Find help and online resources for:

Mental health problems


I was 14 years old. I was afraid. I wish they had not let me go...

Image: Dreamstime (with licence)

Sarah writes this on her blog, where she writes based on her own experiences both as a health professional, as a relative and as a patient. Here you can read the whole post:

Sometimes I wish I could turn back time and do things again.

Some things I should have done differently are admittedly of less importance. Had I lived again and had my current consciousness, I would have spent much less time watching silly things on TV, and rather learned more languages, trained more, learned to use rollerblades, etc. I would have chosen other subjects in high school like this that I could become a doctor or a biologist. 

Although all of this is "regrettable", it is still of minor importance. When I think about what life was like, there are other things I really wish had been different. Of course I wish others were different towards me... But it was beyond my control to do something with it anyway. But what I myself could have done differently, that's what hurts the most.

When I was 13 and 14 I cried for periods daily when I came home from school. I was not bullied and I had friends, but I still felt lonely. 

I had what I needed of food, clothes and various other things, and I had parents who lived together. But I still felt lonely in the family. They argued so much. I felt guilty. My mother was sad, and I was her comforter. My father became angry at everything and nothing, I had started to hate him. I did not like being at home, I just wanted to get out.

I loved the handball training and the matches on the weekends - then I got out. I liked going to school - then I got out. It still got harder in middle school, with increasingly stringent requirements for what was "cool" and what was "in". Weekends and vacations were alright, but the older I got, the less I enjoyed them. Then we had to go on top of each other at home. I missed a place to go.

I missed someone I could talk to. I loved my parents, by all means, but as a family we functioned poorly.

I started to get tired, and I started to get an idea of ​​how a family should function normally. I longed so much for someone who could support me. For someone I could talk to. For someone who would comfort me. Something that could see me for who I am...

When I was 14, one of the teachers noticed that I also cried during class. There was a teacher who liked me - maybe because I always tried to do my homework and did the best I could on the tests. I worked hard, because I wanted so much positive feedback; then at least someone noticed me. Somehow he told about me to our social worker, and she took me to a meeting. 

I was scared, not sure what would happen. Everything related to the home situation had to be secret.

I had grown up with one of my parents having a secret relationship, a third party. That was the secret we shared and hid from my other parent. And that my parents quarreled and did not work together was a secret we hid from the rest of the world. They probably wanted to be good parents, and we all agreed to the game: Pretended we were a normal family. Whatever a normal family is these days .... But at least we pretended we were a normal family as you watch movies or read about in books. So very normal ...

"How are you, really?" the social worker asked me. I started crying. She asked if she could touch me, I nodded. She held around me and said: "You're not feeling well, you, my girl ..." I do not remember anything more, but afterwards I was ashamed.

I hated myself because I was afraid to reveal anything I was going to keep a secret. I hated myself for crying.

A new meeting was arranged with the social worker and class teacher, two nice ladies in their 50s. I was afraid. The only thing that stood in my head was that I did not have to say or do anything that revealed what it was like at home. We were like a perfect family. No one had to find out about the third party. It felt as if the weight of the whole world rested on my shoulders.

Otherwise I remember little from the meeting.

However, one thing I remember was that I drew what I thought was my strongest card: humor... I joked it all off. I pretended I was laughing and smiling. Joked away everything they said. Everything was great. Everything was fantastic. No one should worry about me. There was no reason to be ...

I wanted to go. And they let me go.

Then I cursed all of my crying and all of my emotions, and I stopped crying. I just hated myself. It was a poor strategy, but it was the only one I could implement. It was the only may I managed to survive...

When I know how things turned out later, I wish I had done things differently.

I wish I had talked openly with them. But I was so afraid of breaking the promise not to reveal any of the secrets. I was 14 years old, and I did not want to ruin it for my parents. After all, they loved me, and they did a lot of good for me too. And I knew I had to take care of them, it was my responsibility, I felt.

But if I could just turn back time... I wish they would understand... But I was so scared... And that was the only chance I got. I could have gone "on the train", but I did not. I saw that it was driving away from me... I was really hoping that a new one would come.

But it never came...

I was 14 years old. I was afraid. I wish they had not let me leave...

- From the blog Sarah (discontinued)

Also read