Sara Teasdale's poem, I Shall Not Care was published when she was 31.  That was 17 years before she committed suicide, although it has been credited as her suicide note.  Like so many depressed people, Teasdale seemed to battle her disease long before taking her life.  There seems to be more of a clarification every year, but there is still a general perception of suicidal people as lacking some kind of intelligence, or as weak minded.   In reality, depression tickles at the cerebral areas, hoping to grip and suffocate the hope living there.  The depression so gripping that there is no escape, no hope left for those so full of promise and ability.  The tightening happening so completely that the bits of hope drip through the vise and leave a trail with the shell of potential crumpled at the end, forever where they are.

   Last week we spent the day together and than I got a text, "Mom, I don't want to talk about it.  But I want to hurt myself so bad."  I ran to her room and she was sobbing, through the tears she said, "I don't know what is so wrong.  Nothing happened."  Through my broken heart I told her it is the disease.  I told  my newly minted teenage daughter that her mind didn't work right.  I told her I was proud of her for resisting the urge to take a razor blade to her baby skin, her young skin with so much life inside it. At the same time as the words left  my lips, my heart broke and bleed my gratitude that she is still with me, my gratitude that she has not let that life seep through her body in a pool of mortal remnants. 

     She feels as though she has already lived all the life she is entitled too.  She feels as though she is robbing time from someone unseen.  She feels as though she cannot steal their time any longer, as though someone is being harmed each time she takes a breathe she does not feel belongs to her.  She feels hopeless, unworthy and out of place.  She does not feel hope anymore, it has been squashed by the endless cycle of wanting a better tomorrow.  Then tomorrow gets here and it is not better, it is another reincarnation of yesterday.  This is the silencer of hope, the silencer that leads to the deadly act when there is no hope left at all.

      She told me that there are days she doesn't want to be here and there always will be.  I know this is a life-long battle and I ache for her.  I ache with the endless stress of not knowing how to stop it.  I feel like the ending is already written, with no way to change it.  I am simply barreling toward it with insignificant actions, trying as hard as I can to get nowhere.  I feel as though I cannot save her, no matter what and it scares the hell out of me and makes me mad at the same time.  Trying to save someone that doesn't want to be saved is a terribly helpless feeling.  Ernest Hemingway pointed out that, "The sun also sets."  I am trying very hard to not let it set on my daughter until her entire day is done.

     Her fourteenth birthday is Wednesday.  If she can make it until then it will be one more year that she lived, that she reached toward what she can be and what she is.  One more year that I kept her on this earth to live her wonderful life, the one with so much to give.  She has the ability to matter.  She can change the world.  Why can't she see how much she matters.  

     I read somewhere that more than 50% of adults with mental health issues were diagnosed at the age of 14.  This is probably a life-long disease and one she must have in order to reach the depths of the human soul that she must see in order to bring things to light, but it is unfair.  I wish she could get some kind of reprieve for even a small amount of time.  "The darkness followed me as I grew up." -Peter Zeller

I Shall Not Care

WHEN I am dead and over me bright April

Shakes out her rain-drenched hair,

Tho' you should lean above me broken-hearted,

I shall not care.

I shall have peace, as leafy trees are peaceful

When rain bends down the bough,

And I shall be more silent and cold-hearted

Than you are now.

“Hope” Is The Thing With Feathers

BY EMILY DICKINSON

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -

That perches in the soul -

And sings the tune without the words -

And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -

And sore must be the storm -

That could abash the little Bird

That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -

And on the strangest Sea -

Yet - never - in Extremity,

It asked a crumb - of me.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places." -Ernest Hemingway

I have two wonderful children and they are the center of my responsibility, thoughts and life.  They have divinely given talents that make their capabilities unlimited.  I am amazed at the thought of where they can go and what they can do in this life.  They have the potential to leave the world a better place, the very most desire that burns inside all souls.  They can actually make their mortal time matter.  Knowing their potential makes their trials during their sojourn on earth have a point, but they don't make it easier to watch as the person that loves them most, as the person that wants them to suffer the least.

