I've Lost Myself.I want to die,
I want to die,
I want to die,
but I need to live.
These are the words I chant over and over in my head. These are the words I say to myself to stay alive. Somewhere along the road I lost myself to this thing called depression. It has ruined me, but I can not let it be the end of me. I refuse.
A short summary of my life story, and dealing with depression:
My first fight with depression was in middle school. My parents divorced when I was 9, my father was remarried when I was 11. I slowly lost all of my friends, and pretty much all connection with the real world. With only my mother for support, who was bi-polar and difficult to deal with. By the time middle school rolled around, I felt uterly alone. Today I have little-to-no recollection of middle school or late elementary school, however, I do have one memory. It was seventh grade and I was taking a bath. I remember just being so upset and crying, and so desperate, for what I wasn't sure. I found myself taking a part my shaving razor to get ahold of a single blade. I had the blade at my wrist, and was ready to end it. I hesitated, and pulled away.
I don't know what stopped me from cutting that day, but my depression soon ended. In eighth grade I moved in with my dad full time, and things seemed to be getting better. I was happy.
July 26th, 2010, at 7:36AM, my grandfather took his last breath, and passed away. On June 21st we had just gotten the call that my grandfather had cancer. Bialduct(sp) cancer of the liver. He was given 7 months to live, even though he died a month later. I was alone when I got the news, and that night was the first night I cut myself.
After my grandpa died, cutting myself became a regular thing. Whenever I got the house to myself, I pulled out the knife, peroxide, and a bandade. I didn't think I was in that bad of a condition, but by January, I was completely depressed. My depression brought on huge anxiety attacks, and an inability to get out of bed to do anything. It wasn't untill I was refusing to go to school that my parents realized something was wrong. By April I had seen doctor after doctor, and was prescribed an antidepressant. Things seemed to be getting better, they were getting better. I was happy again. That summer I got a boyfriend, and was preparing to start college, everything seemed to be going great. Then on the same weekend in September, my parents and sister, and my boyfriend moved out of state. I also had started school and was forgetting to take my medicine, but didn't think it was a big deal and just stopped. Boy was I wrong.
Now here I am two semesters later. I ended my first semester with a 2.2 and completely withdrew from my second semester. The only reasonable option that was left was to kill myself. I had even begun to make a plan of what I was going to do, when it occured to me, this isn't me.
I have titled my story, I've lost myself, because I truly have. This depression has eaten away at my soul and is trying to ruin me. Without the depression, I am a completely optomistic person. I value life, I am even pro-life and against capital punishment. I love life and living, and I have so many dreams for myself: to get married, have children, go to school, and make a difference in my community, and even the world!
So when I sat in my bed thinking of how to end my life, I thought of all these things, and I was terrified. I called my parents and confessed to them how I'd been feeling. Next thing I knew I was hospitalized for depression. It was scary at first but it really helped my out look on the whole situation. Before the hospital, I thought I was fighting with myself, fighting with my own thoughts and feelings, but instead I now see depression as a disease. and that it is not me, and that is why I will fight it with every bit of strength I have and I will NOT let it be the end of me!
As great as this epiphany was, I am still depressed. However, I am getting help, on new medication, and just trying to figure out my life and where I belong. But even with all the positive thoughts, I still had my bad days. After I got out of the hospital, I had too many bad days. I turned to alcohol and cut even more, and deeper. I can count over 30 scars on my body, from self inflicted injury, and it reminds me everyday of how my depression has defeated me; but everytime I feel the urge to cut again, and don't, I am reminded there is hope, I can be strong enough to rid this depression. I have sinced moved in with my parents so I can relax, get used to my new medicine, and figure things out again. Hopefully be happy again. But it is a struggle, boy is it a struggle.
I have never sought help or advice from other people who suffer from depression, but I am now. Maybe you can help me with my journey to happiness, maybe I can help you too.
Some days I want to just die, but deep down I know I need to live. Because there has to be a better road for me in the furture, there has to be another day that I will once more say I want to live, and love to live. There must be peace.