Content warning. May contain spoilers.
depression
an extract from a novel project by Lina Ketelsen
Monica’s mother had been staring at the wall for about an hour now, whilst Monica was staring at her. She wondered if her mother even registered her gaze, if she even noticed the desperation hiding behind it. Monica was holding a cup of tea in her hands, the print of a white kitten sitting in front of a pink window peeking out between her fingers. It was her favourite cup; her mother had gotten it for her when she was only eight. The tea had gone cold. She had only drunk half of it.
I wish you would still care about me. I care so much about you. She kept her thoughts to herself, as she did often these days. The only person she ever shared them with was her husband. He’d always listen and she felt as though he would never judge her for thoughts she herself would deem as cruel coming from a daughter about a mother. She didn’t want to be cruel about her mother, but there was only so much a person could handle, even if that person was a daughter.
Monica was staring a hole in the back of her mother’s head, completely lost in thought. She grabbed her red, clothbound journal and a pen out of her bag and started writing.
***
When did everything get this bad? You haven’t left the house in weeks and I can barely get you to eat anything. I wish I could go back and pinpoint where it all went wrong. I guess no one’s to blame, really. Could I have stopped your depression from getting this bad if I had just gotten you help earlier? I was just a kid and back then there was barely any help available, and I didn’t even really know what was wrong with you. But still. I wish I could go back to the days of me and you sitting in your bed, with you telling me stories about your childhood, while we cuddled until dad came back home. Everything was better then. I barely see him anymore. I guess it’s just too much for him to handle, too. You know, sometimes I blame him for your sadness. And sometimes, if I look closely, I see the same sadness in his eyes. I wonder if Rob will ever look into my eyes and find it in them too. The terror I feel at such a thought. I would never want to do that to him. He deserves to live a life full of happiness and laughter and I will make sure to give him just that. Not just for him, but also for me. I promised myself I will get help as soon as I start to notice the same signs you had shown once everything began. I still remember how you used to take care of me, Mom. You took me to get birth control when I was only thirteen because my cramps were so bad I could barely get out of bed. Everyone in our neighbourhood judged you for it but you never cared. Now I’m not sure you care about anything at all. I wonder what you will say when I tell you about the baby. The baby that I will give birth to because I forgot to bring that birth control on my honeymoon. Rob just said that whatever happens happens and if we do conceive a child it must simply be meant to be. I hope you’ll love your grandchild. I’m sure deep down you will, even though you might not be able to show it. I promise to make sure that my child will know how much you love it. Mom, I am so scared of becoming a mother. I am so scared of becoming you.
***
She put the pen down and got up to make her mother dinner she probably wouldn’t eat.
A week later, Monica had an appointment at her gynaecologist to check up on the baby. Rob had taken a day off from his job at the bank to come with her. Aside from some nausea, the pregnancy was going very well, and everything had been fine at her other appointments, yet Monica was overcome with anxiety every single time.
As she lay down on the bed, Rob sat down on the chair next to it. He squeezed her hand, looking at her with his warm brown eyes and giving her a small smile. It was the same smile Monica fell in love with the night they met in that Jazz Club, and she still got that same warm feeling inside of her chest whenever she saw it. His leg bounced up and down quickly, but his thumb drew comforting circles on the back of Monica’s hand.
Her nurse walked in, greeted them, and began the examination. Monica sighed in relief as soon as she found out that the baby was fine and everything looked exactly as it should.
She thanked God in her head and flashed her husband a wide smile who promptly reciprocated it.
Then, the nurse asked, ‘Do you want to know the gender of the baby?’
‘Yes.’ Monica and Rob replied in union. They had talked about it beforehand and had decided on satiating their curiosity instead of waiting until the baby’s birth. Now, with the answer to the question being so near, Monica felt her heartbeat quicken and her grip on Rob’s hand tightened.
‘Congratulations, you’re having a girl!’
Monica had gotten a little quiet on the car ride home, while Rob did his best to console her worries. He had calmed her racing thoughts down a bit by talking about all the options for the nursery they had been working on and the dresser he was planning on building for their baby girl. As soon as they arrived, she told her husband she needed some time for herself and sat down on their terrace. She closed her eyes and took a moment to feel how the sun tickled her skin and, as she breathed in, she smelt the scent of freshly cut grass. Rob must have mown the lawn earlier this morning while she was paying her mother her daily visit. Monica remembered her journal entry that she wrote a week ago and decided to return to it, overwhelmed with emotions and desperate to make some sense of them.
***
How is it possible to feel so happy yet so scared at the same time? I’m so glad that my baby is fine, but I am also a little scared. A mother is more likely to pass her depression onto her daughter than her son. Will I lay this burden upon her that has been throwing shadows over my life ever since I was a little girl? Is it my fault if she will be haunted by the same fate as my mother? If I know that it cannot truly be my fault, then why do I still feel guilty somehow? Sometimes, I feel myself waiting for the day when it’s my turn and I start to feel my mother’s depression creep up on me. I’m scared of it. But all I know is that I cannot pass the fear onto my daughter, I cannot, and I will not make her experience the things I have had to go through with my mother. I will do anything I can to show my baby that the world is a beautiful place and that she is unconditionally loved by her parents, just like any child deserves. Just like I deserved it, too. I cannot wait to give birth to her, I’m sure the sight of my girl will clear my worries, at least for some time.
***
Monica closed her journal, took a deep breath, and put her hand on her round belly. Just then, Rob walked out on the terrace holding a tray with tea and cookies, smiling at the sight of his wife. She smiled back at him and felt that everything would be alright as long as they had each other.
Author’s note
This piece is going to be a part of a coming-of-age novel spanning the sixties through to the early 2000s. It centres around the issues of womanhood, mental illness, motherhood, and love. It follows the protagonist Monica, whose story is based on my own family’s history, as she grows into womanhood, finds love, and navigates life with a depressed mother while becoming a mother herself.