12/29/2023 0 Comments My friend committed suicideNobody could answer the fundamental question that underpinned it all: How do you make someone want to live?īut while our relationship had changed for the better, her depression had not. Galloping through the mountains and fields outside the city, she seemed at peace. Lifelong equestrians, we began to ride together again. Though I went to school about 45 minutes from my parents' house in Denver, living apart gave my mother and me the breathing room we needed to actually enjoy each other's company. I had a 4.0 GPA, a steady boyfriend, and had reined in my partying. Leaving home offered me the space I needed to mature, and I wanted to prove to my parents-and myself-that I was capable of being more than just a wild child. Who would take care of us and keep things running at home? What would people think? We just pressed on as best we could. "You can't just send mommies away ," he responded. I once asked my dad if we could send her someplace to get well. We never staged an intervention or solicited the help of family and close friends. Many families have a secret around which they orbit my mother's illness was ours. She'd lash out harder I'd drift further away. My mother took my behavior personally and saw my headstrong independence as a profound rejection. I was angry and hurt by my mother's illness, anxious about her moods, and I drowned my emotions in alcohol and drugs. But in reality, I saw a therapist once a week and took anti-depressants. From the outside, I had it all: popularity, boyfriends, varsity letters in field hockey and lacrosse. My driver's license was revoked for reckless driving. ![]() By 16 I had been arrested for underage drinking and smoking marijuana. Her depression fueled my tumultuous adolescence. We loved each other deeply, but we didn't know how to get along. A sarcastic remark about her key lime pie led to a suicide attempt the night of my high school graduation. Borrowing her hairbrush started an all-out fight. ![]() At home, my mother's depression made her mean, easy to ignite. She didn't like to do many of the things mothers and teen daughters do together-shopping for clothes made her feel fat, eating at restaurants stressed her out. She held onto to us so tightly that by the time I reached adolescence I chafed under the weight of her love and need for my affection.
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