I don’t know how to make this post look pretty with headings and pictures so I’m just going to write it. The thing is, depression is not pretty and there aren’t turning points when you know the depression is coming or pictures to know exactly what it looks like or even what it might look like. My Depression Story is my own and it is my truth. It may not look like yours and you may be surprised or you may totally relate to it and it may just make an impact. For me, I just want to write it and, while I hope you read it and like it or read it and it makes an impact on you, I mostly just want to write it for me, my family, my future, so I will know what it looked like for me at this point in time.
As I began this post and so much came out, I realized this will take a lot longer than one post. So many people post wordless on Wednesday, but I am going to continue this series on Wednesdays. Please come back each week as I work on this story. I promise it has a happy ending!
For as long as I can remember, I have been depressed. When I was younger (as in before age 10) it was manifested as shyness, withdrawal, and extreme sensitivity. I didn’t have a name for it back then and my parents didn’t really understand.
My mom was fairly outgoing, opinionated, and a strong-willed woman. She got what she wanted or she wasn’t afraid to say what was on her mind. She knew that if we were in a store or restaurant and she was about to complain, she needed to give me a heads up and I would walk away to another aisle so I wouldn’t be embarrassed.
My dad was shy and introverted, but he drank to come out of his shell and then he became a party animal. My parents drank and partied every single weekend. When things got loud and “silly”, I would either retreat to my room to read or get angry and slam door or storm around. When I was angry, I would be laughed at and disregarded. When I was quiet, nobody knew.
My older sister was outgoing and friendly and liked to push her limits. She got into fights with my mom often because they were both so strong-willed. She was a “good kid” with good grades, but she got into trouble often. I can remember her fighting with Mom and I would sit quietly in the corner or in another room. After their fight, I would come to Mom and ask her if I had been good and she would say yes and I felt better about myself. Stacie and I were not very close when we were young because we were so different. We fought about everything. We are close now and I am so happy. I remember when she went to college, I cried and missed her so much. That is when we started to become friends and I love that about our relationship.
My younger sister was the true baby of the family and everyone doted on her, myself included. I don’t remember her much as a baby, but I can clearly remember her around two years old and older. She was “my” baby. She and I would fight like cats and dogs and then we would love each other a lot. She got into trouble a little when we were young and I can remember her just getting spankings for it.
The one thing that I remember about my childhood the most is that I don’t remember a lot. I don’t know if I can really attribute that to depression or if there are things that I subconciously want to forget (there are things that I wish I could forget) but it is weird and frustrating to not have memories, especially the really good ones.
My family is different, like everyone else’s I’m sure, and I want to remember and record it all. I’ve asked some family members to help me to especially remember why and how I became so depressed. My older sister has told me that I was always introverted, but what she pointed out that was impactful to me is that our family never put emphasis on being strong and proud of our accomplishments. We weren’t encouraged to be outgoing and happy. We were left to our own devices many times (not neglected, but not nurtured to be individuals). This series is not about negativity toward my family at all. I had a very loving and close family growing up.
This is about my truth, my memories, my desire for more memories, and my journey to understand my own depression.
If any of my family members read this and they want to contribute to my depression story, help me with memories, dispute what I think I remember, please do so! I love hearing stories about my own life, my own family, and memories from other people about me. It helps fill in the gaps that depression has caused in my mind and it nourishes my soul.
Have you suffered from depression and want to tell your story? Have you told your depression story on your own blog or in a book? Please share it with us here! If you need a platform, my blog is wide open for you!
I’m linking up to Pour Your Heart Out.