The Desperation of Mental Illness and Depression
I woke up one morning in 1994 crushed with depression. The first thing I thought of that morning was how much I wanted to kill myself, and if I couldn’t do that, then how much I wanted to hurt myself. I kept cutting implements and bandages near my bed just in case the feelings were too much to bear.
Of course, this was like every morning of my 16-year-old life. I was depressed, but I didn’t know it. I only knew that I wanted to die. I needed to die. I needed it like most people needed breath. And I knew that no one understood.
Home Life, Suicide and Depression
My home life was one of the things driving me to depression and granting me the leanings of suicide. Things there were a hellish nightmare of screaming and hate. And the people related to me and forced to love me gave me no consolation whatsoever as I was sure that they didn’t. These people hated me and wanted me gone every bit as much as I did.
This was, at least partially, my depression talking, but I didn’t know it then. I didn’t know what depression was and I didn’t know how loudly it spoke.
The Only Place That Would Have a Depressed Me
So I found myself in my car trying to drive anywhere away from there. Away from the nexus of crazy. So I drove to the only place that I knew would have me – to the house of my rapist.
As is most often the case my sexual abuse was complicated. And while I hated what this man in his 40s did to me the one thing I couldn’t live without was his love. He would tell me he loved me. This was undoubtedly a lie but convinced as I was that no one else did, that my life was worthless and that I should die, that one sliver of love offered by a minion of Satan made me keep breathing.
I arrived at his house to find him not home – away, undoubtedly grooming other little lovelies for his nest. So I did the only thing I could think to do, I curled up on a square of cement near his front steps and went to sleep weeping – an attempt to escape the world that was trying to kill me.
A Picture of Mental Illness in Crisis
This is a picture of a girl in crisis. A girl so tightly wound in the grasp of depression that she can see no way of dealing with it at all. A girl so desperate to feel anything but the pain of mental illness she was prepared to put her body and her soul in harm’s way just to not feel like death was upon her for one brief moment in time.
At sixteen, in spite of being acutely depressed and showing all the diagnostic symptoms of depression, not one person ever suggested I was mentally ill or that I was suffering from a mental illness. I had seen multiple counselors and therapists and not one suggested that I see a psychiatrist. No one, anywhere, thought that a medical illness could be part of the problem.
And I assumed they must have been right. Seeing a doctor was certainly nothing that occurred to me either. The adults didn’t see it, why would I?
But this is what happens to the victims of mental illness. They become desperate and then become victims of predators that would abuse them physically, mentally or sexually because their pain makes them so easy to manipulate.
And in my case, being as young as I was, it was my parent’s responsibility to see that I was sick and it was their responsibility to get me help. But like so many, they had their own illnesses and problems to deal with and were incapable of helping their drowning daughter.
Lessons of Desperation and Mental Illness
The lesson here is this: those of us who are drowning might not realize it. Those of us who have a mental illness may not see it. Those of us who are unspeakably ill might not even know that such an illness exists.
So on this day of mental health blogging I challenge everyone to spread a fact about mental illness. It can be any fact you want and it can be to any person you want. It can simply be the idea that mental illness exists, it’s treatable and that it does get better. It could simply be the idea that just because you are drowning today doesn’t mean you have to be drowning forever. It could be the idea that people can take their own destiny by the horns and direct their future in a new way with the help of others who can guide them.
Because people need to know that mental illness exists. It’s real. And you can come back from it before you become another cautionary tale. No one has to suffer the kind of desperation I did.
stressed out - December 8, 2012 ←
I can relate to this blog my home life sounds the same and although i don’t want to die my suicidal thoughts are often and my feeling of harming my self in hard times does happen, thankyou for sharing this you let people like me know i’m not the only one xx
Crazy Mother - December 4, 2012 ←
I’m 44. My son is turning 5 tomorrow. Official party this Saturday, but mini party tomorrow so he doesn’t feel forgotten.
I’m a skin picker. OCD. Depressed. On medication.
When the anxiety gets too bad, I’ve been known to help my skin picking with a razor. I have a scar that is so hard from repeated skin picking on it that if I want to take out the tough center I need more than just my nails.
