One of the hardest thing I ever had to learn to do was stand back and allow my kids to make mistakes. Unless people experience fuck-ups, disappointments and failure, they never really grow up. But, at time, my god, it breaks your heart to watch them struggle.
Some parents never learn that lesson.
You know you are capable. And strong. And resilient.
You know you can cope with anything. Nothing fazes you. You're tough.
You know you are eating too much and smoking too much and a bit grumpier, moodier, than normal but, because you trust your own strength, you know it is just short term. You'll have a good eye day, or they will find a treatment that works or your Mum will stop being a royal pain in the arse and, presto, you will have control again. You know so.
Then, one day, something silly and trivial happens. Something with which you have coped umpteen times before.
And you blow.
The next thing you can remember is being in a doctor's surgery, a week of your life totally blank and lost from memory, your husband pacing the waiting room, and the doctor handing you tissues for the tears and saying that dreaded word.
Depression
And you don't even argue. You take the script he hands you and trust him. Because you are not strong and you are not capable or resilient or tough. You are hopeless and helpless and know that it would be so much easier if you just didn't wake up tomorrow.
Help, and hope, come in many forms. Sometimes it is friends and family rallying round. Sometimes it comes in little green and blue pills. I was luckier than I deserve. I got both.
I may not be as strong as I thought but, during the last few weeks, I have been lent and awful lot of strength from people who love me. I know it is worth waking up tomorrow.
I've been bloody lucky.
