My husband texts me, says he read something and is worried about me. So either he read my journal (I occasionally write in a paper one) or he read my blog. Cause my last post was about having suicidal thoughts and the blog is the only thing I’ve told so far. Good for him, because I at least had 1 person read my blog.
So let’s talk depression. I was diagnosed with clinical depression in July of last year when I got fired from my job at Six Flags. From there life was just too much for me to handle. I progressed quickly from suicidal thoughts to the point of deciding how to do it, and the next step would be when and then to do it. I remember even googling what to do when I had suicidal thoughts. Like just now I googled, “Are suicidal thoughts normal?” It took browsing through two articles to find one that says no, they aren’t. I assume that I’m like everyone else, not as smart, or as graceful, but my mind must think the same way. I spend a great deal of time talking to myself mentally, and I mean I hold mental conversations with myself. I hold mental conversations with people around me, trying to predict what they will say, and then how I will reply. (I’ve learned that they never say anything near what I’ve predicted, and therefore don’t get to use my carefully formulated clever reply.) So back to the suicidal thoughts, if I have them, then everyone must have them from time to time right? Apparently, no, not everyone has them. My husband doesn’t have them, and he doesn’t understand why I have them.
I recently googled how to explain depression to someone, and reached this article: How to Explain Depression to a Loved One
The article was informative, but it feels to me like it’s written to explain to a new significant other that you have depression. I’ve been married for 16 years, and yes, over the years my diaries are full of the line, “I’m so depressed.” However I didn’t have suicidal thoughts until 2015. (Sort of. I’m going to insert a story here.)
In 5th grade, I was 11 years old, and being sexually molested by my brother, had told my mother who didn’t believe me. I was being bullied at school, but I kept going back to the bullies for more name calling and shaming, because I believed that the boys treated me like that because they liked me. (However at this point I noticed they didn’t treat all the girls the same way they treated me, they were nice and had conversations with them.) I wrote what could best be explained as a suicide note. I truly believed no one cared for me or about me. Another kid across from me got the note, read it, gave it to the teacher, who then sent me to visit the counselor. I told her that no one cared about me, no one loved me, and that no one would miss me when I was gone because no one was nice to me. She told me that Jerry cared (the kid who got his hands on my note) which was why he gave the note to the teacher. Up until that moment, Jerry hadn’t said more than 2 words to me the entire school year, we didn’t travel in the same social circles (and at that time I didn’t even have a social circle) so afterwards I honestly thought he might have been a friend I didn’t know I had. Nope, he had only given the note to the teach because according to him, “It was the right thing to do.” He and I had 0 relationship before my note, and 0 relationship after, even though I tried to make friends with him. I never told the school about my brother, only that I was being bullied. So this was the first time I had suicidal thoughts. Looking back I don’t remember my mother’s reaction, I mean the school had to tell her. She probably got mad at me and thought I was trying to get attention. At some point I gave up the notion of suicide and tried other alternatives… I brought a knife to school, fully intending to flash it to the bullies to get them to leave me alone, and that day my pocket had gotten ripped off my coat, the knife fell out and my bullies actually picked it up from the ground and turned it in. I tried running away a couple of times. Once I was caught by the school and they talked me into returning back to the school, and the second time I got a couple of miles away from home, and turned around because at 13 I realized I couldn’t support myself.
So I’ve shown signs of mental illness probably all my life and it took 34 years to finally get diagnosed, and I was suddenly worried that was it normal for people to be diagnosed with depression at such an age? Yes, actually most women are diagnosed with depression between the ages of 40 and 54. I probably would’ve been diagnosed earlier if anyone had actually noticed my behavior. I became secluded as a teen, usually only one friend, or at times no friends, I buried myself in books, I didn’t leave my room, I actually started skipping school in high school just to read books in the forest. Then my brother got accused of rape and my mother pulled me from high school to keep me away from my friend who accused my brother of rape (charges were dropped) but I never went back to high school. My mother enrolled me into a diploma through the mail course, where they mailed me books, I took tests and mailed them back. I never completed it. I took on a life of sleeping all day, watching movies and night, drinking the booze that my mother bought for us, getting felt up by my boyfriend who was two years older, and um I was 14-16 through this. At 15 I got a job at Six Flags. Somehow I managed without professional help to get through life.
So this is what my husband doens’t understand. I’m not having suicidal thoughts all the time, they seem to pop out when I’m really overwhelmed, and lately I’ve been overwhelmed at work because I hate my coworkers. They treat me horribly, and when I get angry at the treatment they get angry at me because I got angry. However I’ve always thought that apologizing for wrongdoing was always the bigger thing to do. So I usually end up apologizing for being angry at them for mistreating me.
I also don’t know how to explain to him that I’m not feeling depressed all the time. When I’m feeling the most depressed it feels like a great weight on my shoulders and I’m constantly reminding myself of how useless and inferior I am, and though I try to better myself, I always seem to go back to the same old loop. I’m a failure, a waste of space, and people’s lives would be better if I wasn’t in them. A lot of this comes from the way I perceive people treating me. However is gets complicated because I have a really great husband who loves me, and has put up with me for the past 16 years. My children are great, they have good grades and friends, and confidence. I didn’t try to shelter them from how cruel the world is and how mean people can be but I rather tried to prepare them for it. I explained that if anyone called my daughter names or mistreated her at school isn’t wasn’t because they liked her, it was because they were a bully, and to report it to a teacher or tell me. If someone likes you, they’re kind to you. Well the only people at work who seem kind to me are the management and Brett and Conspiracy Theorist Guy.
So I found this website: 10 Signs of Walking Depression
I’m depressed, don’t always appear depressed (and sometimes I don’t feel depressed) and still function.