Here is a very intimate look into my life, and my struggles with depression. The following is a speech I presented to a Mother's group, along with my sister Janice. (Her speech will hopefully be made available here)
I was 14 when it hit me like a tidal wave. A wall of emotion that hit me so hard that I was left fighting for my breath.
A tidal wave can sometimes be predicted by extremely low tides, the eruption of a volcano near a large body of water can initiate one, a brewing storm can set one in motion.. Little did I know, the storm I had only just begun to feel brewing inside of me had the capacity to completely obliterate me.
Being a teenager is an incredibly delicate time. You experience puberty, feelings of "not fitting in", your blossoming body is both ridiculed and revered by your peers. On top of that throw in not one but 2 Grandparents deaths, an abusive relationship, and a constant fog inside of your mind. That was me. I went from running around in the dirt playing with my best friend with an absence of real responsibility, to a young woman, my shoulder's heavy with the weight of the world. I lost my grandfather after a brief battle with cancer and I was there, holding his hand in the room when he left this earth. 6 months later I lost my other grandfather. In my life I have always held a certain candle for my grandpas, both revering and respecting them. And now, suddenly, they were both gone. I felt as though I had nobody to talk to about my feelings of sadness. None of my friends understood a loss of this magnitude, not one of them had seen a person take their final breath, their soul depart the frame in which you once clung to. My boyfriend would brush off my requests to talk about it, more interested in himself, or my aforementioned blossoming body, to care about the soul and the mind within me. I needed an escape...but what? I retreated further and further into myself and eventually, there was nobody left for me. In addition to my boyfriend's lack of interest in my thoughts and feelings, he had also managed to alienate me from my friendships, leaving me with only him to rely on, when he chose to be my pillar of strength which was rare and only out of some morbid thought that I would "owe him" for his kindness. Eventually he grew tired of my negativity, my constant crying, my clinginess. I had nobody because of him and yet he didn't want me either.What had I done?
What could I do to escape this life that was slamming doors in my face?
I was a little girl lost, on a spiralling descent into the pits of despair, with nobody I felt was willing to save me from myself.
My pain was not unnoticed. My Mother who herself had dealt with depression, whose Mother had also dealt with depression, felt I needed to see a therapist. I was immediately diagnosed clinically depressed.
At 14, I should have been doing my hair, my make-up, playing on the basketball team at the high school. Instead, I would spend my lunch hours sitting by myself in front of my locker, or in the bathroom. where I would go unnoticed. At that time I dutifully took my anti-depressant, Zoloft. I reunited with my boyfriend, who did not agree that I needed prescription drugs, and would verbally berate me for taking them. I was too weak to stand up to him, I sometimes skipped taking them to appease him. After a short reunion he again broke up with me, leaving me devastated.
I remember leaving my English class, unable to tolerate being in a room with my peers, who knew of the break up. Who laughed in my face and called me a "stalker" because I trailed along behind him like a lost puppy dog. I couldn't take their constant mockery, the constant pain inside of my head. I don't recall making a specific plan that I would kill myself, but I attempted that day. I had a pill container full of extra strength tylenol in my backpack and I removed it and in one fell swoop, downed one after another after another tablet until 16 had been ingested. Had I had more tylenol with me, (or any pill for that matter), I would have swallowed it also.I hoped that I would be able to escape from the sadness that had overtaken my body, and dampened my spirit.
My suicide attempt was witnessed by a classmate of mine, who told a teacher whom we had a somewhat personal relationship with, and she later questioned me about my actions, which I vehemently denied.
Denial is one of the biggest parts of being depressed. A constant refusal to admit your sadness, to deny your pain and your actions, so that others are happy. I did not want to ruin anybody else's life as I felt mine was already in shambles. I wanted to quickly and quietly end mine so that my family and my classmates could carry on without me, and the toxicity I brought along.
Shortly after my first suicide attempt, I had a bad day. Again reunited with the boy who I now know enabled my negativity I was lucky to have any semblance of a "good" day. However on this particular day, he called me derogatory names, and told me in a note that "[he] wished I were a guy, so [he] could pound [my] face in." I was at the end of my rope. The waves were coming up faster and faster, more and more at once. Crying uncontrollably, I tried to leave my house at 12 am, telling my Mom that I wasn't coming back. I had no plan ahead of me, I just knew I had to leave. My Mom held me close, and told me to stay. I remember arguing with her, horrible and negative comments spewing like venom from my bitter mouth. She called the therapy clinic and I was taken to hospital by two on-call crisis counsellors. There I had a choice laid out in front of me. I either go to the AHP for treatment (the AHP being a well-known psychiatric hospital employing more than half of my community), or I go to a group home in Red Deer, where I would undergo intense 24 hour surveillance and counselling. I chose the latter, in order to protect myself from prying eyes.
I lived in a group home in Red Deer for a week, where I went to an on-site school to catch up on my schoolwork. I was visited by my therapist, my school counselor sent letters and phone calls. I secretly called "him", lying and saying that I was on the phone with my siblings or parents. Unfortunately they were pretty lax in the phone department, and nobody checked up on me. Unfortunately I chose to ignore their help, and continue down the self-destructive path in which I was on.
