My depression story...I was born to parents who I think really do not love me. I had two older sisters who died as infants and I think when they died...their love went with them. One was born stillborn in January of 1964 (2 months early) and Cheryl Denise was born November 30, 1964 and died December 1, 1964. She died of premature lungs and once again it was two months early. When I was fourteen months old I was paralyzed for 6 weeks on my left side due to a grand mal seizure and had to relearn how to walk and talk. I had speech therapy from the time I was two until I was 17 and, today I have no fine motor skills on my left side. Which means that I can only type with my right hand because my left fingers will not open and close the whole way. Because of that incident, my parent's are now very overprotective. They will not let me do anything to this day. I have to get permission to go out and spend money, and my father fights to get control of my checkbook and my bills. Granted I had some problems in the past, but over the course of the last year I am turning around. They basically do not let me do anything. My parent's always question my motives and my comings and goings. I get quizzed with who I talk to on the phone to what I do online to what church I am going to on Sundays�?SPAN> They do not believe a word I say.
My parent's are social drinkers. Dad always falls asleep with a drink in his hand. Now that he only works two days a week, he drinks from the time he gets up until he goes to bed. I am the one that buys him the alcohol…two bottles of scotch once a week. Mom won’t buy it and he can’t physically walk to get it..so I’m his crutch. I was physically abused until I turned 19. My parent's would beat me in anger with a wooden paddle that we had in the house (and still do). I always feared Dad more than Mom. Mom would hit me with her hands. She liked to do that when I was vulnerable and while we were arguing. Mom hit me one time over the head and on my chest repeatedly as I covered my head with my arm to protect myself. I was in the bathtub so I couldn’t go anywhere. It didn't work. Nothing worked. Why try to fight against them when they over power you? The last time Dad hit me I was 19. Mom held my hands and arms behind my back, and Dad hit me in the face and knocked my glasses off and worse. Granted, Dad has tried to hit me several times since then, but I'm quicker at reading him now. The last time he tried to hit me was two years ago. Whenever I see the anger start to rise, I get out of the room as fast as I can.
I am also emotionally and verbally abused at home. For the past 32 years my parents have called me every name in the book. I have been called: fat, ugly, stupid, idiot, and more. Mom also tells me that she wishes that I wasn't born. I have basically come to believe them. I have started living up to their expectations. I don't value myself. I hate myself. I can't stand the way that I look. I belittle myself. I can’t accept any positive comments from others. I also have a hard time with names like sweetie, honey, dear, etc. Don’t get me wrong, I like hearing them; but I don’t believe that I am that. When you are told that you are (fill in the blank) you tend to believe it. There is nothing good in me.
I feel nothing for my parents. I do not love them or hate them. There are times that I wish that they weren't here. I have told Mom that I do not like her and that she could leave permanently and I wouldn't care. I basically mean that too. I cannot tell you the last time that either one of them hugged me or told me that they loved me. I have come to think of myself as unlovable, because if my own parent's can't love me; then how can anyone else...especially God?
I have no friends here who do not know my parents. I cannot talk to anyone, because everyone I know would tell then what I had said. Counseling didn't work, because the counselor sided with my parents. In November 2004, I started going to a Christian therapist. I like her and am slowly starting to trust her. I haven’t told her any of this, yet one day I will. After my horrible experience with a counselor and then with a friend leaving me in July of 2004, I decided that I cannot trust anyone again. So I live in my corner, in my room with my computer except for work and church.
I also have drank to escape my problems and take away the pain for the moment. Although that rarely helps, it eases the situation for the moment. I learned to drink from watching my parents escape daily into alcohol. It seems so easy; especially since there is always alcohol available. I still do drink. When things get too unbearable or the depression creeps in and I can't reach out to anyone..I drink. Sometimes I drink and drive. I know it's wrong, but when I do it I really don't care. I also cut to stop the pain. Well I cut open the scabs on my face, chest and back with a pair of fingernail clippers. It doesn’t hurt anymore. I dig until I get what I think is enough out. Whatever that is…my face has turned into a battle zone.
When I went away to college after high school, I was sexually violated by two guys on three different occasions. The first incident occurred when my roommate and her boyfriend decided to see how far they could get me to go. It was a night of pure agony. It started out with truth and dare and strip poker and ended up well…The second incident occurred the night my grandfather passed away in 1991. I spent the night at my friend's frat house, and he took advantage of me. (That was my fault). I shouldn’t have gone with the state of mind I was in, but I wanted someone to hold me and to love me…so I went. Third, the same guy, decided to try to teach me some things and since I was already looking for love and acceptance; I let him do it. I didn't know the scars that it would leave. I haven't told my parent's any of this and I don't plan too. Much of my memory of this is blocked out…memories do resurface, but I push them back down again.
I moved out of the house in July 1998 because I knew that Dad was too angry and violent and was out of control. I moved in with my pastor and his wife. She led me to Jesus about two weeks later. I only stayed with her and her family a month, before I moved into an apartment. I was on fire for God at that time. I stayed in my apartment until June 2000 and moved back home. That was the worst mistake of my life. My parents started treating me like I had never left, and began making fun of my new found faith. I have to tell them what I do, who I do it with, and I have to report to them how much I spend and what it is on. I get questioned about my motives, and what I do with my spare time. They do not believe a word that I say. I get made fun of if I go to church. I’m told what is he selling or what line are you being fed.
Living here is difficult, but I want to try to be the light for Jesus here. My parents need salvation, and I might be the only one to lead them there. Currently, my mom and dad are having health problems. My Dad is 65, has emphesema, smokes, has asthma, heart and back problems. He is on oxygen 24/7 and the doctor just told him that he is using all of his energy to get air in and out of his lungs. He has lost 6 pounds in two months and the doctors say no more. They have also given him about a year to live. My mom is having chest pains/anxierty attacks and everything gets taken out on one another...so I hibernate in my room. Since moving back home, I have become very depressed and suicidal. The depression has its ups and downs. It feels like I am on a rollercoaster that doesn't stop. The suicidal thoughts are quite frequent and regular. They disappear at times, but for the most part I think about ending it on a daily basis. I see no real point for continuing on.
Once in 2003, I thought I found a way to escape it all. I bought a one way ticket to WA state to go live with a friend and her family to get away from mine. I should have known that running away isn’t the answer. When I got there, I only spent two days with them and was taken to a domestic violence shelter. There I spent some time. I was scared. I couldn’t go home on my own because I had no money. While at the shelter, the people that I had stayed with called there and told them that I had threatened their newly adopted daughter (my best friend) and that I had stolen someone’s identification and taken a knife. Thankfully the people at the shelter believed me. He threatened me with the police, a restraining order, a mental hospital, and more. I ended up calling my mom and telling her what happened except for what these people claimed I had done…and where I was. She bought me a bus ticket home. Three days on a greyhound bus..not fun. Dad to this day has no idea where I went or what happened to me.
In reality, I don’t think I could actually end it all because I would hurt too many people who care about me. After coming back from the shelter I was very suicidal for a period of four to five months. I shut myself off from the rest of the world and developed an attidude and a half..that I still carry. I do not let many people get close to me. There have been too many that have hurt me online for me to open up with. I'm trying..but it's hard..be patient with me.
Cassie, January 2005
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