I'm Tired of the Word 'safe'
I hear it too often when it's not even miles away.
I suppose that if I had to say when I first showed signs of my depression, it was when I was 12. I don't know if my parents see it as clearly as I do or not, though. It's what I say anyhow. Only when I got to 10th grade did anything happen. I was constantly going through extreme highs and lows, several within the time of a single school day. I knew something was up and tried researching it... My parents took me to a therapist who decided that I was "too smart to have depression." I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who is usually on their 'stable' or neutral level when they go in for sessions. Clearly this lady thought it meant that I was just being a teenager who got upset sometimes. I finally refused to go to her anymore because she was so condescending.
About a year later, my depression got worse. We ended up seeing Alan, my old therapist. It was then that I was finally diagnosed with major Depressive. That was in December of '07. A year with him and I wasn't really any better. It was my senior year of high school and I was suffering to the point where my grades dropped. I went from an A student to one who had to drop out of her second half of College Rhetoric. The worst part? I am going to be majoring in English when I start school this fall.
Only in February did we finally say that medication, our 'final resort', was something we had to turn to. I've been struggling with keeping the regiment of Zoloft. It's still not working. We tried switching medications, but the day after I got on the Cytalopram I got kicked out of class for being impudent and swearing at the substitute in College Psych... She deserved it as even the mildest studen would have told you. (It was the teacher's reaction to Shawnee that set me off anyhow.)
So, yeah. Life has sucked. I barely graduated from high school and I've almost been hospitalised twice with too many times to count where I found myself curled up and sobbing, wondering if I should let myself go back to the hospital for a real stay. (I was brought in a few days after my first suicide attempt after my parents found out and I wouldn't cooperate with Alan.)
The concept of hospitals scares me beyond anything else. The only reason I have ever considered it is because I've seen 'Girl, Interrupted' and it partially placated me, even though I hated having to watch it in class. But I'd rather be in hell... They are awful... I can't even find the words to explain it.
I'm currently on 200 daily for Zoloft but I hate being on medication as I feel like I can't be who I am. -laughs bitterly- Sort of sad when I feel that even though I don't know who I am. I am in a local adolescent DBT group because I was still 17 when group started. It is helping, but I can tell that it isn't designed for depression. I have found a therapist that I get along well with and feel comfortable with. She can put words to things and feelings when I can only repeat frustratingly inadequate phrases. Her availability conflicts with DBT, though, and DBT doesn't end until mid-August, shortly before I go off to school an hour away.
Most of my battle has been in the past three years, but it has been intense. Happy, for me, is a word that only others are able to use. I hardly even know what it feels like. I am so child-like because I can't deal with much else.
This is my struggle. This is what I see myself living with for the rest of my life. This is the biological curse placed upon me. This is my life.