Everyone battles depression differently, which also means they show different signs. Not everyone can hide it well, like me, but there are a lot of people who have had years of experience hiding it.
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It all started years ago, when I was struggling through school. For a while I was happy and jealous of my sister who could do no wrong. Given the fact that she was special needs, I felt like she also needed to get into trouble. She did, but not for the things that I as accused of.
My sister and I never got along. Even though when she was dying of appendicitis(she was 13, I was 10), I was scared for her to leave me. She was my big sister, and because she was special needs, I felt like I was responsible for her and needed to take care of her.
After she came home from the hospital, she changed. Katrina, my sister, used to be a sweet girl, skinny and didn’t eat much. Now, she could eat 3 bowls of soup in one sitting, and didn’t know when to stop. She even got meaner. Katrina, after the hospital, got her room and I was jealous. Why did I have to suffer through another toddler screaming her head off at 3 in the morning before school? It wasn’t fair.
Katrina and I would torment each other. Sometimes it got physical, other times it resulted in a screaming match. She would slam her door, and I would stomp downstairs. During this time, my grades were suffering. I got to high school, made some friends, but I never truly grasped the concept of the work I was given.
I’d rather hang out with my friends then do homework. I even felt like my grade 8 social studies teacher had it out for me. ould hand in work on time, and she would lose it, saying that I never turned it in. Frustration got the better of me. I hated her.
Then it was math. I tried so hard to understand the concepts of math, but it felt like everything was just jumbling around my head.
One night I was doing homework, and struggling to get over one question, that my elder foster brother was trying to teach me, but it was so difficult that I started to cry. I was told, “Its not that hard, you don’t need to cry about it.” Here, I started to realize that my emotions were not validated. This is when I realized that, because I am in a foster home, I am not wanted.
Don’t get me wrong, I saw my real mother once a month, for only 2 hours, and my dad, I saw every second Saturday for 4-8 hours. In the past, when I would have a visit with my mom, I would sit in the window waiting for her to come. Then, the phone rang, its my mom calling to say she can’t make it. After time went by, I started to resent her. I still do. Constantly making excuses on why she couldn’t see me when I was younger, really hurt.
After graduation, I decided I was going to go back to school. No use sitting at the house, doing nothing, not earning anything. I didn’t have a job, and not only that I was restricted on where I could go to get a job. I was only able to go to Walnut Grove, and I couldn’t work past 11. It was tough. Trying to find a job with no experience.
Then we went to Osoyoos in the Okanagan Valley of British Columbia. It’s the most beautiful place I have ever been, plus it’s the only dessert in Canada. I met a guy online, and we made plans to meet up in Osoyoos. We hung out, had fun and went our separate ways. 3 months later, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t know who the dad was at the point, but after she was born and a DNA test was done, I knew it was the guy in Osoyoos.
I placed my little girl for adoption, 3 hours after I had her. 2 days before mothers day. When Mother’s Day arrived, I was sad beyond relief. My foster mom tried to comfort me, but I didn’t want to be comforted. This was also a month before I had to move out. There was no choice, I had to move out the day before Canada Day.
Then I moved, drank a little, went to the doctor to explain what I was feeling. Which was fatigue, loneliness, and loss of interest of things I was interested in.
The current signs:
I got medication to help combat it. My doctor referred me to a counsellor/ psychiatrist, and it was helping a little bit, but every time I saw that little girl, I was dying inside.
I started spending money, faster than I had it. After that, I became a spendaholic. Buying journals like this with intentions to write about my problems. Never did finish writing.
Always starting and never finishing. I started to procrastinate on all my things, became a hurricane of mess, and was always angry. My then boyfriend, Kiefer, is the only thing that makes me happy, aside from my little boy.
Never the End
Fighting depression is a never ending story. One day, you could be all happy and excited, with courage to get out of bed to do things. Then the next day, you could be fighting to get out of bed to do the things you love.
3 years ago, I went to a new psychiatrist because of an incident that happened with my son. I was then diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder.
Many days and nights, I fight with myself about having to do things around the house. My brain thinks of worse case scenarios, which gives me anxiety.