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Let’s take it back to the beginning!
When I was a kid I was diagnosed with Depression and Anxiety. At four years old, my Nana died of Breast Cancer (I say the Chemo is what killed her but whatever). She was the closest person to me. I just didn’t click with others as I clicked with her.
I had a dream where she came to me and told me that she was gone and that I should not cry. So, I didn’t. The next day my mom woke my sister and me up early to tell us that my Nana was passed. I looked at my mom and said “I know. She told me and she told me not to cry”. Of course, my mother broke down.
Turns out, I had to be the strong one but being strong turned into shutting everyone out and refusing to be bothered. I started spending more time alone, playing Super Nintendo, reading (I was able to read alone by 3, and listening to music.
Whenever anyone would come in and talk to me, I would lash out. I wanted to be left alone. Of course, that caused my family to bother me more and I began to despise them for it. It made me like people less and less. That would show over the years.
Don’t get me wrong, I had my moments where I was able to socialize with everyone, but I was no longer able to socialize much. It became draining to be around everyone for long periods of time. Luckily, I never had a big family so that was a plus.
As I got older, I became angrier. I developed an eating disorder because that was how I would get back at everyone for bothering me. I would lose my appetite if anyone talked to me while I ate. I would also go on hunger strikes when I was angered, hoping to just waste away.
During my pre-teen years, my pediatric doctor diagnosed me with anxiety and depression but refused to prescribe meds because she didn’t agree with them. She also didn’t want to label me because being labeled with a mental illness as a person of color was the equivalent of being blackballed. At least that what most people of color believed in the 90s, some still believe this but at this point in my life, I have decided to embrace it.
As I got older, older men would show their attraction to me. It was disgusting and made me feel uncomfortable. I was sexually and physically abused by them up until 3 years ago. For whatever reason, I was always a target.
I wasn’t one of those girls who would walk outside half-dressed, flaunting around like a peacock. I was the type that stayed to myself. The girl that read a lot, enjoyed doing research, enjoyed music, and most of all…… being alone! Yet I was still victimized numerous times. I must admit, I was very suicidal growing up and I have journals with poems and short stories that show I was in a dark place when I wrote them. I want to release them in book form but I’m not sure if most people can handle it.
Raising My Son
My first son was conceived in a mentally, physically and sexually abusive relationship. My pregnancy was THE WORST. I was suicidal. I was ashamed. I was hopeless. I just wanted to waste away. I tried to commit suicide on many occasions but as you can see…. I’m still here.
Raising my son has been one of the worst experiences I have ever had in my life. It has been mentally and financially straining. I went through periods where I felt like he should be an angel because I was already tortured by his father. He’s an extrovert that tends to attract a lot of attention to us which has been extremely hard to me because I’d much rather be unseen and unheard when I am around people. Of course, I had to get over that since it will never end.
Two years ago, I started meds for the first time. I was throwing things and trying to hurt people with my words, throwing tantrums that I could not control. This was at home as well as work. I decided it was time to go and seek help. I only took the meds for a month and then I lost my insurance. It turned me into a Zombie anyway, so I wasn’t too much worried about it.
A year later, my tantrums were back with a vengeance. I got to the point where I was putting other lives in danger which is when my fiancé and I decided that it was time to get back onto meds before I hurt someone. I was no longer suicidal, I was angry. Furious even. Any and everything could trigger me to go off and I wouldn’t realize what I was doing a lot of the time.
My Official Diagnosis
In October 2018, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder with Psychosis. It was hard for me to accept at first, so much so that I didn’t even know my actual diagnosis until a few months actually when I actually viewed my paperwork from the Psychiatrist.
It was hard to come to terms with it at first but now? I’m just like, “It’s whatever”. It has been a struggle because I still have my moments where I go off the deep end and become very aggressive but not as much as before. My episodes are a lot shorter as well.
People That I Am Thankful For
I truly appreciate my fiancé for being there for me, especially over the course of the past 6 months where I have been at my worst. He has been my rock. He has been my provider. He has been peace. He has been everything that I never thought a man would be. Even when I turned on him, he still fought hard to remain by my side and brought me back to reality. I know it has been very hard for him and he still worries about me.
I am also thankful for the few friends that I have that were there for me as well. Especially the one who knows exactly what I go through because she deals with it herself.
Finally, my mom. We had our moments where we butt heads, but she never gave up on me. Granted she’s like 2000 miles away so she was able to take breaks. She was still there for me and worked with my fiancé to help me even with the distance. I really don’t know what I would do without those two.
Right now, I am happy. I have taken time to figure out who I am (still figuring it out), who I want to be, what I want out of life and all that good stuff. Over the past few months, I have been slowly reinventing myself. Or as I like to say, Building A Better Me!
To My Readers