And there are times when I hate myself so much that I want to kill myself. But I don’t want to go to Hell, I don’t want to disappoint my family, leave my son w/o a Mom, leave my husband w/o a wife, such as I am. My Dad is in a nursing home, with Parkinsons. He needs me too. My Sister lives in another state, but helps out as much as she can. A little over a year ago, our Mom died in the same nursing home, after being there for 3 months tops. Her health had been precarious. She had been living at my parent’s home with caregivers, until the money ran out and it became necessary to move her while my Sister sold their place. I had been managing Mom’s medication (over 10 of them), and her doctor’s appointments for 2 years off and on, depending upon her stints in the hospital or nursing homes. She was on one medication to thin her blood that required very close and careful monitoring. And diabetic. And had lymphedema, which caused a huge amount of water retention, requiring compression stockings and compression therapy from one of her caregivers.
Her stroke meant she was not the same person anymore. And when Dad was home with her, trying his best in spite of his undiagnosed Parkinsons, to take care of her, I’d often get phone calls from Mom saying that Dad was trying to kill her. It’s been a year since she’s gone, and I think I’m still a bit shaky and PTSD-ish. The care, and the drama, did me in. The guilt from missing time with my son when I was taking care of my Mom, and somewhat my Dad, or guilt from missing work… the debt from paying for daycare while missing work to take my Mom to doctor’s appointments or deal with other issues of her or Dad’s care… Aigh! Totally friggin insane time of my life. More so than usual.
Mom had several hospital trips in August 2009. Then she had a major stroke in December 2009, a few days after my son’s 2nd birthday. It was a hellish ride until her death. Dad’s personality thankfully has been very mellow and sweet even with Parkinson’s making his brain mushy.
I was OCD and Depressed before my son was born (and undergoing the pressure of being a working Mom), and before my Mom’s stroke that truly began the final downward spiral of her physical and mental health. Now I’m just kindof still in shock, waiting for the next shoe to drop.
I feel a little like keeping the razors in my purse and in a drawer at work are kindof my way of knowing I have my “security blanket”. It’s so stupid. It’s not a security blanket at all. Thankfully I also have Xanax in my purse, too, lol.
Work has been getting busier, and so have things with the holidays. I haven’t seen my shrink in a while. He tried to put me on Abilify, but when I tried it, it made me feel… wrong. So I stopped it. [You're mileage may vary.] I’m on Celexa and Xanax. I’d like a larger dose of Celexa, or being back on Zoloft. Both are now limited to 40mg. I was at one point on 120mg on Zoloft, and happy to be there!!! Ah, well.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to end it all. I just… I get what you guys are feeling. I’m tired, and I often just lose it and stay in bed as much as my child will let me, assuming I don’t manage to get him to daycare first. Today… yeah. I stayed home, and my poor child got to have a boring day at home with a sleepy sluggish mommy.
Tired. Just very tired.
Hang in there, everyone, though. I know Depression lies to me, constantly. It lies to you, too. Don’t believe it.
Dave - December 3, 2012 ←
I’ve gotten a “Javascript Exploit” message when accessing this site. ( a form of a virus)
Tabby - May 20, 2012 ←
My mother had, herself, been IP in the mid-60s due to an addiction to “nerve pills” she called it. She stayed IP for a month and often, later, spoke of it quite fondly. Yet, she never admitted that she had a mental illness and that she had been diagnosed with Bipolar. She had gone to a doc, the doc said it was “her being a nervous female” and gave her Valium, you know… “Momma’s little helpers”?
She came home and never went back for psychiatric treatment. Why? Cause in the 50′s and 60′s, YOU DIDN”T… less you were clearly crazy. Stigma was soo sooo sooo much harsher then as it is now and if you were a momma who tried to kill yourself, kids were taken away from you, you were locked up in a hospital, and there you all stayed for however, long.
So, when I started exhibiting “problems” and “issues” as a very very young girl, in the late 60s… NO ONE saw it, NO ONE wanted to see it, NO ONE cared to see it. My mom and dad were divorcing, poverty, mom re-marrying, abuse, abuse towards us kids, etc.. too many ADULT problems… NO ONE saw me, NO ONE wanted to see me, NO ONE cared to SEE me hurting.. dying.. crying.. hiding.
