As a child I grew up in a household with a father who was an alcoholic and a gambler and a mother who suffered from depression. She was a mom of 3 at 21 years old. My mother and father would always argue about money or about my dad not spending time with the family. I can clearly remember my mom locking my dad out of the house and my dad smashing the window on the front door, raging through the house.
At the age of 14 I started drinking. It became a habit. It was quite bad. Getting drunk at 8.30am on a morning before school started. I often got told to leave lessons for being too noisy. Sometimes I would even have to leave the classroom to be sick from drinking too much vodka. My habit got that bad that I would pinch money from my dad’s pocket while he was asleep drunk to buy my alcohol and cigarettes.
One night I drank so much and I started feeling sorry for myself. Sat with my best friend on a curb and everything I had been through just started pouring out of me like verbal diarrhoea. My friend then noticed the time and had to go home. I remember sitting on the curb and spotting a piece of broken glass. I picked it up and started slicing my arm.
I can still remember the pain and the blood. The only way I can describe the pain was as if it was all the pain and emotion I had been locking up was coming away from me. The physical pain eased my emotional pain. I sat for a while. The blood was trickling down my hand. Someone I knew came along and wrapped my arm up in a t-shirt and took me to their house to clean me up. This was just the start.
Every time my family had conflict or if there was any conflict with friends or at school, even if it wasn’t my fault. I would turn it to make it look like it was my fault. I remember one day a boy tried to kiss me but I wasn’t interested so I smacked him across the face. That night I went home and cut myself.
Sometimes if I didn’t have the things to cut myself I would punish myself. I would go without food, leave my window open through the night with no clothes or blankets so I would freeze. Even a few times I tried to take overdoses. Still to this day I can not take those pink Ibuprofen tablets as they made me sick from taking so many.
When I was 16 I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I was put on anti-depressants and had to go and see a counselor every week. Although this didn’t seem to help me.
That Christmas me and my boyfriend had a huge argument. I walked 5 mile barefoot to go and see him. I got there and my feet were numb. My boyfriend noticed footprints and asked to look at my feet. I had no skin on the bottom. They were all covered in blood. He started kicking off. But to me I felt at ease as it was my ‘punishment’ for the arguing.
I kept self harming after this, but as it was putting serious strain on the relationship I would do it in places no one could see, normally on my knicker line and tops of legs.
When I was 20 I had a new boyfriend. He was a friend of my dad’s. He had been known to have had problems in the past but I could see past these. Until that following Christmas. Alcohol was going missing from the flat. Bottles of vodka were being drank and filled with water. He was a serious alcoholic. Every time he got drunk he would call me names. Say we shouldn’t be together. Call himself a monster. Tell me he didn’t love me. I was worthless.
I was working two jobs at the time to pay for the bills while he wasn’t working at all. He wouldn’t even pick me up from work. I’d had enough. One night we had an argument and I was so low. I went outside, ripped a can in half and started cutting my wrist. It had been a while since I had done it and the relief was overwhelming. Then he came out, asked what I was doing. Started saying I was the crazy one. He then ripped the torn can from my hand and sliced it across my wrist ‘let me do that for you’ He added.
The blood was everywhere. I had never cut myself so bad. I was so scared. I ran home and told my dad. The next day my boyfriend was gone. Never seen him since. Although last year I read in the paper he had been sentenced. He was in a relationship before me and he had been sexually abusing his partner’s daughter (a child). Sick freak!
Later that year, on my 21st birthday I found out I was pregnant from a one night stand… This is the day my life changed. I stopped the drinking, stopped abusing my body, I even stopped taking my anti-depressants. I was to become a mom. This little life growing inside of me needed me, he depended on me.
Now 2 year old I still look at my son and think he changed my life, he saved me. I believe I would not be here if he didn’t happen. His dad didn’t want to be involved so it had always been me and my little boy. He was a very poorly little boy and I found it hard. But this gave me more reason to fight. And eventually we overcame this. He gave me the willingness to fight loads of battles, especially the ones in my head.
Since I found out I was pregnant with him I haven’t needed the anti-depressants or counselor. He was my cure for my depression.
I still have my down days but now I have two healthy happy little boys, a wonderful partner who would do anything for me (although sometimes I don’t think he understands about my depression when I’m having down days), and I have a lovely home. My past is my past. I would like it to stay there. Although I still have my scars to remind me of it. This is the first time I have been truly open about everything.
This post is an inspirational guest post to highlight the effects of depression.
