... a depression and anxiety blog and chat room community.

Bookmark and Share

Childhood Repression Come to Light

As a child I was diagnosed first with clinical depression, and later in my teen years with schitzophrenic depression.



It started before I can remember. I only know this due to the first memory I have is of my mother screaming at my father. Accusing him of affairs with women he had walked past in a store. Women whos pictures were in magazines or on books. All while she had affairs behind his back. There is a strong line of mental illness in her side of the family.

I was always a small child, essentially the runt of the family. Due to this I was consistently picked on both inside and outside of the home. And the only one who could comfort me was my father, but he worked 2 jobs just to make ends meet and keep food on the table. So all the while I was bullied at school, and for years I was choked to the point of passing out, or very close to, daily by my brother. I imagine it was due to his frustrations and his own struggles dealing with out completely dsyfunctional family enviornment which did nothing but breed hate within all of us. But that still does not justify his actions. So with the terrible family life, bullied at school for being small, and choked at home, I developed depression and suicidal thoughts at a very young age.



There were many attempts, and luckily none successful. I do enjoy being alive. Yet I question myself daily on whether I really do enjoy life, or just a few things in it, and whether or not I really enjoy anything, or just try to fool myself into thinking I do want to be alive. I struggle daily with everything. On the outside you'd never know, just like everyone thought I had a great family life because whenever anyone was around the fascade was in play. The moment it was just us, the hellfire returned hotter than ever. And any complaint I ever made about the fighting and screaming results in my mother spanking me with the metal buckle of a belt until i was bleeding. So even then there was no comfort. Though she only did that when my dad wasn't around, as I know he would not have let that go on had he known that's what she did to me. And that also was explained later on when she confessed to my now stepfather that she hates me and cannot even stand to look at me because I look like my father.



Skipping ahead, at my sisters 8th grade graduation, the oldest one of us 4. My mother told my dad she wanted a divorce, which later to find out was due to her secretive drug abuse and non secretive alcohol abuse and her continuous affairs to which my father convinced himself weren't real because he didn't want us kids to be hurt even more by her. Little did he know at the time that staying actually caused more harm than good, but he had the best intentions at heart so none of us hold anything against him. It actually shows that he cared more about us than his own well being as he would have made himself the most miserable human being in existence simply to save us from any kind of harm. So over the years of our childhood she brought home many drunks, junkies, and all around total peices of sh!t. So as kids we were exposed to that lifestyle, and ultimately had to be raised by our oldest sister due to the divorce decree siding with my mother simply because she has a vagina and birthed us. We hardly got to see our dad who was stuck with hardly being able to see the only things he has in life as he has no immediate family living anymore, even at that point in time.



We felt like the world was picking on us. I felt like the world was against me. My mother turned even more full of hate towards my father at every turn. She began using us kids as a weapon against him. The most notable being his custody being changed to seeing us even less because him and I were involved in a car accident that left me with a broken jaw. Which was my fault because I did not put on my seat belt even though I was supposed to. My dad didn't think to check because normally I always wore it. Again I don't put him at fault whatsoever. It was my decision to not wear it and it resulted in bodily harm. She used this in court and got his custody rights lessened. She told us terrible things about him. Told us how she wished she could kill him and get away with it because he's a terrible person and so on. If you ever met him, he's the most down to earth person in the world. One of the nicest people you'll ever meet.



I eventually got sick of this treatment and when I was 15 I left her house and moved in with my dad. She only let it go because even though I lived with him, he still paid her child support. And an outrageous amount at that. And she freely admitted that the only reason she kept custody of me to begin with was for the child support. So at this point I tried to branch out within my life, tried to move on from my past. And ended up repressing it. And it found a way out because I had no idea how to handle it, I was barely a teenager. So I began getting in trouble at school. Fell into drugs and alcohol. And went back and forth trying to clean up my life and then giving up and going back because I didn't care anymore what happened to me. Then I got a girl pregnant. And I had to grow up fast. Faster than you're supposed to. Found out I was going to be having a little girl. We picked out a name, had future plans for our family that we were nowhere close to being ready for but we we're going to do everything we could to make things work.

Then it all fell apart. And in the end my daughters mother was assualted by her stepmother and my unborn daughter was irrepairably hurt in the incident. Which led to a miscarraige close to the full term. But the damage was too much. At 16 I had a dead daughter. I fell down. Turned back to drugs and alcohol. Became best friends with self harm. Then I met somone. He was older than me, but he didn't treat me like everyone else did. He didn't have the disdain. He had understanding. He played softball with my dad. In his early twenties. He became my best friend, my big brother. My role model. He liked to drink quite a bit, he liked tattoos and piercings, and so did I. He helped me out of my dark place. And then the hardest thing that could have happened at that point. He shot himself. I got that call and fell apart. The one person who understood me killed himself. He was like the big brother than I should have had. He cared about me. Made sure I was ok. But when he needed me most I wasn't there. I'm sure he didn't blame me because he knew I was busy that night with schoolwork, so he didn't even bother to call. So there I am. Alone again.



And I tried to fight it, but lost. I ended up with a 44. Magnum in my mouth. In my dads living room. And I pulled the trigger. Click. The gun never went off, and to this day I have no real explanation for why. The primer was dented just fine. Several people have used the gun since and it works just fine. But that time, it didn't go off. I realized what I'd done and broke down. At that point I was put into therapy again. And in the end I gave up hope of ever getting better.





All in all I came to the conclusion that people suck. A person is alright. I don't mind persons. But you put persons together and make it people and they become nasty and hateful and judgemental. So I isolate from them when at all possible.



This is kind of a brief summary of a few things I've went through. Kind of my intruction to the site and the people here to get a small background to relate to. There's more to come. Just be patient with me, this is my first time doing a blog so it's all new for me.

Depression Blogs - Depression Journals - Anxiety Blogs - Anxiety Journals - Depression Chat Rooms - Anxiety Chat Rooms

Copyright 2010 www.depression-blogs-chat-rooms.org All rights reserved.