Time to talk

Guest Post: Repeating History?

Today I have another guest post for Mental Health Awareness Month. Please be supportive, it’s a very moving post.

I’m terrified of turning into my Mother. But I fear that I am.

She has always suffered with mental health problems since she was a child. She first tried to commit suicide by gassing herself in an oven when she was very small. She was an abused child. She was abused by four men. Four men that she let me visit, and sleep over and go on holiday with. I will never ever understand that. Mothers are supposed to protect their children aren’t they?

We were both abused. Fortunately (I use the term loosely), I was only abused by two of them. Got to look on the bright side hey? No-one questioned why a 7 year old little girl developed OCD and washed her hands until they bled and there was no skin left.

My Mum started taking “Happy Pills” after my sister was born. Perhaps she had PND, I don’t know. I do know that I remember my Mum being in hospital and the day my sister came home and then nothing. It’s as if my memory was erased for a couple of years. I just cannot remember. When I was 15 I went on a day trip to Wales with my husband (then boyfriend), apparently we got home late. We weren’t given a time, so I didn’t really know I was late, but she hated me. I made her worry. She couldn’t cope with  me any longer. I had to go and live with my Aunty (and her paedophile husband). Great!! That night she took a cocktail of pills. It was my fault. I drove her to it. I was late home!

I could never forgive her for the suicide attempts. I thought she couldn’t love us enough if she didn’t want to live, and be with us. My heart still stops when the phone rings at a silly time of night/morning. I wonder if this is going to be the time that she manages to do it.

When my first son was born I suffered with PND. The Dr didn’t give me anti-depressants, he gave me some sort of strong vitamin tablet (from what I can remember). Eventually I got better, although still suffering from occasional bouts of depression and always with OCD and anxiety. As much as I try to fight it and I don’t want to be like my Mother, I do suffer from depression. Sometimes life just overwhelms me. My husband doesn’t understand it; he thinks that if he buys me things it will make me happy. Looking in from the outside I’m sure people would think I had nothing to be depressed about. It looks like I have it all. But we all know it’s not that simple.

I hate the feeling of depression. I can’t stand the feeling of having a black cloud over my head and just not wanting to do anything. I’ve recently had a baby and, although he is the most wonderful child, I feel the depression enveloping me again and I can’t stand it. A couple of weeks ago I was left on my own with the baby all day and until very late at night. He was teething and screaming and wouldn’t settle. I cried with him. I felt like screaming.  Eventually he went to sleep and I just flipped. I totally smashed up my bedroom. I smashed everything I could and when I’d finished it just wasn’t enough. So I started on myself. I’m now sporting a lovely 5 inch scar on my forearm. I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I just wanted to hurt myself. For days I had to keep it covered. Not only did I have a lovely slash, but I also had a nice black 2 inch wide bruise surrounding it. I’m just left with a horrible pink scar at the moment. I thought people wouldn’t notice. They do!!
They gasp and say “What did you do??”
 
I look at it (as though I’ve never seen it), and laugh “hahah silly me!”
 
And I lie!

 

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