Which made me want to vent a little (which no doubt will turn into a hell of a lot) to everyone about my whole journey. Even though I have been open about it throughout my time writing this small blog to the few people who may read it, I just haven't went into detail. So why not today?
Everybody has problems. Some worse than others but nevertheless everybody has them. They also affect people in very different ways. Unfortunately for me and many others we drew the short straw. I cant exactly say how old I was when I began to feel 'sad' but I know for definite I was too young and clueless. My mother and I never really seen eye to eye as I've always been a typical 'daddy's girl' so we argued a lot. That might be an understatement. We argued so much that's all we ever seemed to communicate by doing. I remember being in early years of secondary school one night on my way back from dancing we had an argument in the car and she then told me to "get out and walk home". She isn't a bad mother, nowhere near and I never wish to portray her like that (I was only round the corner from my house) but I think we are so alike we just clash constantly. I was so pissed off that night I stormed right to my bedroom and just cried, then at that moment I imagined myself getting my school tie and putting one end around my curtain rail and the other around my neck. I didn't think anything of it, I thought I was being pathetic and over dramatic as we only had a little row but I guess this is were it all began.
Years passed, and looking back now they seem all a blur until the major thing occurred which I believe triggered everything. This being my parents separation. It came to a shock to everyone. My friends, my brother's friends, family friends, everybody thought we were the perfect family. You know, the father, mother, son and daughter. The Fantastic Four. My mother's affair caused my entire life to fall apart. The worst part was it happened right in front of my eyes and there was nothing I could do to make it stop. Seeing my dad drop to the floor in tears broke my heart and I didn't know what to do so I'd just run. I'd run so fast I couldn't feel my legs moving anymore. All this happened on the years I should of been studying for my GCSEs. As you can probably figure out, I done absolutely no revising whatsoever. As days gone by my parents 'tried' to sort everything out for their children's sake but there was no trying; it was all an act. Pretending everything was okay when in reality the same shit was going on but it wasn't behind closed doors anymore. The secret was out. The doors were wide open now with a full audience watching. My mother didn't care.
She changed. It got to the point were I didn't recognise who she was anymore. I'd make her cry over the silliest things but what she didn't understand is that she was the one who tore the family apart. She was clueless as to why I hated her so much. She blamed everything on me. One day she tried to take pills in front of my face, I panicked and had to tackle her to get all of them out of her hand. Another time she'd grab her phone and dial 999. The police barging through the front door to just find all of us crying but my mother nowhere to be found as she'd leave. She turned crazy. She turned me crazy. I remember the first time I took hold of some scissors in the bathroom. One small cut didn't seem like a big deal. Experimenting. I was clueless. I had no idea how addictive pain could be. Until the cuts got deeper and the numbers increased. The feeling of red droplets slowly, rolling down my leg would make me happy. I was so tired of being hurt from everyone I never imagined would I began to hurt myself, physically. My thoughts began to over power me which then triggered me into purging. I didn't even see myself as 'chubby' or 'fat' I just stuck my fingers down my throat like it was a regular, normal thing to do.
My first year of college was a drag. I failed pretty much everything as I had no concentration and I just wasn't in the right frame of mind although I made out everything was fine to my friends. After one year in Sixth Form, that's when I moved away. A fresh start, or so I thought. I kept my habits a secret for a while, until I got myself into a relationship with Thomas. He found out and tried to help me. He thought he did. Truth is I just got smarter. Everything seemed to get worse and that's when I started having panic attacks. I wasn't even sure what a panic attack was at this point but I knew I didn't like it. Not one bit. The feeling of someone choking you, not being able to control your breathing terrified me which then only makes it plummet more. I began getting them as soon as I woke up because I just didn't want to get out of bed and do anything with my day. I'd get told I was being lazy because nobody understood how I was feeling. I briefly spoke to my dad about this, not in detail. Heck no, not in any detail at all. I told him I was upset and wasn't enjoying myself living down south anymore and I'd be crying constantly, etc. You know... everything other than "Hey Dad, I'm really depressed and I'm not really sure I even wan't to be alive anymore"? I don't think that would of went down well. Plus I love my dad a lot I didn't want to scare him. So that's when I decided I'd go to the doctor. This was probably the worst and best thing I done. The worst because my doctor was THE HOTTEST I've ever witnessed in my entire life and as soon as I sat down I just cried, hyperventilated a little and couldn't get any of my words out but, the best because he understood me. He didn't judge and that's when I got the diagnosis. I was suffering with severe depression and anxiety.
Afterwards my dad asked if I felt better now after I done that and my response was a simple "no", so he then went on and asked why as I guess he was a little confused. I told him that I always thought I was depressed but getting told by someone qualified actually makes you think about it all. I had to take citalopram which only made me feel worse. I was fatigued with literally no energy. My attendance at college dropped drastically and I just felt hopeless. I didn't think I was ever going to get better. So I took myself off the medication (which you shouldn't do) and moved back home. At this point I was a few years older and decided I'd be civil with my mother as it seemed like my dad had finally gotten on with his life and has accepted everything that's happened. Moving back home was in my decision the worst thing I could of possibly done. I lost all my friends and literally had nobody. So that's when I got involved with a couple of people. I'd stay up all night drinking and smoking away my pain until I was oblivious of anything. Doing this only made me worse. I hated my life. I hated everything about breathing. I'd tell my parents this as I just didn't care anymore. I didn't care what anybody thought all I thought about was death. I began to think of bad things. It was the only thing I thought about. I'd walk around with no expression in my face as I was tired from the lack of sleep and because I literally wasn't there anymore. I had died already it was just my body living.
However.............
Not all of this story is doom and gloom though as you have figured out. I did eventually see the light. I'm not sure how but I done it by myself and I'm proud of myself for that. I am the happiest I've ever been and I'm even more happy I'm alive to be able to help people who are suffering with the same problem. Depression is difficult to explain to someone. If you have experienced it there is no need to go back, if you haven't I genuinely don't think there are words in the dictionary that I could put together to describe it. I'ts a killer. It takes over your entire body, from your head right down to your toes. It's never ending. It's like the ocean. Constant waves of utter despair and hopelessness, fear and darkness flood throughout you. You crave peace but sleep doesn't do justice. It lingers until it makes you see death as the only way out. It destroys you as a human, your personality, your relationships, your work, it affects every single one of them and laughs right in your face whilst doing so. Dreams are no longer real as you're living one big nightmare. You hate yourself more as you can't figure out why this is happening to you. Why you're constantly suffocating in this tunnel of darkness with no way out. Depression is a very serious illness which is usually overlooked. It takes over your mind, your body, your soul. You literally have no control of yourself anymore and that's why its so scary. Please don't think you're overreacting or being stupid, just consider everything because in this case things are not better left unsaid. Speak up to somebody, anybody. The first step is the hardest. You can do it!
XOXO