It wasn’t until I insisted on being seen by the “official” MH clinic, not my school counselor, that I was finally “noticed” but, only briefly. From then on… it was just that I didn’t try enough, didn’t want to try hard enough, why couldn’t I just ______ (fill in the blank), “there is nothing wrong with you that couldn’t be fixed if you’d just ____ (fill in the blank).”
NO ONE saw it… NO ONE wanted to see it.. NO ONE cared… TO… SEE …. IT
Natasha Tracy - May 20, 2012 ←
Hi Tabby,
That must have been very hard and I imagine it has left plenty of scars. But as you say, it was a different time then and people were much less likely to admit to a mental illness and we had far fewer ways of treating them as well.
I hope, over time, you have managed to gain some sort of closure on this issue with your parents. As you said (and as I said too) there were so many adult problems going on that they just couldn’t (and yes, didn’t want to) see you. You obviously understand that it wasn’t you, it was them and the unfortunately life conditions.
- Natasha Tracy
Johnathon - May 20, 2012 ←
I did this too and still fight it to this day. Thank you for sharing your story and reminding me I am not alone in this daily struggle.
Natasha Tracy - May 20, 2012 ←
Hi Johnathon,
I’m happy to remind you that you are not alone in your fight.
- Natasha Tracy
Nikky44 - May 19, 2012 ←
Thank you very much for sharing. It’s the responsibility of the parents. They did take me to the doctors, but refused the diagnostic and the treatment. They refused the idea of me being depressed and suicidal.They refused to let me get treated
Natasha Tracy - May 19, 2012 ←
Hi Nikky44,
I think that’s one of the most tragic outcomes of all – when the parents have all the information, the diagnosis and treatment handed to them, and yet they refuse it. It’s like someone took your help and just moved it out of your reach. That was very bad judgement on their part and they were likely acting out of fear and ignorance which makes me rather mad as you’re the one who suffered for it.
- Natasha Tracy
Nikky44 - May 19, 2012 ←
They just didn’t want “crazy” children. They used to say if you take those pills your place is in an asylum for retarded. When i was admitted into psychiatric hospital, they said i traveled, and until now, the only thing they say is “look at you, stop those meds, you walk like a robot, you gained weight, stop those meds, that is a poison
Natasha Tracy - May 20, 2012 ←
Hi Nikky44,
Well that’s an incredibly harsh and horrible thing to say. I hope you’ve learned how wrong they were and perhaps are.
People who take medication do so because it helps their lives and not for any other reason and it certainly doesn’t mean you should be locked up.
And yes, no one wants “crazy” children, but then, no one wants a child with learning disabilities or a physical disability either but these are things parents must learn to accept for the good of their child.
I’m sorry you have experienced that lack of support but it is a testament to your strength that you are here to tell the tale now.
- Natasha Tracy
Nikky44 - May 22, 2012 ←
Thank you Natasha!
Tara - May 17, 2012 ←
That same statement resonated with too. I’m quite disappointed that no adult in my life- parents, coaches, teachers, priests, friend’s parents…etc, (not to mention my family doctor) ever picked up on my illness! Looking back I’d say it was very obvious at certain times in my early life. It wasn’t until I was in my 4th year of University that I realized I had an illness that could be treated and secretly went to see a therapist through student health services.
I am hopeful that our experiences don’t have to be repeated by children/youth growing up these days.
Natasha Tracy - May 19, 2012 ←
Hi Tara,
That’s pretty much exactly what I did only it was second year university :)
It would be nice to think of people not going through that today but unfortunately, it still happens way too often. But luckily, with more knowledge and us talking about it, it should happen less and less. I hope :)
- Natasha Tracy
justina rumminger - May 17, 2012 ←
Thank you!! You beautifully put into words a piece of my history. That voice of depression still creeps at times, but I have a good healthy sliver of light to grab onto now. So many need to know there not alone. I am often one of them, and thank you for all you write. You share so eloquently that a world of psycho babble makes sense. Thank you for reminding me I made some hard choices, but the results were good love, and healthy relationships. Not perfect but close. I thank you for all you do.
