Suicide (hospital rooms)

Four times, four times have I been in a hospital, not any hospital but the floor for the mental illnesses. I was not the patient, no i was visiting some one else. A small women that looked a few years past her actual age sat in front of me. She was withered into a small bit of a person from tears and lack of sleep. We talked to her while you heard a scream, and some one being restrained. The women that I knew as my mother, was the girl I came to visit. The pain filling her eyes until they were glossed over with unshed horrors. My mom is a depressant. My dad cried when she was put into the hospital the first time and again the second. I was the one that held him and told him it would be all fine. Once filled with rage my dad blamed her unhappiness on me. I tried not to wince as that sunk deep. The third visit was my cousin, she was depressed and threatened to kill herself. While she sat there unhappy i attempted to make light chatter and cheer her up. The fourth time was not a trip to another unhappy relative that would be laying there in a room full of scared expressions. No on the account of another mental illness i visited my uncle in his hospital bed. He was dead.
I didn't want to be brought in the room, i over heard some one yelling at her as my knees buckled under my weight. I broke down, I was defenseless at the image of him lying there. The blood drained from his face as tubes hung from him in various locations. But i pulled it together instantly. The fourth time would of been tonight. My cousin again. Not to sound selfish but everyone jumps at the sound of depressed slip from her mouth and run around in a rampage. And I am the good strong one. Thats a lie. I so badly wanted to roll up in a ball and brake down, cry, cry until all my insecurities have shredded with my tears, cry for all the time I was the rock. Cried for the immaturity that I lost way to young do to carrying for my sick mother, and desperately wanting her to be happy. Now I am no longer happy. The first day i saw my mother cry I begged her to tell me what was wrong. She shook her head and lied telling me I was to young to know, she would tell me when i was older. later that night she told me something horrible that happened. I learned what rape was. I learned my rock, my protector had to protect herself before us. I remember hearing my moms screams and cries through my bedroom wall. And my father yelling at her to pull it together because he could not man up to watching us. Who will help me get better? I learned that you need to rely on yourself most often but sometimes you need just a little bit of help. who will help me?