“Sometimes I feel like I am not here, that I am a dream somebody is having. A nightmare someone has conjured whilst sleeping. Everything is empty and lifeless. An empty world full of empty beings, believing what happens to them matters. Nothing matters. It is all forgotten and we shall be forgotten.” – My diary, April 2010.


I walked in through the back door and shouted the usual ‘hello!’ as I kicked my shoes off. I didn’t hear a reply from Mum, so I assumed she was out.

As I pushed open the kitchen door, I saw Mum sitting at the table with a serious look on her face, that told me she was pissed off.

“You OK?” I asked with a sense of trepidation.

Mum looked up at me and replied “What the hell is wrong with you at the moment?”

I knew she was referring to my behavior from the night before. Her vile friend S had come over for dinner and to make the evening more bearable, I took eight diazepam. I could barely string a sentence together and every time S spoke, I uncontrollably smirked, laughed or snorted.

“I wasn’t feeling well, sorry.” I mumbled.

“Well, your attitude stinks, and not just last night!” She snapped..

I couldn’t do it anymore, I was unhappy and was tired of hiding it. This was it, I was finally going to tell her about my depression..

“Mum, I’m sorry I was weird last night, I’ve not been feeling great for a while and I’m seeing a doctor because I’ve been depressed.”

Mum sighed and replied with

“So are you taking medication then?”

I felt my eyes well up. For years I had kept quiet so I wouldn’t disappoint her. When I was 14, I was referred to a psychiatrist but Mum and Dad refused to acknowledge anything was wrong. Nearly 10 years later, it was happening again. I needed my Mum but it seemed she just dismissed my pain and just sounded irritated at what I said. I half expected her to whip out a giant fly swat and splat me against the cooker.

I told her how I felt and we argued until I couldn’t take anymore. I ran upstairs and fell on to my bed, sobbing into the duvet. The one person I was worried about hurting, didn’t care about hurting me. Everything just felt hopeless.

I snuck into the bathroom and grabbed every pillbox I could find. Paracetamol, sleeping tablets, antihistamines, Ibuprofen, it didn’t matter, I just didn’t want to live anymore.


“Do you know where you are?”

I slowly opened my eyes and looked up a nurse, who repeated “Can you tell me where you are?”

I looked down at the tubes coming out of my arms and saw that I was wearing my favourite pyjamas.

My mouth was so dry, I could barely speak. “How did I get into my pyjamas?”

“Your Mum dressed you, she didn’t leave your side all night. She will be back soon, she told me she wanted to get you clean clothes before you woke up.” The nurse replied softly.

I drifted back to sleep and when I woke later, Mum was sitting beside my bed. I felt a huge amount of guilt in the pit of my stomach, but before I could open my mouth to say sorry, she reached over and hugged me tightly.

Any feelings of emptiness vanished in that hug. I felt as though I mattered and that Mum needed me just as much as I needed her.