My thirteen-year-old daughter has depression.  It is not just  a down-in-the-dumps, teenage, she'll get over it, sort of thing.  My thirteen-year-old daughter has depression.  It is the I spend nights watching her sleep and hoping that she will still be here in a week, check her arms for self-harm, what does that phone call from her principal mean, kind of depression.  It is a terrible thing to watch because she hurts so bad and I can't do anything about it.  Watching her waste away is watching what I love most leave to be replaced by a shell.  Instead of a bright laughter, her eyes spill tears of frustration and hopelessness.  She doesn't want to be sad.  She doesn't want to be permanently broken beyond repair.  She wants to be normal and cry over boys, not numbness.

The depression also feeds my motherly insecurities.  Every mother knows that feeling not being good enough. All of my children's faults can be traced to my lack of good parenting, or the influence of my bad choices. Their lack of perfection has to be my fault because it could not be theirs.  This is the downfall of all mothers.  We simply are not good enough for our own standards, and therefore carry all responsibility for our loved ones' lives.

It is a difficult disease that robs the victim piece by piece, until they are no longer the same person.  It is also a shameful disease that has always been misunderstood.  I can't tell anyone my daughter is this sick because their contempt will not make it easier for her to heal.  I can only trust those professionals I have hired to try to find her cure, hoping that they do before her will to live completely distinguishes into darkness.  It is very much a race to find her strength and to mend her brokenness, without a known deadline, or a known fix.

I have kept this blog a little impersonal and at an arm's length.  I love to write and I have used it as an outlet for pent up feelings, but I have left the specific causes of those feelings out of my writing. Reading back over my posts I see that I have switched to a less selfish view now.  I also see how incredibly sad and wanting to be hopeful I was. I have read that divorce makes those involved go through the grieving stages and I whole-heartedly agree. I guess today I must be the in I want to have fun stage.

I have thought how I would describe the things that encompass me.  Like all of us modern day women, I have many roles.  Some of them I have taken on because of a previous role.  So here goes with a description of what I am. First and foremost, I am a mom to two amazing kids.  They are honestly people I would have chosen for friends if I had not been so incredibly blessed to be their mother.  I admire their shared grit and the individual traits they have as well.  They are very different people, my son has an extreme amount of self-control, while my daughter (like me) has none.  He is more thoughtful and she completely careless.  He tactful and her tactless.  They are so great and I love them both with my entire being.

Because I am a mom I am also a member of the LDS church.  That might seem like a simple answer, but it is the driving force that keeps me rooted in the church when things are difficult.  I have had many experiences that have proven without a doubt that there is a God who is my Heavenly Father,not just a far away diety, but MY Heavenly Father.  I appreciate that knowledge and the assurances that I have felt from him.  To not acknowledge His existence would be extrememly ungrateful after the many times I have been felt His hand ease my fear, pain, and remove my loved ones from harmful situations.

The LDS religion is the one that I was raised in and the prominent religion in my rural Idaho community.  In a general sense of things, people are either extremely LDS or not religious here.  There are some exceptions of course, but going to church usually means a three hour block of meetings that include some priesthood and relief society time.

So the reason for me being LDS might seem simple,but nothing I have ever done is simple.  The conformity to my family,community, and experience drives me crazy!  I longed to be a different religion from everyone I knew, but then I found that the LDS religion answered all my questions and fit in to what I was looking for.  That might be because doctorine has never been simple itself, since the beginning of time there was a how, what, and why.  I want to know them!  That knowledge brings me peace and makes me happy. I find quietness in a world of turmoil from the LDS religion and from the doctorine found in the scriptures.  I want my kids to feel that peace and comfort, so I am LDS because I am a mom.  I am LDS for me, not for those around me.  This sometimes makes me outwardly look like a not great LDS member.  I also differ a little on the complete truth and complete falsehood that sometimes casual onlookers see in the LDS member (and some casual LDS members see in the non-member).  I completely believe in a Heavenly Father that loves me more than I can understand because it is beyond my capability.  Just like I could not love as deep before I became a mom, I cannot love as deep as my Heavenly Father can.  It is part of his godliness.  Heavenly Father does not reserve that for His LDS children.  Those that acknowledge His presence and draw near to Him will enjoy Him drawing near to them, regardless of religion!

