Reflections

My early childhood days were memorable ones. My parents used to take my siblings and I out to dinner on the weekends. We went on vacations as often as possible. Like any other child I believed the world was a wonderful place filled with “happy” people. I was content in life until I began to get older. I took note about life’s harsh realities which always seemed surreal. Life was no longer a polychromatic color scheme; but instead a grey and murky desolated space.

During the fall of 7th grade my mother became depressed. She had to put up with overwhelming migraines every single day. I never quite understood what changed her for the worse. She was trapped with no way of coping, and she wept every single day. It broke my heart to see her in such an awful state. Seeing her struggle made me feel hopeless. I tried talking to her and giving her hugs whenever I could. I tried to comfort her yet I knew this wasn’t something that could easily be fixed. Her migraines eventually led her to the hospital bed. I couldn’t believe things were so serious. My mom had to get an MRI and CAT scan in order to make sure nothing was physically wrong.

My entire world just slowed to a halt: everything was grim. The sinking and yearning feeling in my chest never seemed to go away. I felt awful yet I couldn’t even imagine how she felt. One thing that stuck out the most to me that day in the hospital. The nurse came in and asked her how painful the migraines were on a scale of one to ten, with one being “tolerable” and ten being “the most painful”. She responded with “They’re a ten”. I didn’t expect her to say that. I figured the pain was about a seven or eight. But a full blown ten? That’s when reality struck in. If my mom was ever going to get better, it was going to take a long time.

My mother’s words still rung in my head. I was afraid of the possibility of losing her. Whether that meant losing her mentally, physically or both. I didn’t want to consider being raised by a single parent. I couldn’t imagine growing up without my mother in my life.

Almost everything after the hospital visit is a blur to me. I only remember a couple of things. She stayed at the hospital for three days. The staff gave her medication to lessen the intensity of her migraines and her depression. I didn’t concentrate well in school knowing my mom was ill. My friends took notice, but their words of advice didn’t do much to help me. I couldn’t help but constantly worry over my mom and her health. I wanted everything to be okay.

The road to recovery was a very long one. Gradually, things began to lighten up.  It took a little under a year for my mom to show a significant amount of improvement. She still had depression and migraines every now and then, but she wasn’t at her “low” anymore. The more she appeared to be her old self the better I felt within. I eventually didn’t worry anymore; I knew everything was going to be alright.

Though the worries of my mother were long past me; I eventually had an issue of my own. My sophomore year of high school I dated someone who I fell completely “head over heels” in love with. It sounds silly to feel that strongly for someone at such a young age, but I had never felt like that before. We were together for 8 months. The first two were amazing, but the rest beat me down to my core. He was a troubled young man facing many problems such as depression, insomnia, paranoia, PTSD, and schizophrenia. I took it all into consideration and tried to be the best girlfriend that I could be. Unfortunately, you could say our roles reversed and that I was more of a “boyfriend” than he was. The more I found out about him and his ex the worse I began to feel. In comparison she was a gem and I was nothing but a mere rock. He put on a show to try and make me feel better yet I knew he couldn’t hide how he truly felt for her.

I was lost and depression followed me everywhere I went. I loved someone who didn’t love me back; he couldn’t get over his past and because of that our relationship suffered. At one point I just couldn’t handle how I felt anymore. I used to go to my room and drown in my sorrows. My mom would sit down by me and try to talk to me about it. After a while she grew tired of knowing I was upset and just told me to end it. I didn’t listen to her although she had good intentions. To this day I don’t know if ending it would have made me feel any better... However it was the best piece of advice my mother had for me at the time.

A lot has changed in these past five years. My youngest sibling was born almost two years ago. She was a complete surprise; a shock to all of us. Yet she has brought much joy to our family, including my mother. Because of her my mom no longer has depression. I on the other hand am a different story. I still have lingering feelings for my ex. I miss him dearly though I know it’s best for us to be apart. Though I long for our faded memories to thrive once again I take comfort in knowing my mother is here for me. As different as our issues were they have brought us closer together. They have made me realize just how much my mother and I are alike. Figuratively speaking, I am the reflection she sees in the mirror.