I told my mom I’m depressed.
This was prompted by today’s doctor visit, where Dr. McCatholicstein informed me that I’m definitely on the end of the bell curve as far as depression goes. The bad end.
I told her, and she cried. I cried. And then she was as supportive as I’d expect. ALSO, I’d like to note, my mother was a nurse, and she is good at talking to patients, and she got way more information from me than any other doctor or nurse or boyfriend or friend has ever gotten, in the span of a forty-two minute phone call.
I can berate myself all I want for not going to her sooner. She’s like the queen of injury, the saint of pain, the duchess of all. She’s more of a mom than a billion moms combined.
Which is to say, she heard what I had to say, and she didn’t understand, per se, but she heard. And she’ll help.
As a controlling motherfucker, two minutes after the phone call, I texted my brother and demanded he talk to my mom to cheer her up. He did.
Families are weird. But they exist, and they’re awesome. I have a good one and I’m very lucky for that.