'Don't see me as your mum anymore Cloe, I am depression, and the trouble is because it's not physical like a broken leg, people don't believe me' 

They were the words my Mum spoke to me as she was puffing on a cig at the back door. I hadn't a clue what she mean by that, a 9 year old with absolutely no experience of the adult world but exposed to far more than I should ever have been. 

It was the year 2000, nobody spoke of mental health problems back then, and I was definitely not educated about it at school, you could argue I was educated about it at home. My mum would have highs and lows, which could vary in minutes. And on bad days we always had sausages for mains and cheesecake for pudding, they were usually the nights she was going to leave/end her life. She never let me go with her though, always said it was better all round if I stayed with my Dad. One time she went and we called the police, I remember been scared I'd get arrested for been up so late - 9 year old innocence right there. 

I wont ever forget the night she died, she told me I was her special baby and that she loved me, she then told me she was leaving and I tried to block the door, she scratched me with the key and left, I never saw her again. I waited for her to return home but heard nothing, I went to bed but I couldn't sleep. At 3.45am on 7th November 2000 I crept downstairs, but my dad heard me and stopped me from going down. He went downstairs and I started following, I told him we'd face whatever there was together, but he refused and shouted at me to go back upstairs. I did as I was told, I went and looked out of my window and saw a dog lead on the garage, puzzled as to why it was there. 5 minutes later my dad shouted of me to wake my brother up and get changed. Strange time to go out but nevertheless I did as I was told. 

We went to my uncles and slept over for what was left of the 'night' and in the morning we went to work with my Aunty. A few hours later dad came to collect us. I said to him if you're getting divorced I'm not living with her, she's horrible. If only it had been that simple, that easy. He told us she'd died and I was absolutely devastated. 

Shortly afterwards I realised something was amiss, she didn't have cancer, she didn't have any illness that would naturally kill her. We went to my grandmas and by then I was desperate for some questions, but to no avail, grandma said I should ask my dad. 

When my dad came in from booking the funeral i asked him if mum had killed herself, and he confirmed it. It was some weeks later when I found out how. 

I was 9 years old, I was still a baby and there I was dealing with very adult stuff, stuff that even adults don't understand. She was so mixed up was my beautiful mum, and not a day goes by where I don't think about her. 

Because of my upbringing my mental health has suffered too and actually doing RED seems to be already helping it, along with the antidepressants, journaling and learning to accept and love myself. It's not always been easy, in my early 20s it was a permanent uphill struggle, but luckily for me I know the telltale signs, having lived with them for near on 20 years.