Mommy Am I Crazy? Chapter Three - I Hope It's Lethal

I know you think that I have no idea what you might be going through, but I’m going to share my little secret with you, I’ve been there more than once. Relapses happen. I still have them once in a while. Thankfully I often catch them soon enough that it will last maybe one or two days and then it’s gone. I have great support as well, which helps a lot.

I didn’t before though. I remember the days coming home from school, trying to have a meal with my mother and step-dad and I would just break down in tears. My mother understood, although she didn’t believe that it was depression. My step-father on the other hand just wanted a reason why I was crying, and when I couldn’t give him one, he’d freak out and tell me that if I didn’t have a reason then I shouldn’t be crying in the first place and to grow the “eff” up. Great moral support huh? There are certain words that I would like to call him but won’t just for the fact that this is aimed at you. (I’m sure you’ve heard the words many times, but this is to keep your parents off my back.)

For me, It was really hard. Although my mother and real father knew that I was upset, they didn’t realize how bad it was and kept telling me to get over it. Hearing this does not make you feel better. I wanted to get up out of bed even less. Although, getting out of the house made me feel better, because I was further away from the ones who were “helping” me.

The times that I was home, I would hide out in my room watching television, reading, listening to music… you know, the usual stuff. Only, I even ate in there. Unless it was to use the bathroom, I hardly left my room. I stopped caring about the way that I looked, even about the way that I carried myself. My head hung low to the ground as I walked everyday.

Thankfully though, I found an outlet for my feelings. I decided to actually bring home my binder from school one day, and I sat down and wrote about everything that I was feeling. Boy did I feel better afterwards. It was nice to have a way to get out all of my feelings. Nobody had to know about it, and inside I felt like I had accomplished something. Like I had helped my self in some way. And in a way, I did.

Writing let me develop my creativity, my grammar, spelling, sentence structure, and most of all, it helped me to feel better about myself which was what I needed. No, writing didn’t get rid of my depression. That was a lot of little things. Some of which I can’t remember. Some of them seemed so meaningless, yet I know they made a difference. Like wearing a bright color instead of black when I got dressed, or combing my hair a different way. It all makes a difference. Now I’m not saying go write everything down and do everything like I did. That’s not what I want at all. I just want you to realize that I’m not a teacher or one of your parents trying to lecture you into doing something. That’s just not it. I’m you, only in a different time.

I just want you to understand where I’m coming from. That I’m not just going to give you a bunch of statistics and blah blah blah. That’s not my style. I like to give the truth so you can see how it is. Not just a bunch of B.S that some guy posted on the internet claiming that so-and-so’s new drug will cure all of your problems. No way, no how. Don’t take medications if you don’t have to. And if your doctor recommends them, make sure you do your reading up on it before touching it. I had an experience where my doctor wanted to give me a pill that, at the time, was all over the news. I had done my reading on it. (I like to read, what can I say) I told him out and out that he was nuts if he expected me to take it. In my exact words, “One of the side effects of that is thoughts of suicide. I’m already depressed you nut, do you seriously want to push me further over the edge?” Ha-ha, he didn’t like that much. Oh well, it’s a good thing though because now, hundreds of people are addicted to them and dying just trying to get it. Sorry but I don’t want to be a pill head for the rest of my life.