I would think it as an injustice to myself to reframe from writing when for all matters---I write inside my head every night to no one-filling spaces into my subconscious for later dreams, and in some cases, feeding my nightmares.
Not today, I say, not today...
An update regarding prior post's titled (Tell My Mother i Love her).
My daughter is on her second antidepressant pill, changed from the first one of which made her question who she was, why she couldn't cry, and found herself battling mind blowing headaches.
This second pill had different affects, she was more herself, though, (at a shrill ) ten fold, unnaturally. Then paranoia set in fierce, of which created chest pain, and long hours on and off the phone trying to calm her down from various locations-work-boyfriends. It was a trying week with my heart bending and breaking. Somehow I managed to be a voice of reason for her, but the text messages still came in, just not as frequent. I can't tell you in precise words how it feels to watch your child suffer. But I refuse to think it'll get any worse, even if it does. And I refuse to give up wholeheartedly-this is my child.
She's a third week in on this second pill and I think I see a bit of a better change, however, our waiting on help for her has set her back today. I can't tell you the frustration we have with attaining help through Mental Health here. The waiting lists are long. It makes me wonder how many people take their life before they can get help. Today my daughter said, she could kill herself faster than getting help. Those words from her lips took the breath mine, and nineteen years flashed in front of me, "but you won't.." I said. "No..." she said.
That's all for today. I know it'll get better. I just know.