My story by Annie

This story is one told from the perspective of a daughter (me) whose mother suicided due to a bipolar episode. I was 11 at the time. I am now 35 and only, during the past year, have come to realise that all the thoughts and memories that I had when I was a child were real. It was not my brain playing tricks on me.

Snapshots of my childhood:

My mother standing over me with a kitchen knife

A knife being placed to the veins in my arm

Being told by her that she would kill herself year in year out.

I loved my mother more than I loved myself. I would come home after school and she would be crying on the bed. I would hold her in my arms and let her cry. I knew the day she was to suicide. She hugged me, a goodbye hug, and left the house. At midnight I heard ambulance sirens go up the road. They were attending a car accident. It was my mother. She was dead.

My father abandoned me after my mothers death. He was elated and happy that she was dead. It was over. I was sad and full of grief. My life had changed forever. For the next 23 years I went through many periods of depression. I got interested in religion, for a while thought I was 'special'. Had a marriage. Had a divorce. Always had a fear of having a child, as you could promise a child anything but you couldn't promise them you wouldn't die on them. My father and I never spoke about 'mother'. I became an immaculate conception. No photos, no memories, no family love. I also lived a full life, travelled and achieved many goals, university being one.

When I turned 34 I knew I had to go through it. I had to break the mirror in my mind that stopped the truth. I confronted my father (again - for the 4th time) This time I found a counsellor that delved deeper than 'it began as a result of your mothers suicide'. No it didn't my life was odd before then...it began when I was 3. During the past year I have finally overcome my major depression demon. My problem was that my childhood was odd but I thought it was 'normal'. As I grew and saw how other families are my mind 'split' into two. I didn't know what was real. I now know that it was all real. My father has (at long last) confirmed that my mother was ill and that he hated her. The marriage was a farce. I now can see others who are depressed and realise that many suffer in silence like myself. Days on end lying on a cold tiled floor not eating, drinking water occasionally, writing suicide letters and working out what is the best was to end it. A knife slashing my veins often came into my mind and I often slept with a knife under my pillow. It bought me comfort. I have been 'stable' for 9 months now. Each day is better and the weight is lifting off my shoulders. I wasn't mad. It was my mind handling an extreme situation the best it could. My advice is to talk and communicate. Sites like this are invaluable, read others stories and know that you are not alone.