This blog post isn’t going to be like the other ones I have posted on this blog, I’m going to be talking about a fairly serious matter, so if you don’t like that kind of stuff I’d advise you to click away now.
I wish that depression didn’t exist.
Depression is something I’ve really struggled to talk about up until now, so this is a fairly big step for me. Also, before I start I have to stress that I’m not doing this for attention, or to receive any sort of gain from it, it’s simply something that I just want to talk about, and have probably pushed back talking about for longer than I should.
I suffered with depression for a large portion of my life, and I can say it was completely and utterly life-ruining. Yes, I may be ‘only 17’ and ‘haven’t even experienced any of my life yet’, but that does not mean in any way, shape, or form that life can’t tear me apart. I might not be struggling with debt, finding a job, or house, but that does not mean other things have dragged me to my lowest point. I think that’s what I hated most about having depression, people older than me putting it down to ‘being a teenager’.
I can’t pinpoint exactly when I first experienced depression, but I guess it’s not really something that you experience all of a sudden, it’s more of a gradual thing, you start noticing what you hate about life more and more, you become more able to hate yourself completely, to hate other people around you. I am not a person that is hateful, at all, and I’m sure my friends can confirm that, so to find that I was beginning to hate everything around me really was gut-wrenching. Yet, I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
I was at my first boarding school when I really started to change, in year 7 I was fine and full of life (everything a year 7 should be), but year 8 came around and I was on the phone to my mum (who lived in Germany at the time) crying every.single.night. The funny thing is that I wasn’t homesick, because I was still miserable when I was at home. I think that’s when my Mum and step-dad noticed that something was up, but I didn’t have a clue at the time, I just thought I hated school.
So, to solve this, at the start of year 10 I moved to a different boarding school. I promised all my old friends that I would stay in touch, which I didn’t do as well as I should have, and I’m so sorry, if you’re reading this. I hope this explains why.The school I moved to was closer to my grandparents, meaning that I could always go there if I was finding things difficult. Year 10 was ok, I guess, I wasn’t as ‘sad’ as I was before, and GCSE’s were keeping me occupied, but something was missing. I didn’t really seem to feel like I fitted in, people teased me quite a lot, although I did meet some genuine lovely people.
The start of year 11 is really when everything came crashing down. (This may be triggering to some people).
I began to get a lot of people on an a website where anonymous questions/comments could be made saying some really, really awful things. Disgusting things. I think the worst part was that somebody had somehow got into my account/imitated my account and made out like I was saying horrible things about myself. I would never, ever do that, but people just didn’t believe me. To this day, I still don’t know who sent me messages like ‘go die’ or ‘commit suicide’ or even ‘you’re a slut’ but I hope you’re reading this, and I seriously hope you’re ashamed in yourself, because you turned me into something that I’m not. A really flipping miserable person. After this first event, I stopped going to school as much, and started taking incredible amounts of days of ill because I didn’t want to face people at school, as I didn’t want them to be saying awful things about me. My self-confidence was really knocked, and when people where being nice to me I thought they were being sarcastic.
It wasn’t long after that, that I couldn’t cope any more. My body was trying to physically get me out of stressful situations by causing me to faint, and I was rushed to A&E every time because my body wasn’t reacting. After the third visit to A&E in a short period of time, and no successful results of anything serious happening in my body, the doctors began to look into other things. They asked me how I felt in myself, etc., but I was a complete and utter idiot and lied to them, saying that I felt fine.
I started to push any friends that I had away, but felt so alone. I couldn’t understand why I was doing it. I think the first time I hurt myself I wasn’t intending to permanently leave the world, but I just didn’t care anymore, and it was a way of coping. But I kept doing it more and more, severely so that it turned into suicide attempts. Somebody found out about what I was doing, and at the time I hated them for telling my house-mistress, but now I couldn’t thank them enough because if it wasn’t for them I probably wouldn’t be here writing today.
My house-mistress referred me to CAMHS (Children & Adolescent Mental Health Services), where I was placed with a councillor – Ian. He was great, and the one to actually diagnose me with depression. We’d have weekly appointments at my school, and on the days I really didn’t want to talk, he would just tell me loads of hilarious stories, and I’d always leave that hour feeling a little bit better. I even started going to ‘group therapy’ and I met some people there that really put life in perspective for me.
After I finished my GCSE’s I left that place, where my boarding school was, and never looked back. I didn’t want look back. I didn’t say bye, I just left. I’ve never seen Ian again, and I probably ever won’t. The happy end to the story is that I don’t need to.
I knew inside that getting away is what I really needed. I just needed to run away from the negativity, and no, running away isn’t cowardly, it’s putting your legs (even if metaphorical) to use. I started at a brand new school for sixth-form, a normal one, live at home for the first time, met some really freaking amazing people, and up until now never really spoken about my experiences, because nobody needed to know who I was before, I was just the ‘new girl’.
I knew that the day I could speak about what happened to me, would be the day that I knew that I truly felt better 😀 I’ve finally decided that journalism is the route for me, even landed writing jobs for three online publications and am feeling so, so positive about my future.
So, if anyone is suffering with anything like what I’ve been through, it does actually get better!! People aren’t lying!
If you’ve read up until this point, thank you. I do hope this makes some people realise that young people do suffer with depression, and not just because of petty problems. Like I said above, I do not want sympathy, I’ve just tackled my demons today.