If depression is a sinkhole, I was slipping down the dank, earthy sides of it in shoes with no grip yesterday. I have been through a lot that I wouldn’t wish on anyone, and yet, it is so much worse to see it happen to your child.
BUT, I feel much better today. I think I’m face down, breathing in the sun-warmed grass on the edge of the sinkhole, where somehow I managed to crawl back up.
My daughter seems stronger than me in many ways. She doesn’t deserve a dick for a dad, but she will find a way to cope with it. She will learn her life lessons from it, and she will be fine. She will be great.
I hope she doesn’t fall into the sinkhole, but if she does, I’ve seen her crawl back out, just like I, and many people, have. I will be there on the edge to give her a hand stepping over, (because below the edge, we have to rely on ourselves, no matter how scary and unattainable the surface seems).
I think we’ll dust ourselves off and decide to go for ice cream. Her dad, and depression, will not dictate our whole lives.