I never knew what depression was. I was always a happy kid despite the set backs of being different. I was the girl with the curly hair and light skin although my father was black. I was always proud to be different. Then you should know the stereotypical next part should be; I became a teenager.
It seemed everyone accepted my sister better than me no matter how crazy or outgoing I was. I was between 15 and 16 years old when I just felt completely different. Nothing made me happy so I thought this was all my fault. I had people say I was being unhappy on purpose and of course I believed them. I also brought myself to the conclusion that I was the reason my father left when I was ten years old---I just wasn’t good enough.
This went on for a while. Math class in high school created much hassle for me. I was never good in this subject so I failed miserably and wondered after high school how I passed that class. So, the feelings of—maybe the teachers felt sorry for me—and helped me pass by altering my test scores.
It wasn’t until I was in my twenties that I went back to the therapist with the suggestion to my mom. When I was a teen my mother forced this on me even though I agreed I didn’t want to argue too much but believe me we did fight a lot but that one moment of going to a consoler terrified me and I never went back. The doctor was male, he was serious when he asked me if I was depressed. All I knew about depression was nothing. I just thought it was being sad…and everyone got sad so I thought it was normal until he explained it further and I refused to believe him. I got mad at the doctor and my mom and tried not to be depressed because I thought this was an excuse. Until it got worse.
I began cutting further stressing my mother out. It really hasn’t stopped until recently in my adult years but that’s another story for another time. I felt bad causing further depression knowing what I was doing to my mom. She’s always supported me and loved me and I couldn’t do that for myself. So I got diagnosed again for depression and tried many medicines until I found the right one.
I handle this depression now by being creative. I write a lot which I’ve always loved doing. I remember telling stories to anyone who would listen or reading Stephen King at 12 years old. Books and writing have been a part of my life. I never knew that I could make my hobbies into a career. Aside from writing I do create earrings or I paint with my nephew. I try to keep my hands and introduce anything crafty into my day. Yes, sometimes I do become lazy and I watch the same movie over and over or I go on YouTube to watch scary movies being played but as long as I know I’m doing something that I enjoy my depression doesn’t rear its ugly head.
This is my story and how I’ve come so far. Like any other story, I’ll see ya next time!