“Hide the knives,” “Flush these pills,” “Keep an eye on your mom.” I heard these phrases all too often during the peak of my mom’s mental illness.

Although she has been struggling with depression for most of her life, my mom has done well for herself. She’s self-employed, and raised me well. I’m proud of her accomplishments and I know that she wants only the best for me.

It wasn’t until adolescence that I began to learn the depth of my mom’s illness. I felt tensions and stress building, only to come crashing down and leave me in what I felt was the total destruction of our relationship.

I was 15 years old and just starting high school when my mom was diagnosed with bipolar disorder and anxiety, in addition to the depression.

This is when my dad and I felt like we had to keep a constant eye on her. My mom would tell me how scared she was, and that everything she saw looked like a weapon. I became aware of her averted gaze at the dinner table, and her eye contact with the silverware.

At this point I was in emotional despair, but I had to think rationally and analytically at all times to assure myself that I could help my mom enjoy her life.

I’m not very close to much of my family, as most of them live in another country, so I had to confide in friends to help me with my emotional struggles. I have a small number of friends I consider close enough to bring up this issue, and they are who helped me most.

I felt like my dad was in a worse place than me. I could see he was also scared, except he had no one to confide in. My dad is very introverted, so he had all the weight of his suicidal wife on his shoulders.

My mom’s illness was difficult for my dad and I to talk about. We both felt trapped and didn’t know how to help my mom. It was hard to help her when she refused to take her medication, which she often did.

Then suddenly, it hit the fan. My mom started making poor judgments and being deceitful constantly. The pain of the betrayal destroyed my dad and I.

Within the next year, my parents filed for divorce. My dad and I moved into an apartment together. and my mom moved to her own place with another man.

From there, my dad was able to slowly move on. I, however, was still attempting to keep some sort of relationship with her alive. But even though I no longer lived with her, the deception continued.

After all the lies, I felt like I could never trust my mom again. And even now, I usually have my doubts.

I saw gradual improvement in her condition after a few years. My contact with her was occasionally spotty, but I would check in fairly often, whether it was with one of her friends or boyfriend.

Today, my mom is no longer having suicidal tendencies. She still lives with bipolar disorder which causes her to have deterred judgment and radical mood swings. Sadly, she is not taking medication for her mental illness.

The most difficult of her illness now is that she doesn’t seek treatment for it. She does not understand that mental illness is chronic. I’ve spoken with others who have a family member with a mental illness, and they agreed that one of the most difficult things is convincing people to take their prescribed medication.

Luckily, her mental illness is only at a point where it’s nothing more than an occasional inconvenience. I want my mom to seek help so she can think clearer, but she’s at a point in her life where she’s happy, and at this time there is really nothing more I can ask for.