Invisible Lines
I find myself standing in front of the mirror, staring into the abyss that is my being. Wave after wave of hopelessness crashed over me. I can’t stand the sight of myself. I feel the coolness of the bathroom floor and try to focus on that.
Two weeks have passed since my mother agreed to let me and my daughter stay with her as long as I could stay clean. I stayed in bed for two weeks, not wanting to deal with the outside world and not wanting to deal with me. I was in severe depression, and suicidal ideation was creeping in.
Before I could lock the door, my daughter walked in. She stands in the doorway with a puzzled look on her face. She is dressed and ready for school. My mother is going to take her. It’s hard for me to crawl out of bed.
“Dad,” she says calmly. “Are you ok?”
I let out a sigh. I want to cry and tell her everything. That no, I’m not ok. I want to end my life; I’m sorry I feel this way. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to crawl out of bed for weeks. I’m sorry for leaving her behind while I became a heroin addict and homeless for the last two years. I smile a weak smile.
“Yeah, kiddo, I’m ok.” I lied. I hate lying to her. But I have to protect her. We became very close after her mom died and she came to live with me permanently. There are times when I catch myself talking to her. Telling her things I would a friend, things an eleven-year-old doesn’t need to hear.
I remember my mother taking me aside one day after she overheard one of our conversations, reminding me that I must be careful about what I talk to her because she is impressionable. She will take on the burden of my illness. I let that sink in. My illness. How do I even begin to talk to her about my illness? There are invisible lines I cannot cross.
Sometimes I found myself unable to get out of bed, and my daughter would get angry and tell me to stop being lazy; she needed help with her homework. And why are her friend’s parents there for them, but I’m not there for her? These words cut right through me. What do I say? She can’t understand the state of mind I find myself in.
It’s been years since I’ve been on any medication for my illness. Over the last two years, I’ve masked the pain through my addiction. Found myself in precarious situations because of my manic state of mind. Situations I look back on and wonder how I even got through them. I can’t tell her these things because I have to protect her.
As I crawl back into bed, a wave of despair crawls over me. I want to end it all. To let go of all the guilt and shame I hold onto. The guilt of being a horrible father to a girl who deserves so much more from me. And the shame of my illness that keeps me in a state of perpetual darkness. I can hear her singing her favorite song from inside the bathroom. She finishes washing her hands and opens the door. She steps into the bedroom, where I lay motionless.
“I love you, Dad.” She says.
I look up, tears in my eyes.
“I love you too, kiddo.”