I am an abuse survivor.  I typed victim and erased it.  I survived it for today, tomorrow might be a different story because I have broken days that are lasting effects of 17 years of abuse.  They put me back in to the category of abuse victim.  I had all the classic signs that you read about, but I did not realize them in myself because I believed the abuse was my fault (I know, one of the most telling signs, right?!?!).  On broken days I still wonder what I did or what I am that was so terrible as to elicit that from the one that chose to make me his wife.  At some point he valued me enough to want me in his life forever, and when I left he wanted me to stay there.  I know it was to heal some kind of brokenness inside him and he had to break me too so that it was comfortable for him.  I would still be there had he not tried to break my son.  I knew it was not his fault.  I knew that wonderfulness that is him did not deserve that from his dad.

Because I am an abuse survivor, I am a divorcee.  Divorce is not a pleasant thing and I would not wish it on anyone.  But in this world of quick fixes and giving up there are necessary divorces.  Those involved are the only ones able to decide if the ending of their marriage is necessary.  That is not the onlookers place to unsolictidly advise, judge, or meddle.

Because I am a divorcee I am a teacher  (I am the bread winner in this family and bread comes from employment.).  I love it!  I am especially excited right now as a new school year looms ahead. I have been teaching middle school math and am making the transition to second grade (I wish I could insert a super scared face here.).  So I am sure you will be reading a lot about that transition soon.

I am a runner.  This is in direct relation to the touch of ADD that I inherited from somewhere.  Focusing can be tough for me and making decisions is nearly impossible at times!!  When I run the jumbled thoughts that run around in my head stop floating around out of reach and streamline in to a tunnel where I can assess them.  For real this happens!  I see it!  I also run because it makes me feel strong, not like the weak person I felt like when he abused me.

Surely not least, but lastly I am a fast horse riding, history loving, baseball freak!

The anatomy of a race horse is a testament to a high being and always has been for me.  The intensity of their hearts, the smoothness of their balanced bodies that bulge and effortless move with controlled muscle and speed cannot have just happened.  Someone made them, someone with intelligence and love for His creations.

History is amazing and people are amazing.  We need to study it in order to connect with those before us, so that evils do not repeat and to find who were are.  To progress toward a perfect humanity, we need to look at history.  The resilience of the human race gives glimpses in to the divine nature we inherited from our Heavenly Father.  It is inspiring.

Baseball is a culmination of history, resilience,and dirt.  Yes, dirt!  While America has continued on its march of industrial progress, men have relatively stayed the same.  The ground that once soaked up Patriot's sacred blood, shed to benefit the giver's posterity went on  to feel benefactor's cleat marks as they played the game they loved after working where ever they could in the off season.  To me there is a feeling of reverence in a baseball stadium, not because of the players there now (except for their love for the game drifts through the air and permeates through the skin to the soul) but because of the history contained in the dirt.

I hope to provide some useful words to someone out there through the many parts that are me.  I hope somehow you relate and are helped through this mortal journey of life.  Thanks for sticking with me through this long post.

My son will graduate next week.  This is a change in a world of change that is taking a part of my soul, elevating my hopes and exciting my nerves to previously unknown levels.  I want him to be happy,not today or this minute, but I want lasting happiness.  That happiness that I have found in the calling of his mother. I want that to last forever for him.  I want him to not know pain anymore.  Although I know this is an unrealistic want, it burns deep within me, filling my chest with such a longing that the pressure hurts. I  want to turn my eyes heavenward and ask, "When is it enough?  Please give him a break, lead him where you want him, but give him a break."

The life of his childhood has been filled with uncertainty and unrest.  We have bonded over the ease of an absent father, dreading his arrival from work and the inability to predict its outcome.  We have spent hours in the past three years, trying fruitlessly to keep evil at bay by ourselves.  We have experienced the real saving powers of the Holy Ghost as he snatched us from the evil grip of a forced, early death.  We are bound together through tribulation that should not have been his.

