I'm sure everyone has seen the commercials for depression. "Where does it hurt? Who does it hurt? How does it hurt?" It hurts everywhere, all over, and still hasn't stopped. Some of you might know (if you read my introduction post) that I'm twenty-three. Pretty young. I'm better now than I used to be, but I'm still not completely fine.
I grew up in a military family. Which means I never stayed in one place for too long. I've made friends, lost friends, and it finally took its toll on me during my last major move. I was thirteen years old, moved to one city, yet went to every school in that city. I had never lived in the south before. I'm a northern gal through and through. I'm also mixed. So when I moved to Kentucky I never imagined that I'd get threatened at school on a daily basis because of the color of my skin. Things like that just never happened. That was the spark that set my mind on fire. All the recipes for disaster were already there and the racism just shoved me over the edge. I fell into a terrible state of mind where suicide was my primary thought all day every day. I started gaining even more weight and then by my junior year in high school I went to see a guidance counselor and told her how I felt.
Needless to say, I wasn't allowed back at school for two weeks. They wanted me to go to a facility to be watched for 72 hours. Thankfully, my mother refused. However, I did go to a therapist, saw myself a psychiatrist, and was eventually put on medication: concerta for my A.D.D. and Lexapro for my depression. I lost a lot of weight, started feeling better and graduated with flying colors. Then I started hanging out with new people, got in trouble, ran away and lived in New York for a bit. Afterwards, I came home a somewhat changed person. I was thinner, cooler, and more outgoing than before. That was until I began dating.
I was in an abusive relationship. It was so hard on me that I literally thought I was going crazy. He would threaten my life, threaten my family's life...and all around was destructive to my emotions. So, the urge to take my life came back. By that point in time I had been off my medicine for two years (I was 20 years old). I thought I was better...but when I found myself going back to therapy, I realized I'll probably never be better. I got put back on medicine, but this time Amitriptyline and Cymbalta. It made me worse. I did end up breaking it off with the abusive boyfriend, but I was so out of it from my medication that...I was saving my pills for the end of the week and mixing them with alcohol in an attempt to kill myself. Didn't work, so I tried to drown myself. That didn't work, either. Eventually I stopped taking the medication in hopes of just getting better by being off of them (since they were enhancing my crazy).
As the last few years have passed, I've turned to food as my major comfort food. I got married, and my marriage...would be perfect if I didn't hate it so much. I don't know why I hate my relationship, there's no reason for me to, but it makes me even more depressed. When I gained even more weight throughout my current relationship I just...started hating myself more and more. When I weighed myself at the beginning of summer, I really just broke down. Cried. Because I was becoming my mother when she was my age. 285 pounds, twenty-three, and without the slightest bit of motivation to start working out.
To conclude this, since it's growing to be too long, although I do not take medication anymore, my depression prevents me from wanting to even so much as wake up in the morning. For instance, this morning. Instead of getting up and working out like I promised myself last night, I woke up, grabbed a cup of coffee and watched television. The sad part is...I'm still wearing the active wear from when I was about to exercise, but just couldn't bring myself to. I don't know if I'm just that lazy, I don't think I'm lazy...but I am exhausted all the time.
I guess it just...hurts me more than I let on.