It’s hard to fight an enemy who has an outpost in your head.
~ Sally Kempton
This Girl’s Life
I’m putting together this book for a reason, and I might as well make this reason clear so that I understand my own intentions. This book (or pages if that’s the way it seems) is for me to compile my thoughts so that I don’t have to struggle with the feelings that rage inside of me. Hopefully, when I re-read this, I’ll be able to fit the pieces of the puzzle together and gain insight into my life. Now, my only problem is where do I start? Usually, I’d suggest the beginning, but because of circumstances, I’m afraid that this will be a bumpy ride.
I suffer from clinical depression a chemical imbalance in the brain. It was diagnosed by the psychiatrist before the Christmas of 1996. He said that it was a very classic case - I had all the symptoms that are in the text book. I wasn’t sleeping, I wasn’t eating (some told me that I was losing weight), I was constantly bitchy to my friends, but worst of all, I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. The doctor put me on antidepressants similar to Prozac. I was afraid because not everything I’d heard had been great news. There were withdrawal symptoms and other weird things. The first night I took the medication I was up at three in the morning, wishing that I could just start jumping on my bed. Anyway, I’ve been on the meds (or my cheap drugs as I like to call them) for a couple of months. It has taken a good couple of months for them to kick in. Things are slowly getting back to normal - whatever normal is.
My condition wasn’t a surprise to me, I knew most of my family history as well as my personal history. Within the last five years, both my mom and my aunt had been treated for depression. Before them, my grandfather (their father) had tried to commit suicide two or three times. Mom told me how he had tried to end his life, but I can’t remember now. Maybe that’s all for the better. As for my personal history, I don’t remember much of a childhood. I mean, I remember being a kid, going to school, and having birthday parties. I don’t remember laughing and playing games at recess. I was hurt that I was always the last one picked for dodgeball. I do remember being sad, crying because nobody liked me and the kids were all mean to me. By the time I was ten, I was well acquainted with the feeling of loneliness.
In grade seven, I tried to commit suicide. I would say how, but in case anyone sees this who shouldn’t, I won’t elaborate. I felt as though all hope was lost. I was loosing my grip on life, barely managing to cling to the edge. At that point, I broke down and told my mom that I wanted to die. I wasn’t about to tell her that I’d already tried. There were plenty of tears that night. I felt horrible that I had to tell her. After all, they were my problems. I should deal with them myself. People say that suicide is a completely selfish way out. I couldn’t agree more. I didn’t want to hurt my family and the few friends I had. I was willing to deal with my own pain so that they wouldn’t suffer. The pain of one is much less than the pain of many. Mom put me into group therapy once a week at the hospital. I also got a Big Sister. Between her and group, I had all the outlets I needed. The feeling of relief and joy were new to me. I was safe, at least for the time being.
By the time grade eleven was starting my life was great. I had friends around the city. I also had a great best friend who made me laugh, and a boyfriend who was always willing to listen. I’d started back into Girl Guides. I was also doing well in school, and was the president of the Camera Club. In October, I started to have trouble sleeping. I constantly felt drained. I had crying fits that left me exhausted. My marks were starting to go down, along with my moods. Concentrating required effort. I fidgeted constantly. My thoughts were scattered. I couldn’t handle anything. If a person even looked at me the wrong way, I lost it. To make matters worse, there was no way I could tell my parents. The last time I went through this, my mom denied that I had any sort of “mental problems”. My father just went on about how sensitive I was, that I should learn to take things in stride. Talking to them would have just made me feel small and insignificant. There was no way I could talk to my friends or the people at group. Nobody had any idea what was happening; as far as they were concerned my life was perfect. After all, there was no reason for me to be like that. Well, at that point I was going downhill fast. There was no way to stop without letting somebody else in on the secret.
Now, after being on the medicine, I feel a lot better. The feelings that raged inside of me have since subsided to a dull roar.
OK, at this point I’m going to stop. Maybe now I’ll understand - or maybe I won’t. Time will tell.
I have never done any sort of drugz, and I don’t drink to take away my pain... I wrote this poem because I was thinking what it would be like to have a moment without the dull ache inside of me. If confronted with the opportunity to take the pain away through various substances, I might, depending how bad I feel. As it is now, I use food (or lack thereof) to help me cope with any problems.
her solace
her life is a mess
in ruins around her
empty
no meaning
searching for comfort
she reaches
for her solace
just one more
she thinks
to make it better
the pain begins to cease
as she places it between her lips
lights a match
holds it up
inhales
cloud of smoke rises
the ruins fade
into the background
and her world disappears
no pain or hurt exist
in the smoke
memories are distant
too far away
to see clearly
she inhales again
but the light goes out
her trip
just about over
she knew
she would have to
come down
slowly
her memories return
dark and lurking
pain and hurt
begin again
ruins surround her
enclose her
empty
no meaning
her life is a mess
she reaches
for solace
again
Light for Life Foundation (Suicide Prevention)
back to my shadow
