I really don't know how to start... The only thing I know that I won't be short and at this point I really don't intend to be. Pass the story, if you please, I would like to share it with as much people as possible… And my audience is not too big.
Once upon a time, I've had depression since I was 11. And no, this journal is not about making you feel sorry for me. It's about that probably some of you would learn from my story, that probably you would not look at depressed people as aliens, and that you would probably be able to do more for people with depression... And it's not a hidden wish of mine to raise awareness on child abuse too. Yes, I'm a victim of that... And I was not willing to admit it for a really-really long time. But now I can't hide it anymore.
Just to make it clear. Contrary to popular belief, depression is more than just being sad. It is the feeling of worthlessness, the loss in every interest an individual has had so far, physical symptoms, wanting to die, feeling lonely and seeing the world pessimistically. How come then that so many people with depression are smiling? Nobody would like to appear weak. And if you are among people, you're likely to be asked "What's the matter?", and maybe you would not share with the entire world what hurts, especially if they are nothing but a bunch of strangers, who know nothing about your past or worse, would exploit it. Especially if it’s about a delicate matter. And sometimes we really do feel like a burden for everyone and we believe that nobody would love to hear us "whine". Sometimes we are prone to build walls around ourselves, but not to be isolated, but to see who would climb through it. And at this point, really many people fail.
Depression is slightly like cancer. It tries to drown you, slowly and sneakingly. One damages your looks and cells, one damages your soul and nerves. Some survive, some unfortunately don't. But when you defeat it, it's a great victory. My journey on this way started when I just turned 11 and went to a new school. There was a camp for us to assemble and get to know each other, and I felt terribly, terribly homesick and cried all day and night. Instead of comforting me, my classmates rather alienated me and counted how many times I called my relatives. They tried to hurt me whenever and wherever they could. For the next two years I had nobody as a friend, not even at least someone who would defend me. Neither did I have a day without thinking of suicide. But did not actually try to attempt it that time, I was too coward. At age 13 I found my very first friends and rather concentrated on them, and my bullies also cared less about me. At age 15 I started to visit a psychologist and like half a year later my paranoia disappeared. I'm still visiting her. At age 17, this March I had a major quarrel with my mom, that she initiated, I grabbed a knife and I told her that if she doesn't want to talk about it and find a solution, I'll cut my veins. She walked into her room without a response. Meanwhile I was paying extra attention not to let that knife touch my skin. That was the moment when I realized I wanted to live.
From then on, a pause followed for like half a year. I was still depressed, but had a more positive attitude and did not think of suicide anymore. But by like this November the feeling relapsed. I'm locked with my mother when I'm not in school, where I'm surrounded by insane teachers likely to be agressive and expecting 140%, I could write a whole novel about them too... Except for the few exceptions. Well now, my mother has never really understood what I'm going through. At age 14-15 my daily routine was to go in my room and spend the whole afternoon crying. She did not really come in to bother if she could help. When I wanted to spend some time with her, the date was always „later”. And I guess I don’t have to say, that „later” never really came.
She has been taking care of me alone since I was 12, they are not divorced with my father, we moved to the town because of my school and he stayed because of his job. He visits every once i a while but does not really understand that bad humour is not a love language. He still treats me like a little child, even though I’m 18, and well, my mother… She gets mad at me for every little thing. It was only about not cleaning up properly when I barely knew anything, leaving a „huge mess” (I mean one bag left ont he ground), going asleep 15 minutes later and such. I often heard and watched her screaming, throwing random stuff at the wall – that often broke – and constantly telling me what a shameful creature I am. There were times when I cried myself to sleep, imagining someone who would hug me and comfort me while my mother is possessed by he demon of selfishness. After a while I learned not to pay attention at all – let her kill her nerves if she wants to – but sometimes words still hurt. The only thing is that she is so two-faced that everyone around loves her because she shows a good side of her. And plenty know her. That’s why it’s hard. My Grandparents got to know that I’ve been hating her for 7 years when I didn’t want to visit her int he hospital. She ended up there due to her own foolishness, not asking for help in time.