I hope for this time to be his, without the need to look over his shoulder.  I hope that he can relax and finally taste some of the normal worries that someone his age should have.  I hope for the burden to lift from his shoulders and that his lungs might fill with freedom.  I hope for the talents and dreams that pull at the seams of his being to burst forth and create the future that he was meant to live.  I hope for him to live the life that he was designed for, the life that was predestined to be his and that I have glimpsed a few times over the years as I looked in to the unique eyes that are his.

I have watched his character grow on a baseball diamond.  His big heart and determination have risen when backed against a wall.  He was shown class and his love of the game against adversity.  As his pitcher's arm waned and his catcher's arm developed, my admiration for this young man that shares my genes grew immensely.  He is adaptable, he is strong, and he is a fighter.

The next chapter in his life will have to been written alone.  I am sure he will do well because it is who he is.

Tonight it feels like there is validation in conformity.  There is comfort there and safety there.  Here in this small town we all march along in the tight formed lines of the public eye, caring what they see, caring what their mouths say when all they really want is someone to feel like they do.  They want someone to be the same as them, so that their mediocrity looks normal, so that it comforts them in their cookie cutter beds and their cookie cutter life.  The life that is cut from the same place that every other one around them is and that all our ancestors before us lived.  The fear of being different is a fear of being lesser.  If we are the same we are not less.

I want to be different. I have known this my whole life.  I am not content to wear someone else's name like a badge of honor, living how they think that I should.  I love my kids and I want to be the best mom that I can be for them.  I don't want the public sticker that says I did a good job.  I want moral character and true happiness rooted so deep inside their souls that it radiates and leaves a trail that twists and turns throughout their lives.  That will be my measure of good parenting. I don't want them to conform.  I want them to be their best selves.  It seems like some people frown on this desire.   It seems as though they think that I should not want that for them. I should want other's definition of happiness. Happiness is being true to myself, every belief and experience.  That is where my happiness lies.

I have held on to things because I was so scared of what is around the corner.  I have gripped tightly to my present situation because it is sure, too timid to trust that the path will lead me to an unsure better.  I know it is there.  I know there are great things that are unseen.  They wait just around the corner, close enough to sense, close enough to tickle my senses with their amazing goodness. I try not to get caught up in it while looking toward it with faith, but I am doing neither well.   I am not enjoying the day and I am not moving toward my future.  I am not pining for days of past either, but stagnant in the present.  Here, this now is so much better than any past I have lived. And I know that there is an amazing future laid out by a loving Father in Heaven.  He is waiting for me to loosen my grip, take his hand and walk around that corner.  I have no doubt that he is capable of providing that future.  His hands have created unnumbered worlds.  His hands have led and guided through my darkest hours.  When I could not trust my own hands, he softly took them in his own guiding to a peaceful, safe place.  I know the great capabilities and concern my God has for me.  I am only fearful because I am not sure that I am worthy of that future.  So I am letting my fear keep me from what I want so much.  Instead of trusting His judgement of my self-worth I am letting doubts and worthlessness consume me.

My future has not been written.  I am here living it and determining what it will be right now.  I can make decisions that will lead to beautiful happiness that burns deep within my soul, radiating and propelling myself through trials.  Or I can make the string of decisions that will lead me to the same place,wondering how to change this life that I am living.  It is a grave responsibility to shape and mold someone else's destiny as well.  But my choices and my life path also guides my children's life paths.  I am not crushed by that knowledge, but empowered by the ability to show them how to be happy.  I love that I have that relationship and influence upon their lives.  I hope that I can guide them and then let their wonderful potential take them past my influence.  They are already so amazingly wonderful.  Sometimes I just sit back and watch.  I smile and beam with the pride that is filling my chest.  Amazing is the only word that I can use and it is not enough.  I am constantly in awe at their strength and their natural goodness.  They are so beyond me and I am so grateful to have even been part of their lives.  I am happily overwhelmed by the opportunity to be their parent, their guide, their supporter, and their friend.  It makes me smile and it makes me proud.  Their potential is great and it is because my potential is great too.  We are looking toward the future with happy thoughts.  But more than that we are living today with happy thoughts.