Dear Parents

Hi there its me, your 16 year old daughter Caitlin. Now, I know I haven’t always been honest with you and that I’ve kept things hidden from you. But, its about time I tell you whats been going on, what I’ve really been feeling. I have been struggling and I have been struggling hard. One of you doesn’t even know that I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder or that I’ve experienced both depression and anxiety. I have hidden so much from you, would you care to know why?? First. You never instilled in me that it was ok to talk about these things, to struggle, to have problems. All you ever did was avoid talking about it, just like you did when it came to boys.

Second. When I finally did tell you (I’m talking to mum here) all you did was pin the blame on me. Pin the blame on the child who had to turn to her school for support because you never cared. How did you expect me, as a 14 year old, to “get over” the fact that someone so close, so young, committed an offence and murdered a police accountant. That doesn’t happen every day. The average teenager does not think “oh yeah, I’m going to go commit a terrorist attack and murder someone’. Like no. You need to learn to accept that, to accept the fact that it is hard to process. Even harder for someone who developed it delayed onset as they were too young to understand, too young to have to witness something so horrible.

Third. You never really gave me the same amount of attention as you to did to my sisters. All I was ever seen as was the shy one, the quiet one. The one that doesn’t speak. But let me tell you something. It was never anything on my side. No. It was always you. Always you drilling in my my head that I wasn’t capable of anything more, anything better. Just because I was constantly belittled, constantly told to either speak up or be quiet. (I was a soft spoken child). Besides that I just never had the desire. Anything I did decide to share  was dragged down to “not that bad” or a “lie”. Just like the moment I told you walking past the Headquarters makes me anxious and yet, you didn’t believe me. Still. The only time you believed was when you received a phone call from my counsellor, the only person I can trust. The only person I can speak to about my mental illness without being made to feel like I’m a crazy idiot.

This whole situation, all of this struggle, it inspired me. Inspired me to become a school counsellor. Because knowing that there is most likely children out there, like me, suffering without someone to turn to. It kills. It nearly killed me. So. Its time to make a change. Its time to be there for someone who needs me. Time to work my ass off and acquire the job that will give me everything I’ve ever wanted: happiness.