While we were busy taking care of Freckles’ needs last week, M was silently suffering. That’s not entirely true. After her basketball game Thursday evening she openly sobbed on the way home and told me she is depressed. She is 12. I listened. I didn’t know how to help in a way that wouldn’t diminish her feelings. Every single thing I wanted to say to “help her feel better” I realized sounded patronizing and asshole-ish. She has already heard about a dozen versions of my “It Gets Better Speech.” Nothing is working.
M was in therapy for over a year. We recently took a break for her to do basketball. I thought participating more in a school sport might be helpful. She has been in karate since she was eight years old and to say she is “focused” would be an understatement.
Today when I picked her up from karate, I saw the marks on her arm. She’s cutting. Two of my girls are cutting. I questioned her and she did not deny it. She said she could not remember when she did it. But she did it because she is depressed. I feel like such a failure. I feel like we are so disconnected.
I am afraid and worried. I am sick.
I feel like I “gave” this to my daughters.
All that is left to do is call her therapist. I hugged and hugged her tonight. I told her I loved her. I took her on my errand running and we had a little alone time, sort of (The Baby was with us and I was very distracted with my email on my cell phone).
Tonight we will watch zombies on Netflix and she will sleep in my bed. S is still in Hong Kong. Tonight I will hold her close and I will pretend none of this is happening.