After a week there I was allowed to go home, with alterations to my medication, and a medical note to excuse me from school for a few days while I regrouped. Upon my return to regular classes, I resumed my relationship (if one would call it that) with "the boy". Desperate to please him and prove to him that I was normal and not the burden he claimed, and I felt I was, I refused to argue with him. He wanted sex, something I knew I wasn't emotionally strong enough to give, but I did. From that point on, our "relationship" consisted of nothing more than this; sex, avoidance, namecalling, and loneliness.
At 15, I learned that I was pregnant. I was terrified. I told my parents, and he promised he did the same. The same weekend that I broke the news to my parents, I miscarried. I hadn't even had time to accept the pregnancy yet there I was, in my church clothes in the bathroom, a bloody clot in my hands. How could I not crack even deeper than I already had? The next day, I broke the news to him, and his response is what finally gave me the strength to break free of him; "That sucks, let's have sex.".
I spent the next 3 years trying to clean up the mess that I had generated, to try to rid myself of the stigma that I had bore like a scarlet letter attached to my chest I had become "The crazy girl". I had chosen, upon finding out about my pregnancy, to discontinue the use of my anti-depressant. Through weekly counselling sessions with my therapist, I was able to continue to live without them. I slowly felt myself becoming stronger, and standing my ground. I finally broke free of the mold I had become cast in, and became "Jessica".
I wish I could say that my life continued on in a positive, medication-free path. Unfortunately I can not.
At 18, I again became pregnant. My boyfriend was mature, older, kind. He promised to take care of me and our child. I finally felt safe. As I have come to learn, in my life when it comes to relationships I am seldom right. As my pregnancy progressed he became more and more distant. He missed the birth of our son by over an hour. I know why, though he has never admitted to it, and I refuse to hear him say the words. He was a drug addict. He is a drug addict to this day, nearly 5 years later. He chose to spend his mornings waking up to a crack pipe, and not a crying infant; for comfort he inhaled white powder, and not the scent of new life, instead of caressing our son, he caressed a bottle of alcohol. While he was welcoming a new encouter into his life, I welcomed an old friend. Depression came crawling back, reminding me that I was worthless, that my life was over. That nobody could give me the love I required. Especially not the perfect little human being I held in my arms.
I began to have trouble sleeping. I cried more than what was deemed normal. I denied my feelings of sadness for as long as I could. I did not want this to overtake me, and tried to fight the feelings inside of me. One day while holding my son, I found myself picturing his demise. Not imagining myself actually committing these crimes, but having them happen to him. Today, thinking of losing him knocks the wind out of me. Then, I felt nothing. I was hollow. I knew that I needed to start my medications and counseling again. It was no longer just my own life at risk, it was my son's. I refused to give up this bright light that sliced through my dark days.
Taking the steps to acknowledge my post-partum depression were exceedingly difficult for me. I had to admit my feelings of failure, again. I had to begin medication, again (this time Effexor.) I had to face my demons, and overcome them, again. I thought I had done this already, that I paid my dues to the devil that is depression. Oh how foolish I was.
I battled with my demons for the next 6 months, taking my medication as prescribed, enjoying every second that I could with my beautiful son; taking time for myself. Ending another relationship that was detrimental to my health. When things got hectic at home, teething especially, I would take a deep breath; I would leave the room and let my son cry. Anything that would defer negative thoughts from crossing my mind, I did. I opened up to my family and friends about my depression struggles in the past, and my current struggles. Though I did not become the "Jessica" I was in high school, I did become something more amazing, I became "Mommy."
I wish that I could say at the end of this, that I am a stronger person. That depression does not still affect me. But I would be lying if I said that. When my son was 2, I was put back on anti-depressants at my Doctor's request. I will now take them daily, for the rest of my life. And I am okay with that.
Although my life has taken many twists and turns, broken friendships, a failed marriage, personal let downs - and worse, letting my family down, I have come away from things
a strong person.
On January 10, 2011, I was in a very mixed up, dark place. My life changed from that day. I nearly let everything go, and succumbed to the demons in my head. But I am here today, which says something not only about my emotional health, but about the love I know surrounds me.
2011 was a rough year for me. I struggled with accepting the choices I made to end my marriage, the disappointment my family felt in me, and the new relationship I was in - with someone nearly twice my age. I was in my first year of school to become a Funeral Director/Embalmer - my dream job - and was letting all of my personal drama overwhelm me, which ended up costing me that career.
The only thing that kept me going - besides my son, who showed bravery despite the chaos of our lives - was Rob. Because even when my life was crumbling around me, he was holding me up. My best friend. The piece of the puzzle I had been yearning for - together we fit. We work. It's the most incredible relationship, although strange perhaps to some. To finally be in a place of peace. With my life, with my family. I could have never imagined I would be here.
I have grown immensely as a person, someone I at 14 did not imagine could exist. I love being "Jessica", or "Mommy", or partner to the love of my life. I embrace the joys, the stress, the memory that each day brings with it. Sometimes I want
to lay in bed and have a cry, and a pity-party, and I am okay with that. As long as I do not let that pity
overcome me, and I remember that I am a warrior, and I will survive, that I am only human, and nobody is perfect.
Though I was overtaken by the tidal wave of depression and carried miles away with it, eventually I was
brought back in with the tide. I was thrown a lifevest (effexor) to keep me afloat, and, though I
occasionally have nightmares that I am drowning once more in the abyss, I wake up and find beside me a
solid ground in the form of my amazing partner, and my wonderful son.
I am blessed.
Peace and Love,
J
