Camilla

My first suicidal thought was in the first grade. I was six, maybe seven. I remember opening my bedroom window and standing on the ledge, wanting to jump. Nothing was wrong in my life. I was just sad.
A few years ago, I read an article about a little girl who was found hanging from her bunk bed. She had scarves wrapped around her neck. Her mom kept repeating that it had to have been an accident because she was so happy and always smiling. But I just kept thinking, “I was always smiling, too. No one would’ve guessed I was suicidal at age 6. That could’ve been me. That could’ve been my mom on the T.V.”
I read somewhere that children aren’t capable of feeling depression. I wanted to scream. It was so invalidating. I fear for the children who are depressed, because no one notices them. No one believes they’re depressed. No one did with me, anyway.
I want to help those kids, but I don’t know how. Maybe the only way I can help is by helping my own children one day.