Fake Happy

As a gift I bought my daughter tickets to see one of her favourite bands performing at the O2.

They’ve not played live for a few years so it was a big thing.

A big thing that was arranged before my mental health had a downward spiral.

I felt I owed it to her to paint on the smile and continue with the plan.

And I did literally paint on the smile. Rainbow eyeshadow.

Make myself look like I was participating in the excitement of the day.

The drive up was dreadful. It was teaming down with rain and my eyes kept fogging over with the tears I was determined not to let spill out.

As soon as I got there I took 2 diazapam, hoping they would be enough to get me through the day, but not so much I would be unable to drive home.

We stopped for food, looked round the shop before finally getting into the arena and our seats.

I was exhausted before they even started playing.

I forget how my body can no longer manage a combination of activities and mental pressure. Another detail to berate and dislike myself for.

I sat numb through the performance.

It was almost like I was experiencing it from the outside looking in.

I tried to get up to dance to a couple of the popular songs, but the truth is I just wanted to sit and wait in the car.

My daughter, observant as ever kept linking my arm and holding my hand to make me feel included and grounded.

I was very conscious each time she brushed her hand against my scars. I could tell she was aware of them too.

The worst thing about mental health and especially suicidal ideation is that you can be crammed in an arena of thousands of people but still feel like the loneliest person on the planet.

So now it’s meds and bed.

I hope they kick in quick enough to drown out the thoughts of darkness that I have battled with all day.

And I’m grateful for my daughter being by my side to ground me.

She gave me the strength not to do something I could later regret.