Search

Blog

Alone in the most crowded of places, Lost in a sea of faces
Posted by PoetryJo
2nd Nov 2013

As I sit, looking at the blank screen, and think of what to write, where to start. I feel a sadness in my heart that is bubbling up inside. I am absolutely without a doubt, blessed. My family are beautiful, if not slightly blind to the way I feel from time to time. I have a home (and may or may not currently be behind on mortgage payments) and although I can't give my growing children all they want, I can supply them with all they need.

For many years I suffered with depression, without ever knowing what was wrong with me. Throughout my teenage years I suffered with anxiety, constantly thinking that my close family members were going to die in horrible accidents. I hated myself and thought I was fat and ugly (I wan't, I was beautiful) Though I managed not to draw the attention of my parents to it. At the age of sixteen I began self harming. Don't ask me why, It was after a breakup with a lad I'd gone out with for less than a month. I was a flood of emotion and that just happened. I had previously stolen a Stanley knife from school. I don't know why I did that either because I was not a thief usually!

After I left school, with hardly any GCSE's I worked and slept... that was my existence.

It was a few years after that I met a nice man, a little older than I and we made a life together. Early on in the relationship he found my cut marks and asked that I stop. I promised I would. Unfortunately that was a promise I couldn't keep and after he noticed I'd done it again he took a knife from the kitchen, was shouting and bawling at me that it hurt him that I did it and he cut his own arm, deep. Told me how do I like it. I never did it again but still had urges from time to time.

We married and had children. I never stopped feeling the way I'd felt as a teen, it came and went in waves. Sometime for a short time and sometime for years. I was diagnosed with depression after my second child was a year old and I'd been talking to my health visitor, she referred me to my doctor who diagnosed my depression as post-natal. However as I finally had a name to put to the feelings, I knew it was not post-natal depression, it was depression I had been feeling all along.

In the years that have followed I have been on again, off again taking medication, Talking therapies and CBT and in the end I've found that writing works best for me personally. I have been writing in journals now for five years and will keep doing it as long as it works. Sometimes, writing down how I am feeling about a situation helps, other times having a big old rant is the best cure ever.

So that is (in brief) my story.

I am not saying that depression is a thing of the past, but I can say hand on heart that I'm getting there... wherever there may-be.

Thank you for reading.




Share Email a friend Be the first to comment on this blog