This is going to be a little long, but worth reading. In the wake of Robin Williams death, people are starting to open their eyes to mental illness. Specfically speaking, I want to share my story with depression because I think only on here I can be entireley truthful.
I had a very dysfuncional upbrining, my mother was emotionally unstable; this led to abuse, verbal and physical at a young age. My sister also was the same way towards me; my father did nothing to protect me. As a child I idolized him because he was the only one who did not hurt me (at least then). In school I was visiciously bullied, put down by students and a few teachers. I never spoke about anything as I felt I deserved it. My sister has gone on to say I was so out of control that there was no other way to handle me Thats sickening to think using hands or verbal lashings are a way to discpline. I think I had tendicsies linked to depression, but was oblivious to what was happening mentally. That the damage was appearing more and more. I did not want to go to school and I did not want to be home because anywhere I went was hostile. This led to me falling into my own self. Imagining myself in different worlds, fighting wars as a warrior princess. My imagination being my only escape from the hell I was living.
Sometime in eighth grade, I started having minor panic attacks and I'm guessing 30 second black outs. I still did not understand what was happening, I felt ignored and that no one would understand. I did not understand what was happening, so how would I explain it myself? During that summer, my parents began fighting worse than they ever had. I hid in the garage or bathroom to muffle their screaming matches. During my freshman year of high school, my father had an affair. I was devasted when I found out and I almost wanted to drive the car off the rode just to hurt him the way he hurt me. During that affair, my father became verbally abusive to me and my sister. Once, becasue I did not make him breakfast he called me a "fat obese bitch". My perfect father was gone and he has never come back.
Coping with the affair during my freshman year was only the begining of what would be the most traumatic year of my life. My great grandmother had fallen ill and I knew what was to come. Speaking of dysfunctional upbringing I was put into the middle of fueds on both sides of my family. I did not speak to my grandparents (father's parents) because they are and still cruel and vindictive people. My great grandmother was my grandmother's mother. Once she was ill, it went downhill quickly The last time I saw her was before she passed away was Christmas Eve; one day before my 15th birthday. It terrified me to see her that way, so close to death and the family broken. She died in February, the family went into war to the point the funeral almost did not happen because of my Dad's parents. I felt numb, I was angry and filled with greif that I could not handle.
As the months lingered on, I was falling and kept falling. I had a breakdown, collapsed on the bathroom floor and refusing to go to school. It was that day I realized I was suffering from depression. I blamed myself as if I asked for it. Now I see that everything that I had been enduring came to a head and all the damage had been set. I struggled, I faked happiness becasue I made myself beleive I was to blame. No one knew on the inside I was dying. My grandfather (my mom's father) became ill in that same time. I could not do it again, I could not go through it again. Another fued, another endless war to stop us from greiving for him. We lost him that July. I had the razor to my wrist as the pain was smothering me. All those months of drowing and trying to make myself a person when I wasn't anymore. Through all of this, in a twist of fate I saw her. Something suddenly popped in my head, a book idea. The ideas of all ideas. My deep abyss of imagination decided it was not time to die.
Its been a long four years of fighting for my life and it was all worth it. I managed to beat my depression from trying to kill me. I dove head first into writing that saved my life. It was no where near easy. I beleived all those people who told me I was nothing. It took me a long time to stop hating myself, blaming myself. Nothing that happened to me was my fault nor were the effects anything I chose. All I can say was this was the biggest fight of my life and I will keep fighting. Yeah, some things are still bad, but not as bad as before. I'm proud of myself for fighting. I'll tell you all to never stop fighting