Natasha Tracy - May 17, 2012 ←
Hi Justina,
You’re welcome! I like to think I can communicate that psycho-babble stuff, yes.
” Thank you for reminding me I made some hard choices, but the results were good love, and healthy relationships. Not perfect but close.”
How beautiful.
- Natasha Tracy
Alisa - May 16, 2012 ←
Thanks for this post. The line: “And in my case, being as young as I was, it was my parent’s responsibility to see that I was sick and it was their responsibility to get me help.” really resonated with me. The mother and grandmother of the man who murdered my brother turned a blind eye to his illness. He was a little older but I refuse to believe had their son/grandson been on the floor in an epileptic seizure, they would not have put forth some effort to help him. Likewise, despite the barriers your parents’ faced, had you fallen into a hypoglycemic coma, they would have done something to help their child.
Yes, so much of depression seems invisible, until we learn the signs and symptoms. I will rejoice the day that people realize that prolonged psychic pain which welcomes in suicidal ideation is as serious as a seizure or hypoglycemia.
Natasha Tracy - May 17, 2012 ←
Hi Alisa,
Beautifully put. When I think about that it sort of makes me want to cry a little. I hate thinking of that girl that was me crying out as loud as she could for help with no one hearing her.
And obviously thought tragedy you have come to have great compassion for people with mental illness. What you have said and how you feel in spite of what has happened to your brother is astounding.
- Natasha Tracy
Sarah Smithers - May 16, 2012 ←
Wow, I never had anyone write a story from my childhood. That does explain alot of things. I was always shunned by the family unit until I finally just broke away, its easier than seeing the look of distaste in their eyes as they search out someone else to have to talk to. Alone is better than hated or ignored. Or used by the unjust. I’ve just given up on accepted. (But thats what cats are for)
I always wondered why I accepted or sought out ill treatment from friends and lovers, and it hits home to hear that it happened to someone else too. Unloved does make you grasp for straws. Anymore I don’t seek out contact with anyone because its safer, and I know my judgement is questionable.
Still trying to pass the open windows. Every day I figure I could still check out, but let’s see what happens tomorrow.
Lisa - May 17, 2012 ←
This sounds like my childhood as well. I avoid people simply because I don’t want to be treated that way anymore. It is getting a little boring. I think I might join a gym. They say exercise is suppose to make us feel better. Thank you, for your post.
Natasha Tracy - May 17, 2012 ←
Hi Lisa,
They have people at the gym, you know? That could kill two birds with one stone.
You don’t have to be alone just because once (or twice) you made a bad call. Because it does get lonely and no one deserves that.
But hey, a gym is never a bad idea. I would hate it, but I hear healthy people hang out in those sorts of places ;)
- Natasha Tracy
Natasha Tracy - May 17, 2012 ←
Hi Sarah,
I’m sorry it sounds like your childhood. I wish it didn’t sound like anyone’s.
All I can say to you is that you don’t _have_ to be treated badly. You can learn to trust your ow judgement again. Therapy can help a lot with that. It’s a frequent problem for people who have been abused. But believe me, you judgement does work, that pit-of-your-stomach feeling does work, you just need to learn when to trust it. Which, believe me, is possible.
But yes, cats are good in the meantime :)
- Natasha Tracy
Natasha Tracy - May 16, 2012 ←
Hi Lee,
Thank-you. I’m honoured to be an inspiration for you.
“I am honored to know you virtually and walk alongside you in our passionate & purposeful passion to advocate for mental illness”
Absolutely. Ditto.
Thanks.
- Natasha Tracy
Lee Horbachewski @SimpLee_Serene - May 16, 2012 ←
Beautiful Natasha
You have been an inspiration to me in blogging for over a year now. It is my hope that when readingthos parents will take a stand and learn how to support their children. I am honored to know you virtually and walk alongside you in our passionate & purposeful passion to advocate for mental illness
Much love, respect & gratitude
Lee xoxoxox