Thursday, 18 October 2012
October 18th, 2012
Over the past few weeks, I've come to realize a lot of things about myself. Before school started, I was so optimistic about everything. I thought for sure, that things were going to go smoothly. I see now how unrealistic that was, because the truth is, I'm still sick. I still haven't dealt with a lot of my inner demons. A part of me really wants to keep fighting. I think I have a lot to offer people that are suffering from mental illnesses. However, I also think there will always be a part of me that wants to give up. Even if it's only a very small part; no matter how insignificant it might seem, it will always be there. If I keep letting my depression grow, I'll never escape that feeling.
One of the worst parts about my depression is how much it has become part of me. For lack of a better term, I was fucked over before I even realized I was sick. Depression and mental illness runs in both sides of my family; many of my relatives-- including immediate family members, suffer from mental illnesses and/or have problems with addiction. Then there's the environment I grew up in; I've lived in a house where substance abuse (mainly alcohol) has always been an issue. On top of that I endured physical, emotional and verbal abuse throughout my childhood and adolescence by family members and classmates. So, at a very young age, I was taught that I was not good enough. I was told that I'm ugly, worthless, a freak, a failure-- I was taught that no matter what I did, or how hard I tried I was never going to be "perfect" or loved by anyone-- not even my own family.
No child deserves that. No child deserves to be beaten, or hurt, or told that they're not wanted. Sadly, as long as I can remember, this has been my life. I believed every single word. It started as this tiny seed, planted inside of my mind; and slowly, buried it's roots and began to grow. It twisted itself around my insides. I can try and separate it from the bits that I think might be the person I could have been. I'm so tangled up in this sickness, that I don't think I'll ever fully escape it. For now, the best that I can do is try and keep it from getting out of control by going to therapy and taking medication. My illness does not define who I am. I am not my depression, or panic disorder. But I can't deny I wouldn't be the same person if I hadn't gone through those things.