After a while I did not pay attention, but her weird logic, her betrayals by deeds and words, my father constantly forgetting about me is a completely normal thing. And he always believe that my mother is right, doesn’t even know the another side of the story. To tell the truth, I don’t even know what is it like to have a father. I mean, a real one. But I would never like them as my parents. If they haven’t shared the darkest times with me, am I really supposed to take them to my lightest times? Nay. I’m just often envious when I see the mother-daughter relationship. And it takes me really hard not to hate that daughter for having a loving mom.
As I mentioned, my depression relapsed this autumn. And I learned that how do my parents treat these kind of illnesses. Yes, it’s an illness, changes the form of the brain. First my mother scolded me for not eating when she wanted me to do so – sorry for my body working different, I was not hungry. I told her that if I wore her shoes, I’d rather suppose that my daughter is anorexic than she refuses to eat because is disrespectful. Her response was „Well, your anorexia is something I wouldn’t need at this very moment!” I don’t have anorexia, but seriously, is it like a freaking matter of choice? If everything would be a matter of choice, diseases would be a matter of choice and getting healthy from a mental illness was a matter of choice too, everyone suffering from them would change the condition in a second. Do mentally ill people still exist? Yes. So is it a choice? No.
Ont he first Sunday of December I got so fed up with the ongoing teases that I thought I couldn’t really take it anymore. When my father tried to come with his boring and annoying jokes, I’m told him I’m not int he mood and his response was „Are you teenaging?” Well at age 18 I think that I’m rather going out of teenhood, someone seemed to pay attention on Maths and Biology classes… That was the point when I walked out the door and told them that maybe if they’ll behave good they might get my corpse under the tree from Santa… I walked to a viewpoint by a lake. It took me like 30 minutes to arrive. They haven’t even tried to call me in the first 20. The viewpoint was like 9-12 feet tall, perhaps only would have caused me a minor injury, especially in a layered coat, but I wanted them to realize anyway that it’s serious! This time my cowardness won again, I didn’t jump. But I didn’t feel that I wanted to live. I felt that everyone would overcome my death easily, my friends have friends who are better than me, that I will never be valuable… And when my father came for me and I told him this, he laughed in my face.
First my mother was sorry that I had to go through this, but then at night, when she woke up and saw that I’m studying history, she told that I organized this suicide thing and I only imagined it to cause her more problems. The next morning she did not remember and asked for sorry, but it doesn’t work like that. These days she says she didn’t say it like this.
The next week I started to experience heavy breathing, I could almost not breathe. I’ve had headaches for a long time, being overly tired, in mood to do nothing and numerous other pains too. It seems that a mental disease can only be noticed when it comes in physical symptoms. I was taken to a psychiatrist and now I’m taking injections almost every day, one part is vitamins, one is tranquilizer to ease the pain. It worked out so far except for the break, when the momster kept on nagging me. They are working out so far, I wish it would solve my soul pains easily as well! And wouldn’t hurt.
Sometimes people with depression would only need an encouraging word, a hug, words of affirmation, that are – and this is the keyword – coming from the heart. You might not help or feel what they are going through, but sometimes your presence is enough. Another diseases can be easily recognized, but it’s not true for mental ones. Maybe you walked past a couple of ones today, maybe one of your friends is suffering from it, whoever knows. Often these people try to give the most of themselves, the love, the remaining power, the care, the hugs, the kind words and offers to be a listening ear… Because they know how it feels like getting none. If you know any person who gives his or her heart out, give them some appreciation… Maybe it would mean more than you think.
And please, dear parents, don’t stop caring about your child when it’s not cute and tiny anymore. Please provide them the necessary emotional support, that they could turn to you with every problem… That you would not lose them, that they would also care about you when you become vulnerable… Please only consider bringing one to the world if you think you can accept if they don’t turn out to be as perfect as you… And if you have children, give them a hug now… Before they stop asking for it.