A Little Insight

Let's talk about depression.

First, go here. If you don't know who Allie Brosh is, or have never been to Hyperbole and a Half, I understand if you stay on her blog for days. She is an amazing storyteller, and is hilarious to boot.

Welcome back. What you just read is the most accurate description of depression I've ever seen.

I suffered from depression for... a long time. I can remember being really young, maybe six or seven, and wishing that I didn't exist. That I'd never been born. That something awful would happen to me and I would die. I'd cover myself in blankets and hope that they would smother me. I'd put plastic bags around my head and try to suffocate myself. This wasn't a daily thing, or even weekly or monthly. But something would trigger an attack of self-loathing, and I'd spiral out of control.

Obviously, my will to live stopped any of my early attempts from coming even close to working.

When I got older and entered middle school... things got worse. Middle school sucks for everyone. The way they depict high school in movies... that's really middle school. It's awful and cliquey and just the absolute worst three years of your life.

Sixth grade, I held it together pretty well until around Christmastime. That's when my momma had a massive heart attack and almost died. On top of that, my stepbrother at the time decided that since we now weren't going to Disney World, he didn't want to be around us. That was the first time I ever cursed at anyone.

For the next two years, I spiralled out of control. Screaming and crying happened all the time in my house. I pretended everything was fine at school, but the second I'd get home, things devolved.

During that time, I did a lot of things that I'm not proud of. I know I said truly awful things to my parents. I self-harmed in some unusual ways, too.

Because of my reactive hypoglycaemia, I couldn't have a lot of sugar. Well, I would hoard it, then gorge on it as much as possible. I hoped that my blood sugar would spike, then plummet - which it did - to the point where I'd pass out and die - which it didn't, thank God.

Sometimes, I would slam my head against the wall until I couldn't see straight.

Other times, I would scratch or bite myself until I bled. Although, I never could bring myself to cut, though I did try multiple times with both razors and exactoknives.

Eventually, I did attempt suicide. I'm a lightweight when it comes to drugs - ibuprofen puts me to sleep, even in low doses. So, one night before bed, I took a bottle of it, of which only two pills total had been used, and downed the whole thing. Needless to say, it didn't work, but I slept for several days straight, waking up only when forced so that I could go to the bathroom and eat. My parents didn't know at the time that's what it was. They thought I was just sick.

Things got better for me the summer before tenth grade. I went on youth retreats a lot, and I went to this one called Kairos. It's a week-long event, where you bond with your small group really well by the end of it. That year was the first time I really opened up, and that small group will forever be what I consider my saving grace.

I think it's mostly because of Travis, really. He went to my church, and in sixth grade we had been really close. Then his cousin, Alec, moved here and started attending church as well. He wasn't fond of me, and turned Travis against me. By eighth grade, they were tormenting me even during church. It hurt a lot, and contributed to my depression, especially because I had been so close with Travis.

Well, he was in my small group that fateful year, and at first, we were still at each other's throats. Then, the second day, we finally realized that we didn't have to any more. He accepted me back. I will never forget standing in the middle of the prayer maze, all of us in a giant hug, and Travis being the one holding me. They were the first people I ever told about my suicide attempts and depression, and they didn't run away.

Since then, I've gotten much better. I haven't had a relapse in over two years. I still have a hard time trusting people, and that's putting it mildly, and when I do put my trust in someone and they break it, I get worse. Especially with men.

It's really late, so I'm going to end this here. But I will post some more stuff about depression and suicide, because I think it's an important topic for people to try to understand. Sorry for the lack of funny.