Owning Your Darkness

I have battled depression all my life. All..My..Life..

I can look back at when I was around 4 years old and not understanding the terrible feeling of aloneness…not loneliness, aloneness. I was uniquely estranged from the rest of the world. Of course I didn’t have these words, just the feeling.

I was always very self-aware. I knew I was different from other kids. They seemed so happy most of the time. So unaware of how crappy life could be. Again, I didn’t have these words, just feelings. I could have moments of happiness with others, but it was very difficult for me to put myself out in a social situation. Most of the time, others would have to approach me. I was more comfortable alone, but knew I was missing something by not having the companionship that others seemed to have without effort.

I was always shy, and being fat and wearing glasses made me a target a lot of times. In 6^th grade a boy came up to me at recess with no provocation and told me I should be the fat lady in the circus. In 7^th grade art class we were making papier-mâché animals and I thought I was doing a pretty good duck. There was another girl making a duck and hers look a bit off and her boyfriend turned to her and gestured to me and said, “She may be ugly, but her duck is better than yours.”

By the time I got to high school I was spending a lot of time trying to figure out a way to commit suicide with no half measures. I didn’t want to end up crippled or a vegetable. I wanted it to be permanent with as little pain as possible. I really struggled with this, as I knew that as a Christian, my life was not my own to take. When I finally realized that suicide was not an option, I was REALLY depressed, as I saw no solution to my life at all. I could do harm by cutting myself, but would wear long sleeves so no one would know.

During all of this, my parents had NO clue as to what was going on inside me. Because both my parents and grandparents (who lived with us) smoked, and I was unable to breathe around the smoke, I spent my life in my bedroom. It wasn’t until I almost was expelled from high school for cutting classes that they had an inkling something was amiss. And mostly it was my mom who was upset about cutting classes. It was an embarrassment.

I started seeing a counselor, but it didn’t do any good. After I dropped out of Chico State and then dropped out of Butte College my parents made me see a psychiatrist, who put me on meds. My dad was extremely embarrassed about it all, as to him, psychiatry was quackery.

After a year and a half, I was stable enough that when I met Marvin at church, I didn’t run away. He realized I was struggling with something and was very gentle. My mom made sure I told Marv I was seeing a psychiatrist so he wouldn’t be fooled and think I was normal. My mom was a full-time alcoholic by then and Marv was a tremendous support.

And that’s about it. Not too long after meeting Marv, my psychiatrist stopped doing private practice. I was still on meds for a while, but at some point I stopped. I was in my 50s I think when I started taking meds again, and have been doing OK since. I have my moments, but I am so much stronger emotionally and spiritually than I was 50 years ago.

So I’m owning my darkness. And if my story helps someone, I’m glad to talk about it. I remember the last time I tried to cut myself and knew for sure that I would never do that again. IT HURT!!! I was so glad, because the other times it didn’t hurt.

THERE IS NO SHAME IN MENTAL ILLNESS!!! Remember that!!