Introduction

This is a story about one of my experiences as a teen with depression. I wrote my story  to tell those who have suffered or are suffering, that it does get better, but it might take time or an event similar to mine to get to a better place.

As a teenager living with depression, sometimes it seems that you can not escape the media and the pressures of the outside world to just take one moment to step back and glance at how your life is playing out. When you can carve out the time to do so, you are then able to change the things you need to change and accept the things that have fallen out of your control. In the past several years my depression seemed to keep me from being able to do this because it was the only thing occupying my time.

I first stepped into the ring with depression somewhere between fourth and fifth grade. I realize how young that sounds, but the truth of the matter is that anyone can be taken over by depression, at any age or at any time.
It starts with the twisting and distortion of everything around you.

Suddenly, in your own mind, you are the only person in the world who anyone wants to judge. You are the laughing stock of your friends, your teachers, the media, and even your family. After the paranoia comes the darkness. It is like a cancerous tumor that swells fast and unknowingly and soon the doctors are unable to remove because it is covering your entire brain. You think that you have been given a few months, or even days to live. But then, the doctors introduce you to this new and exciting drug that can give you some more time. You take it like they told you too and things start to get a little better in “three to five weeks”. The tumor starts to shrink and you take things day by day. Then, a small little change in your life jolts the tumor and it oozes dark puss all over your eyes. You try to ignore the shade now covering your sight but everything is different now and you can’t seem to sort reality from what is going on in your mind. Your perception of everything is warped. Any situation in your life seems horrible no matter what it is and you can’t escape the negative thoughts. When you are told to see the positive, you become overcome with confusion because all you know is the negative. To you there is nothing else but the bad, so you can’t grasp why everyone else sees something completely incomparable. You lose the understanding of how what you are seeing isn’t real. There is another side that is different and warm, but you can’t escape the things you are seeing to realize this fact and instead you sit in confusion and wait. Every scenario was packed with whispered evil words and painful “what if’s”.

All of these thoughts taking over my brain tortured me everyday. I began to question every thought, every action, every word. I was left with nothing but my psychotic habits of over analyzing and my agonizing feelings. I was trapped and everything was an attack against me and my thoughts.

At this point I had lost all hope and the it seemed the tumor had basically won and I made a decision. On one lonely night I had surrendered my fight against the tumor.

Anonymous
Labor Day:
I found myself laying in the cabin on a beautiful day at our farm; a huge cabin in the woods that I always seem to dread going to. I watched way too much television. I ate way too much junk food. I worked up the motivation to clean the cabin so we could leave.
I thought about it…
We left the farm around 3 o’clock hoping to miss the holiday traffic but didn’t. We ate more unhealthy food at some fast food place on the way home. We argued about unnecessary things, like who gets to play music and where to eat. We ignored one another and I looked out the window.
I thought about it…
We got home around 6 and I layed in bed. I worked on homework half-heartedly. I got myself ready for school. I fought with them.
I thought about it…
I did it.
I waited for about 30 minutes and about tore my hair out because of the anxiety building up in me.

I told them and shook like a leaf in the wind as tears dribbled down my face.

They yelled and yelled and screamed and screamed. They were disappointed and scared and in shock. I wish they wouldn’t have reacted that way but I guess I understand. I wish they wouldn’t have made me feel that way but it must have been hard.

I shook with fear and whimpered from shock of what I done. “Is this really happening?” played over and over in my mind. Then I was in a room filled with people staring at me wondering why I was crying so hard and what was wrong with me. “Could they really be looking at me? I shouldn’t be here,” I thought. I was very soon whisked away to a room of people poking and prodding me and asking me questions I couldn’t find the words to answer.

“How many did you take? What time did you take them? What is your prescribed dosage?”

All of these questions seemed to have no answers in my mind.There were so many unfamiliar faces around me that continued to be gentle with me, but I couldn’t seem to stop the shaking.

My mother stood in the corner as I continued to be surrounded. She mouthed silently “it will be okay” and nodded her head for my reassurance that these people were going to help me.

This was all that she knew to do considering no one ever prepared her for this or ever should have needed to. This kind of thing doesn’t come up in the parenting books you read when your kids are talking back to you, but the constant questioning of the “gentle and understanding” faces does. So, she continued to do what she knew to do while I continued to be poked and prodded.

She kissed and hugged me, but it didn’t seem to calm the worry. Little did I know, in the next few days, I would give anything for just one of her hugs.

Then, the wait came and stayed for days, actually.
I stayed in an empty and lonesome ER room for 48 hours; the hospital staff was good for almost nothing when all I could use was a little comforting.
The constant stress never dulled or wavered.
The wait came to an end when I was admitted and the fear became intensified by one thousand. More unfamiliar faces were introduced and more “gentle” people.
The first night, the tears arrived; they came until they couldn't come anymore.
Unstoppable and unbearable.
I talked with the gentle faces who asked why I was crying and more tears flowed.

There seemed to be no way of stopping them or the pain that came with them.

I found myself taking showers to distract myself but remained stuck in the same state of shock and sadness.
I missed my bed and my family and my dogs more than I had ever missed anything before.
I stopped eating for the most part but found some comfort in JIF peanut butter.

I worked hard to keep my mind off the fact that everything I was longing for was so damn close to then prison I was hold up in.

In a place like a psychiatric hospital, there is nothing but coldness and hostility surrounding you. You would think that if that is our first step to recovery, things would be warmer or a little welcoming to reassure that you are safe and will be okay; but those seem to be the last things on your mind.

The guilt came soon after the crying.
There was so much guilt; I don’t think I will ever feel guilt that strong again in the entirety of my life.
It seemed to be never ending guilt; it burns inside of me as I think upon it because of how much torture it was to deal with.

After four days in dreadful confinement, I left and was overcome with joy as I came home to the bed, dogs, and family I missed so very much.

Even though it was miserable to be there, I learned so very much about myself in that short time; I learned how to choose my own happiness and be my true self upon so much more.  

Now, six months later, my life has fallen back into place and I think I am where I am supposed to be; Not to say that what I did didn't create a huge dent in my life, it definitely did, but I think, in a way, it changed me for the better.

Had I not taken those pills, I wouldn't be who I am today: a strong young girl battling a lifelong fight against depression who doesn't plan on giving up anytime soon.

Now, to all those around me like my friends and teachers, I am nobody but myself. Just me. I am the last person anyone would expect to have any of this going on inside of me. I am the girl that people come to for relationship advice who hasn't ever even had a boyfriend. I am the girl who is the life of the party and never has a sad face on. I am the girl who will try and brighten your day even when I don’t know how to brighten my own. I am the girl who isn't struggling with severe depression and anxiety, from what it looks like on the outside.

One thing I have learned from this experience is not to judge a book by its cover.

I don't ever plan on telling those even the closest to me what I have been through but even though I don't broadcast my story to the world, it doesn't change the fact that it happened.

For those who are going through this, know that no one needs to know your story to know how strong you are or how much you have been through.

For those who know someone going through this, know that you can make all the difference in their fight just by being there.

For those with a child going through this, don’t expect children to take care of themselves on their own no matter how much they insist they are doing okay because they aren’t.

For those who don't know anyone going through this, know that you probably do so be the best you, you can be to anyone you know and let them know you are there even if they do seem like the last person to be struggling.
There is so much more than meets the eye in this wide world of ours, so keep your eyes open and be the person you would want on your side if you were or are struggling.