Lord, I don’t want to be reminded

That’s why I hid the memory so well

It’s painful –

My cry for help –

No one wanted to hear the truth

Though I tried to tell them

To ask for help,

In so many ways,

Then came the day.

Standing at the water fountain

Swallowing one pill after another

How painful –

Remembering –

Forcing out of the blackness the truth,

My parents so angry to be embarrassed

To have a daughter

Weak in such a way,

I remember the day

My father ranted at me in ICU

While my heart rate spiked

His idea of help,

A disastrous way

Destroying it all that day.

My diary, poetry, short stores, me

Taken and turned to ashes.

It’s painful –

Remembering his “help” –

And later in mandatory counseling

When the therapist

Caught him listening to our session

While I embraced help

He fought it in every way,

Ended it on that day.

Lord, why?

It’s painful —

Struggling without help –

Believing I was weak I hid it

Both the depression and eventually

Getting professional help

Accepting the antidepressants

Clinging to the revealed way,

Fighting darkness every day

Yet I survived –

Help sought for

Even when I hid it

You did it

Saved me from suicide

In many ways

Through many days

Ignorance Lord the enemy

You made me stronger

Than they gave me credit for.

    d.f.a.v. 8/14/14

–Donna