So you know how they have that list of things to do to help mediate MDD symptoms. Exercise, eat right, therapy, sleep hygiene, and medications. Keep in mind while reading this that I am already doing all of those things – with the exception of talk therapy right now.
Two days before the COVID shutdowns hit my area I got a call from my ex-husband telling me that our 3 year old daughter told him about her 13 yr old cousin (dad’s side of the family) having molested her. This was 3 days after I moved into a new apt and it happened on my first night being alone there, since it was her turn to spend time with her dad. After I got the cops involved her dad refused to give a them a statement, and he refused to tell me where she was and who was watching our daughter.
I had JUST started getting treatment for my MDD so this messed with my head HARDCORE. I ended up going to a hospital and getting myself in their intensive outpatient program so I could have some kind of support during the SVU investigation. But nothing came from the investigation, his family wouldn’t allow the detectives to speak to the cousin and my daughter had shutdown when they tried to talk to her about it.
She’d told her dad about her cousin while they were driving home that night, completely on her own (according to her dad.) The cousin who she said did it was her favorite cousin, and they’d all been living in the same house prior to that. Her dad had gotten his own place, so they got out and away from the cousin, a few weeks before she told him. The cousin had a history of mental health issues himself and his twin sister had been a victim of an internet prowler the year before. So this was a textbook situation, I have no doubts that what she said happened. But none of that mattered, the police couldn’t do anything and the investigation was closed.
So I spent the summer healing from that and dealing with all of the trauma it had brought up from what I’d experienced when I’d left her dad. (Her dad was abusive, police literally shrugged when I told them about it since I had no proof, the assholes).
A couple of months ago I met someone and we started dating, but he had issues and was in a really rough place in life. Then it turns out there was an oopsie and I found out I was pregnant after being with him for a month. I wanted to keep the baby so I left the apartment and moved in with my parents, the father was supportive of my decision and wanted to be a part of the baby’s life. I ended up having to break up with him because of how he started acting once he thought I was a sealed deal – and remember we’d only been together for a month. The catalyst in me making that decision was he’d skipped out on a dinner we’d planned, one that I’d started the day with telling him how excited I was for it and one where he decided not to tell me he wasn’t going to be able to make it to, but then he tried calling at 10pm asking to come over. When I broke up with him he told me I was selfish and that he wished we’d never met. Which I can understand considering the circumstances. I think he’s justified in feeling that way considering his own past relationship experiences.
My family was supportive of me keeping the baby. So I talked to my mom 3 weeks before I was supposed to move in about what I would need in order to stay sane, a bedroom for me and my daughter to share and shelf to ourselves in one of her 3(yes 3!!) refrigerators. She’d agreed that I could have my dad’s room and he’d move into the basement to share a room with her again.
So after breaking up with this guy because I wasn’t worth the 5 mins it would have taken him to send me text saying he couldn’t make our dinner, it was move-in day with my family. When I get there I find out that my mom had done nothing in preparation. I was carrying in box after box, with my dad watching me from the couch, and my mom tells me that she was going to change the sheets on his bed. So I wouldn’t have to sleep on his dirty sheets.
With a 3 weeks heads up, she hadn’t set aside anytime to make space for me in their life. They’re hoarders so I spent my childhood living in the space between their boxes. Now it felt like all I was worth was a change of sheets, and I would be living in another person’s room with no space allowed for myself or my daughter or my future child.
My best friend then had a baby about 4 days later, and seeing the pictures of them in hospital reminded me of how vulnerable I was when I first had my daughter. I realized that I couldn’t be that helpless again. Not with my family, and definitely not in that kind of environment. So I had to give up my baby, I couldn’t bare the thought of bringing another child into an environment like that. One where their mom was fighting, and usually loosing to her depression, surrounded in a house where they had no room. I couldn’t make another being go through what I went through. I had the pregnancy ended, the father was relieved, and I gave up on the dream of feeling loved. That was 2.5 weeks ago.
I told my dad that I’d miscarried. After that he started getting really mean, he spent two days glaring at me with disgust because I told him it wasn’t acceptable for him to leave the kitchen to watch TV while he had food on the stove cooking. Not with a toddler in the house. One of the days he spent glaring at me was the day my daughter and I were setting up the Christmas tree. When she asked me why he was doing it, I told her just to ignore him and then distracted her with hanging ornaments. The next day I gave him back his room, and now things are better.
I’m currently sleeping on the floor in their basement, which is being renovated. I sleep with exposed drywall on one side of me and my mothers stuff on the other side. It’s a wide enough space that I can at least lie on my back vs just on my side, so that’s kind of a win. My daughter I insisted have enough room for her bed but it’s still with drywall on one side and stuff on the other side.
I’m not handling this all very well. I have a tattoo on my ribs that I got when I was 19 of a heart with the word love in it. I got it to remind myself that since no one else loved me, it was up to me to do. I started cutting into it two days ago, it hurts too much to look at now. I’d rather see scars there. I have cutting scars everywhere else so it seems fitting.
My last therapist let me open up about some really heavy childhood shit, then at the end of the session she told me that there had been a referral mistake, and it turned out she was Out of network with my insurance. She told me that was going to be our last session. Because of how she let me open up like I did, knowing I wouldn’t be able to see her again, I view it as a violation of trust and a really shitty move. It was a couple days before I got the + pregnancy test too, so I’m not open to therapy. Right now this is the best I can do. Spilling it all out anonymously here.
I hope I’m not triggering anyone, but fuuuck I want to be non-existant like never before. The suicidal ideations are on full force and it feels like it’s taking all of my energy to push the depression voice away.
I have an application in for a condo though. Hopefully I only need to make it another week here. And hopefully once I have my own space again I’ll be able to start healing from all of this. I need some help in the meantime. I forget how much has happened this year until I lay it all out like this. I’ve made it through the stuff with my daughter so I’m pretty sure I can make it a little longer. One day at a time, right?
It’s crazy hearing everyone bitch about COVID messing with their life, and how people are freaking out because of it…but truthfully, it hasn’t been on my radar at all. It just sucks that I can’t run at the gym anymore. Wearing a mask kills me when I try to run and it’s too cold/icy to do it outside in my area right now. I was doing 15 miles a week before I moved back in with my parents and I REALLY miss being able to cope that way. I’m doing meditations every night though, still taking my meds, and listening to A LOT of rock/metal to try to get some of the anger out.
The cutting isn’t healthy and I know that, but it is helping. It’s better than fantasizing about off-ing myself too, so in that sense I feel like I’m still doing pretty a good job. Tomorrow is my birthday and so far my daughter is the only one who’s excited about it. It’s hard to celebrate my birthday when I don’t want to exist though, cause the point of a birthday IS to celebrate someone’s existence. But I should be thankful, because at least I have one person who’s excited. She might only be 4, she still counts though.
If anyone’s made it this far you’re a god damn trooper and thank you.