sorrow found me when I was young
The first time I thought about killing myself, I was thirteen.
sorrow waited, sorrow won
Middle school and high school were hard times for me. You could say I was chronically depressed. Oh, I had friends, I did things, I went out and had a good time, but it wasn't enough for me. There was something else I wanted, something else I needed that I didn't have.
Happiness.
Depression runs in my family. My grandmother spent some time in the psychiatric ward of St. Joe's. My mother's never been diagnosed (at least not to my knowledge) but has probably been depressed most of her life. My two aunts are both on anti-depressants, as well as my twenty-five year-old cousin.
So it's in the blood, you might say.
In high school there was a time where I thought about suicide constantly. Every day was a charade of getting up, getting ready for school, going to class, talking to friends, doing homework. Inside me was a black hole. I pretended, I went through the motions of daily activities and "fun" things with friends, but all I wanted to do was go away.
And I did, once I graduated and went to college. I went away, far from home, to escape.
But even that, I discovered, didn't fix the problem. No, even being 225 miles from the place I hated and away from the mother who dominated almost every aspect of my life didn't change the way I felt inside.
I got into a relationship almost right away after school begin with someone who was all wrong for me--at eighteen, he was married and had a child. He was emotionally unavailable and a manipulator. But I went for it, thinking being in some kind of relationship was better than nothing at all. He used me and cast me aside, which wasn't all that unexpected, I guess, but it hit me hard and I descended back into my black hole again. Oh, on the outside I looked normal--well, normal enough, I guess--I had a few friends, went out drinking like most college students, partied, still managed to pull off getting good grades, but I was really a wreck inside.
Always looking for something, always trying to run away.
sorrow waited, sorrow won
Always inside me was an empty spot. Looking back I can see that a big part of it had to do with my father.
Ever see the movie "Leaving Las Vegas?" Well, for a while there I thought that would be the perfect way to go--drink myself to death. Why not? Live up to those alcoholic genes and go out with a bang. I tried. Some mornings I would wake up, not knowing or remembering where I was, and be pissed off that I was still alive.
And then my early 20s. After so much heartache, betrayal, emotional manipulation and abuse, I again thought I couldn't take anymore. But there was this part of me that said if I did it, if I finally, permanently escaped the hell that was my life, I'd be letting him win. He would win, he would have defeated me--and I didn't want that.
And then once I'd moved back to my hometown and was living with my mom. Back to the beginning. Back to where I didn't want to be. Back to feeling like my life wasn't my own, that I was a loser and a failure, back to the inescapable darkness...I looked at my life and saw an almost 30-year-old with nothing of her own, no place to call home, no relationships that could be trusted or counted on, no real job to speak of, just biding her time, living in a room that felt like a cell...I was on the event horizon of that black hole again, wishing my life would get better, thinking it might or might not, and something happened.
I can't say for sure what it was, but a lot of things changed once I got into my own place again. I had hope that the future would be better. There was a light in my life again. And I realized I was in control of my life, I am the only one responsible for my happiness. All the time I spent trying to fill that empty hole inside me with alcohol and other things bad for me...all the time I spent trying to run away...
You can't run away from yourself.
Lately I've been depressed. Nothing's going my way as far as jobs go. I feel like a loser again, unemployed, no money coming in, the money I do have is dwindling, I'm basically depending on the goodwill of my girlfriend and that pisses me off to no end. When I get upset like this I pull away from other people and keep it all to myself. The fear, the pain, the anger--they're all in a little box inside my heart. I keep trying to find a job and hoping something will pan out before the money's gone, before I have to call my mother, before I have to admit defeat with my tail between my legs.
I don't want to admit defeat. I don't want to give up or give in. Some days I feel as though I'm barely treading water.
But most days I tell myself it's going to be okay. She keeps telling me that and she keeps telling me I'm not alone.
I'm not alone. I'm not alone. I don't have to do this by myself.
I am not alone.
Faith is not an easy thing for me, but I'm getting there.
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