Overcoming My Issues

I went through my first bout of depression when I was ten. My grandmother (mom's mom), whom I was very close to, passed away. Hers was my first real experience with death. I basically shut down. I wouldn't eat, or sleep, or talk for a while. The depression did not last very long that time, though, and I was able to overcome it.

I relapsed two years later, when I was in sixth grade. My best friend suddenly decided that I was not good enough to be seen with (I really knew how to pick 'em, huh?) and began spreading vicious rumors about me. These rumors turned every single person against me. In my classes, I was forced to either sit alone or next to a fellow outcast, a boy who picked his nose and spelled out curse words on his calculator. At lunch, there was always a good three foot radius of empty space around me, because being seen with me was a big no-no. People still hate me for the falsifications that my so-called friend made up. I also still have no idea why she decided to do that, or why people believed her over me. At that same time, my dad's dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer and my mother developed cancer, which she fortunately recovered from. My grandfather, however, was not so lucky. He died a month after his diagnosis. His wife, my other grandmother, died of a heart attack just days later. I had no one to lean on for support during this time period, because I did not (and still do not) have a stable relationship with my mother, my father was consumed with his own grief, and everyone at school hated me. I cried myself to sleep every single night for a year. (Pathetic, right?) Eventually, however, some people figured out that the rumors were not true and befriended me. I recovered from my second and most serious battle with depression by the time I was fourteen.

My third round with depression occured a little over a year later. This, I always thought, I brought upon myself. After overcoming depression twice, I figured I was an expert on the subject. Excuse me while I roll my eyes at my own stupidity. I became friends with people that had a lot of very serious issues, though I was more like their psychologist. They would unload all of their emotional baggage on me. I stayed up into the wee hours of the night (morning, actually) trying to convince people not to kill themselves more times than I can count. I developed insomnia as a result. Anyway, the issues quickly became too severe, the pressure too intense. Genuinely unstable and even dangerous people were making my life h-e-double-hockey-sticks. I ended up going back into depression almost purely from the stress. After I passed these people into the hands of professionals (which, I admit, I should have done much earlier), I finally recovered.

I have been free of depression for almost a year now, but I know I still have a lot of emotional and self-worth issues I need to work through. I am absolutely terrified that I am going to fall back into the misery of depression again because, if I do, I probably will not be able to make it back out again.
ADreamerWithAPen ADreamerWithAPen
18-21, F
May 13, 2012