D Diaries #1

I know, I know. I haven't posted in forever. Part of it is because I haven't really had time, part of it is because I didn't feel like it, and part of it is because I didn't like the blogger I was becoming. Sure, doing happy fun link-ups is fun, but I started this blog as something more. I started it as a place to write down my thoughts, as a sort of therapy. I need to get back to that.

If you haven't been paying attention to older posts, I have depression. I choose to not be medicated, because I don't like how medication makes me feel (except Exedrin Migraine and Midol!). This means there are lots of days where I am completely fine, and days where I just want to curl up in a ball and cry my eyes out.

With that being said, lets get one thing straight. I am NOT "depressed." I have depression. There is a difference. There is a chemical inbalance in my brain that causes me to be this way. It can be triggered by different things, and can be repressed sometimes, but it is always there.

The earliest I can remember having my depression is when I was in middle school. My beloved grandpa had passed away the year before I started 7th grade, and for some reason, without him I was lost. I got terrible grades, and was absolutely horrible to live with. I was sad all the time, and at that point I was suicidal. I didn't want to live anymore. I wanted to be with my grandpa. I remember telling my mom that, and we cried together on my bed. I was secretly hoping that she would take me to Valley Vista, an in/outpatient treatment center. I knew I needed help. Well, she didn't...instead I was sent to a therapist for anger managment therapy. Amy was really nice, but I could never get up the courage to tell her the things that were running through my head.

I dealt with my "issue" (back then I thought what I was feeling was embarrassing and wrong) by becoming extremely nasty to live with, getting horrible grades, and generally being unpleasant. I never brought up my feelings with my mom again, and kept them to myself. I didn't talk to anyone about it, not even my best friend. To this day, she doesn't know.

My junior year of high school, I got myself in gear grades-wise. I realized that college was my chance to escape, and I had always dreamed of film school. I struggled in class, and was trying my best to improve my grades little by little. My mom is an optometrist, and is extremely smart. So smart, that she felt the need to kep all of her report cards and compare them to mine every quarter/semester. As I looked at her row of As and then at my row of C+ and Bs...I felt awful. I didn't say anything because I knew nothing would help the situation. She broke a piece of my heart and trust with every comparison. My trust in her was completely gone the day she caught me on AIM instead of doing math homework. After yelling and taking my computer away, she told me (I will never forget these words as long as I live) "You'll never get in to college. You'll never amount to anything. You're going to live in a box under a bridge and ask 'do you want fries with that' as a career."  I decided to prove her wrong. I got in to 6/10 schools I had applied to. I only told my parents about 1...Eureka. It was the cheapest. Regardless of my private success, her words had triggered my depression and I spent the rest of high school sullen, quiet, and going through the motions.

In college, I felt like I could breathe again. I was away from my parents, who I associated with my depression and anxiety (yes, I had developed that as well). I made some bad choices my freshman year as far as going to classes, so sophomore year I found myself falling behind in everything. I started having panic attacks, and would go through days of severe depression. I'm talking hiding in my room, being completely withdrawn and silent, and general all-around gloom. I was talking to a dear family friend one night, and I admitted what I was feeling. Joey, bless his heart, jumped into action, called my mom to explain the situation, and drove 3 1/2 hours in the snow to come get me. At 9 pm. He spent the night and we drove to Indy the next day in a blizzard. I stayed home for a week, then went back to school. My mom and I never really discussed how I was feeling, she just accepted the fact that I needed to be home for a bit.

I graduated college, went through multiple jobs, and here I am. About to turn 25, working for an Indycar team, have a wonderful boyfriend, etc. And yet...I find myself falling back into that dark time. I finally mustered up the courage to tell Tyler, and he suggested therapy. I chose to start this blog.

So please, bare with me. I'm struggling.

Have any of you suffered through this? Known anyone that has? Does anyone understand? I as always, appreciate kind thoughts and good advice.