~My story might be a little different from most. I haven't had a particularly bad life or a hard time dealing with stuff that came my way. Thought it may have been difficult, I now have God to help me. And About this whole "My Story" bit...I'm new at it, so please me kind. Thanks!~
The Early Years
I was almost five and a half when my parents divorced. At the time, I was very confused and didn't really understand what was going on. Though I would have said it didn't bother me, I now know that it did. A lot. I was very hurt, confused, and even angry. But instead of talking to someone about it, I kept it inside so I didn't "bother" my parents, who seemed as though they had enough worries of their own and didn't need the added ones that I would bring. So I tried to stay out of their way, and in the process covered all the pain I was feeling and tried to shrug it off. It didn't work too well, and I began to become depressed. I'm not talking about sad, I'm talking about "It would be easier without me." I don't remember much from that time, just that I felt sad all the time and it wouldn't go away. I always wanted to just cry and cry....but I couldn't, and I didn't know why. I didn't want to be a baby. Pretty soon, my mom put me in therapy, so I started going to see Dr. Novak every Wednesday before Ballet. Funny what you remember, huh? Well, that might have helped a bit, but not enough. Not enough by any means. I had so much anger inside of me. I used to just scream at my mom. She was and is emotionally/verbally abusive, but sometimes I wonder if that justified what I have said, and I know it doesn't. The depression was "in remission" for a few years, but it came back stronger than ever around 4th grade.
The Middle Years
It had been a rough summer--I pretty much lost my two best friends in the world and was just kind of drifting at that point. The adjustment to Middle School wasn't easy for me, infact, it was quite the opposite. The friend I had left was a pathological lyer--she couldn't stop herself, and did it constantly. Our friendship really deteriorated over the course of that year. Fortunately, over the summer I found a new friend. Not only was she a new friend, she was new that year and didn't know anyone. When the next year started, everything was great, and continued to be that way. We had a very solid friendship--that is, until she found someone else who was new and started hanging out with her. I was dropped immediatley and went back to drifting, only this time it was worse. There was somone in my locker row for PE who was very unkind and called me names constantly. Nothing too bad, just stuff like stupid, academically challenged...you get the idea. This happened twice a day, every day at school. To make matters worse, I was sitting at a table with my former best friend who thought I had tried to drown her on purpose. Not only that, but she was now friends with the girl in my locker row. So now, every day during lunch I was under verbal attack constantly. This wasn't too horrible either, but worse than the locker row stuff. Here I was called names like cross dresser and other stuff, even though I wasn't one. Meanwhile, everything was falling apart even more at home. Mom and I fought constantly, and we were already seperating like every other mother and daughter do--except I was only 11, not 13 or 14. The process had started when I was about 9, and was coming to a peak now. While most girls were worrying about buying bras and boys, I was wondering about what Mom was going to be like when I got home. The depression was getting pretty bad now, and I was suicidal. One of the things that kept me going was Mr. Morris's science class and Mrs. Morgan--He was an all-around sweet guy who really cared about his students, and Mrs. Morgan, though strict at times, only wanted the best for all of us. About half way through the year, I wrote her a letter that informed her of what the girl in the locker room and the other girls at lunch were doing. It had really started to get to me. I remember one day when Sheila (my moms' "nanny" for me) was driving me home from school and I was NOT in a good mood, to say the least. Then I just started crying--when she asked me what was wrong, I told her about what ____, _____, and ____ were doing, and she turned around and talked to Mrs. Morgan (my advisor) herself. She was the first person who really stood up for me--she was like my second mom. I managed to finish that year off with good grades, but the years were getting progressively worse and I was sinking like a hollowed out piece of wood--it floats for awhile, but eventually it is pulled under water and coninues to sink until it hits rock bottom.
The Depths
Well, rock bottom is about where I was in the beginning of my sixth grade year. Nothing was going well anymore, and I was at a loss as to what to do about it. Suicide was something that always crossed my mind--I couldn't go ten minutes without either wishing for it or just thinking of it in general. I knew I should get help and that I could, but I didn't know how. Not only that, but I don't think that I wanted to at that point. I was perfectly happy feeling the way I did. In my eyes, I was going to die soon and no one really cared about me anyway, so why bother? As I got deeper and deeper in the depression, my hope of recovering slowly dwindled until I realized that someone needed to know how I felt. That is, someone other than my friends--they knew, but I don't think they realized the severity of my condition at the time. Regardless, my mom found out and I went into counseling.
I went to a man named Dr. Sperle. Though he was considered to be a good Psychologist (and probably was for most), I felt as though he really brushed me off. He didn't take me seriously and dismissed all the feelings I had as "curiosity" and nothing more. At that point, my last resourse was exhausted. I remember him telling me, at the end of the school year, to make an appointment with him in the beginning of the next one and just thinking "I will if I'm alive then..."
Where God Comes In
Not soon after that, Mom got chemical pnemonia. I was pretty worried--she had to go into the ER for a breathing treatment. After that, they made her stay....but she ended up in ICU. I was supposed to go on trip to Colorado in a few days, but I was really nervous with mom in the hospital and all. My dad had been in a few times, but never my mom--not since I had been born. So, needless to say, I was quite concerned. Nevertheless, I ended up going to Colorado--with a manilla envelope of letters she'd written to me. I had one for each day I was going to be there. I remember getting ready to go to Colorado and wondering if I'd ever come back. I knew there were mountains and cliffs, and I wondered if I'd be able to stay away from the urge to just jump off. I knew I'd feel horrible for my mother, though, even if I felt in my heart like she didn't really care. I had been feeling so numb and filled with pain for so long, though, I just packed up and went...'cus hey, what else was I gonna do?
MORE TO COME!
