I didn’t tell you

You told me you were getting married and we can no longer have any communication. You said that to have a healthy marriage you needed to cut off all ties to me.

I respected you and your wife. The seven years of history we had vanished on your wedding night.

But today you came back. You are speaking to me in the same loving caring way you did then, as if not a day went by without us speaking. You tell me the pain you felt, the regrets you had, remind me of the good times we had, the unbreakable bond we shared. You relive our best moments and our worst. We cry together, we laugh together, for a brief moment we are one.

You tell me that you love me and that had you not had to leave you would have married me. That you fantasised about being mine forever. That you wished you could have stayed for me.

I didn’t tell you that if you showed up at my door and asked for my hand I would give it to you. I didn’t tell you that for years I compared every relationship to what we had, that no one measured up. That I protect my heart because I can’t bear it breaking again like it did then. That I have never loved another man as I loved you. I didn’t tell you that I secretly wished to hear that it was over with her and you are coming back to me.

I didn’t tell you out of respect for you and your wife and your new baby boy.

I didn’t tell you because I love you.

My heart is broken 💔💔💔

As a young adult I was in a program for at risk teens/young adults. I spent two years living there from age 18-20. It was a wonderful program and I learned a lot in my time there as well as made friendships stronger than blood.

My best friend there was with me for almost both of the years. She was a sister to me. We lived together, ate together, went to therapy together, partied together, we were inseparable. She obviously had an array of issues as did we all. Our issues took a toll on us and sometimes the pain was too strong. She chose to alleviate the pain with drugs and alcohol. I’m not going to lie and say I didn’t partake at all. I partied with her a good amount. We would go out drinking, get high, come back after the sun came up every now and again…We were teenagers after all. For her it got much more intense and rapidly. We watched her deteriorate further and further into the hole that is substance abuse knowing that we were getting closer and closer to losing her to the drug. At that point an intervention was planned.

I was 19 years old and I had to sit down across from my best friend, my sister from another mister, and tell her that if she didn’t get help I couldn’t associate with her anymore. My heart wrenched and I didn’t want to do it. I didn’t want to lose my closest friend. But I knew if I didn’t take part in the intervention I would be enabling her and helping her kill herself. So I forced myself to suck it up and take part, giving her the ultimatum of going to rehab or losing everything.

My dear friend whom I still loved like a sister chose rehab…but on the condition that none of us never contact her again. We were cut off completely. She was getting clean and I was watching from a distance. I saw her getting better. I was sure we’d reconnect once she got herself together and was thinking clearly again. But she held strong on her promise…we were cut out completely.

Ten years I watched from the sidelines as she got healthier and healthier, helping others get better, living life again, enjoying life again.

I came to terms with the distance. I was willing to give up the friendship for her health and happiness. She was better and that’s all I could have ever wanted for her. I was so happy for her! We may have been astranged but I still consider her my sister.

A few months ago I heard news that she was moving back to America. I did not know exactly where or why but I knew she moved back. I was nervous about the move but hopeful. As I couldn’t intervene anyway I just watched and prayed that she was strong enough. What I didn’t know was that she was also suffering from severe depression and that was a big part of her decision to move closer to family.

This morning at six AM I woke up to my Facebook feed and WhatsApp messages filled the most horrific news imaginable. My best friend, my sister, took her life over the weekend.

I have no more words.

Keeping it under the rug

There’s one form of childhood illness that isn’t spoken about or heard about except in extreme cases. We keep these illnesses tucked away under the rug. We keep it to ourselves. No one needs to know he’s got issues.

“Just be normal when we’re around people. Don’t let the family know. Tell your teacher you had the flu.”

If he broke his arm he would be having kids signing his cast and bragging about the exact moment the bone cracked. If he had diabetes he’d show how the prick doesn’t hurt him and how he takes insulin shots without even wincing.

So why is mental illness different?

Did he choose to be ill? NO

Did he do this to himself? NO

Is he different or dangerous? NO

So why the fear? Why the stigma? Why the hiding?

Childhood mental illness exists and is more common than you’d expect. Children’s psychiatric wards (ages 6-12) are overfilled. The number of children being treated by a psychiatrist is astronomical…yet we still feel the need to hide it under the rug.

I say we allow our children what we were denied… A VOICE!!!

CHILDHOOD MENTAL ILLNESS IS REAL AND ITS OKAY!!!