My story is not really the classic teenager is depressed story. I guess you could say it all started after my aunt died in a car accident in 1996. I was only 9 1/2. It hit everyone in my family hard, I was the worst off. She was like my second mom. Life went on.
In 1997, Hanson entered the scene at just about the right time. They seemed like great guys, they sang good music, and they had a song called, "With you in your dreams", which was a nice song that helped me through a lot, considering what happened in 96'.
In late 97', my mother started dating this guy that I really didn't get along with. See, my father never came around me, and never really paid child support, so having a father figure around was weird. When she told me she was going to get married, I was devasted, somehow, I knew this guy was all wrong for her.
After the marriage on Jan. 1, 1998, everything was rocky. Later that year, I saw Hanson in Washington DC for the first time, and it was the best day ever. Later that year, things with my mom and stepdad started falling apart, he eventually left, and all seemed well again.
About 2 years later, she decides to take him back, which was a big mistake. All they ever did was fight, he drank to much, and even hit her a few times. Before I knew it, this darkness, this tidal wave of blackness had washed over me, completely taking me in.
I didn't know what it was, where it came from, all I know is that I thought I was going crazy and that this thing would surely consume me. The fights increased, and I, I lived in my own private mental hell.
I was afraid to sleep, and when I did sleep, I slept all day. I lost interest in the things I loved, images of death and funerals plagued my mind. Things seemed so bad, I felt like all I wanted to do was pick up a knife and do myself in. I barely ate, but I never lost that much weight. I had panic attacks, but I didn't know what they were. They were so bad, I was sure I had some disease that was consuming me.
My anxiety was so bad, I was afraid to get in a car and and go anywhere with anyone. If I did go, I would sit in the seat and hold on for my life, I was sure I was going to die in some horrible way. My mind was constantly at war with the other side. One side wanted death, the other feared it and tried to do anything that was needed to stop it from happening.
Day by day went on, and I was sure that I was falling farther and farther into a deep dark pit. The other felt that I was on the edge of a cliff, not to close, but enough to scare myself silly. My self esteem had gone down the tubes. I was convinced that I was this fat, ugly, disgusting creature. I considered making myself throw up..but I couldn't do it, whether I never ate enough for it to happen, or I was too scared to do so. Cutting myself was another thing I stumbled on.
I never drew blood, I would scratch myself. I'd get mad, lock myself in my room. I didn't even known it was happening until my arm was red and raw. It was like I wasn't even in my body.
Finally, I broke down and called my mother at 5:00 in the morning one day before it was time for her to go to work and told her everything..well not everything. I told her I was anxious, and depressed. She said not to do anything stupid, and we'd talk about this after work. I was relieved..I was finally going to get help.
A week later, I was in a treatment center with a very cute social worker, talking about my problems. We had tons of forms to fill out..insurance, all of that stuff. Mom left, while I talked to him. Pretty soon I was set up with a conselor.
A month later, I was sent to another doctor. One who questioned me for over an hour to determine what I had, and what I should be put on. He said I had depression, OCD, Panic disorder, anxiety disorder, and SI tendencies. The drug of choice-Paxil.
For months, I was still not stable, but at a point where I could get out of bed, listen to music, and not think about suicide so much. The scratching episode happened again...with the same effects.
It's been over a year, two in August that I've been on Paxil. I've changed doses twice, I started on 20, went to 30 and now I'm on 40. Therapy would continue, if the guy was free, but he isn't. I'll keep you posted on my condition.(And yes, my mother left that horrible guy..)
