got kicked out for hurting Tony and when I went to go to one of my best friends for comfort she wasn't there. She wasn't there and apparently dad thought getting kicked out of the house meant he didn't have to see me anymore. I was feeling all of these emotions at once and I didn't know how to handle them. So my body shut down, my mind shut down, and you weren't my escape anymore. You weren't my escape because what I needed to escape was inside of me and I was too scared to tell you what was really going on. I was too scared to tell you about the battles that were inside my head. Because of my depression and my ever so increasing anxiety, I was scared but too exhausted to fight.
The immense emotional battle between my depression and anxiety never seemed to end, constantly fighting for control of my emotions making me mentally and physically exhausted. It was my anxiety dominating my depression with nights filled with tears and no sleep. It was my depression starving my anxiety out by only eating when people were around. It was my anxiety overtaking my depression by writing everything down, hoping someone would find my journal and help me. I was always hoping. Hoping for a life, and hoping for a better death. Hoping you would finally notice my pain, but mostly just hoping you would notice how quickly I would run out of pain pills.
Did you know that if you take enough pain pills it will make you drowsy. Drowsiness means sleep, and sleep means solace. Solace from my emotions and solace from the constant bickering between my illnesses. I just wanted the pain to be gone, and sleep was my only option. It started off with taking a concoction of three or four pills when I felt sad or angry and just wanted to go to sleep, but it soon turned into a handful of pills every morning and night. I had figured out that taking four of my migraine pills would keep me awake during the day and a handful of Tylenol would put me to sleep at night. If I was too tired of pretending to be happy I could just go to sleep. If my emotions were too much for me I down a few pills and shut them off. I finally had an escape from the sleepless nights filled with tears and from life itself. I had the power to end all the pain right in my bedroom, but I never had the courage to. Except for that one night, though, when I was prepared to end it after years of hiding my pain. I had swallowed so many pills, I don't even remember how many...but I couldn't do it. I laid in my bed half conscious and emotionless, I was finally going to be free. Free from all the pain and free from having to tell you Mom, free from disappointing you. Angel had jumped up on my bed and started rubbing her head against my arm, purring. She was purring so loudly and I broke. I couldn't leave my cat, I couldn't leave my friends. I couldn't leave you. So I unsteadily walked out to get you to come into my room. My vision was filled with black spots and I feel like I was going to fall over, but I did it. I told you about the pills and well you know the rest. You found out all my secrets and now I'm on the road back to recovery, thanks to you Mom.
You may never understand what happened, but I appreciate how much you've helped me since then. Even though I hate therapy, it really has helped. Thank you for that. For now I just need you to trust me when I say I'm getting better. I need you to not think about the past, or the way my illnesses would fight against each other, and my addiction. I need you to focus on the now and help me fix my eighteen-year-old self instead of trying to fix my past self. I need you, Mom. I need you to love me for me.
Love,
Lexi
