A Personal Journey with Depression

Depression seems like a good word to simply describe something sad. A lot of effort has been put in by the medical community to help those who might be depressed or those who might know someone suffering from anxiety or depression that it is a medical condition. For some, a pill is the answer. For others, the theme "One Day at a Time" becomes their reality. So what is my story? you might ask. What makes my experiences worth reading? The truth is, I consider my existence to be about average.

Growing up, my mother had issues. Her father was an alcoholic who liked to line his children up and beat them. He also beat his wife. The children were hardened by this, and as a result my mother had a lot of problems. She had a hate streak that was terrifying. I never really had many friends in school, and the ones that I had didn't know about the hell in my house until one of them, Lori, witnessed a pretty serious beating I got. My cousins too told me that they had to deal with the therapy of doing nothing when my mother beat me for what I was going to do later in the day. In her defense, I was a difficult child, even on my best days.

My teen years were crushing. As with the life of many teens, I found cruelty to be a day-to-day reality. I was even lucky enough to be bullied by a few teachers. I had a relationship with another. I know that it's not right for a teen to have a relationship with an adult, but it was as if we had been drawn together. Looking back, there is no ill feeling toward him; just an overall sadness at the state of my teenage years. He honestly tried to help me and claimed that he loved me. I seldom dated classmates, but my junior year had me trying to date a little. The summer before my senior year, I met the man who is now my ex-husband. We were together for fourteen very rocky years.

He had issues stemming from a strict Apostolic Pentacostal background that he rebelled against. I was trying to get freed from my mother's crushing heel. The mixture set up the perfect bully-victim scenario. Though both of us have dealt with the stormy marriage and are now friends, there were many times when abuse left me sitting on an upper closet shelf or fearing for my life or hiding in a basement. He was good at cruelty. I was bad at fighting back. The combination spelled HELL for both of us. It wasn't until August 13, 2003 that we both decided that I was in too much danger for us to stay together and that the only cure for us was separation.

The first year, I hid anytime anyone came to the door or called on the phone. I still do not answer the phone unless the caller ID shows one of three people. I slept on the floor a lot with my back against a wall. I was suspicious of everyone judging me. Bruises were all healed but internal scars were deep and paper thin - ready to be ripped back open.

Things today are a little better, but there are still serious issues.Luckily, I have remarried to a wonderful and understanding guy. But, I am worried every time I leave my house. I feel like I am going to die whenever we drive down the road or that everyone will crash into me. I can't go into crowded restaurants, most buffet restaurants, unfamiliar stores, or most gas stations. I can't pay bills in person because I am worried that people will judge me for how many hours of TV I watched, electricity I used, or minutes I used. I can't call a tech support line for fear someone will think I am an idiot. I am mortified with my appearance, sure that everyone thinks I am a slob.

The worst thing is having someone come into my house that I don't know. I can't be in the house when they are in, so when the cable guy comes by, I go outside and hide behind the barn while my husband deals with it. And through those and many other quirks, I am always feeling guilty and abnormal. I stay up at night worried about everything. I despise myself. But I am trying to be better.

Depression, the same that I have battled my entire life, has its hold as well. It is like something is wrapped around my head a zillion times and won't suffocate me completely but won't let me out either. It's sort of like a falling feeling. I have recently discovered that blogging helps a little. My blog Still Wandering through Life is where I put down thoughts about it and fighting it. I'll never get it treated because I just can't deal with the trauma of the doctor. It's not possible. I would rather disappear entirely. I have noticed that I still make a great bully target. As a writer, I can't seem to develop a thick skin to deal with people playing games, lies, or jealousy. The fans want the other novels, but they remain on an unplugged hard drive rather than out in the wild. It is agonizing.

So what does this little written piece have to say to the average person? Basically, please understand those you know with anxiety challenges. Understand that most are trying and take their days one by one by one . . .