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“The Sixteen Months of Me”
It was the summer of 1996 and I was about to turn fifteen years old.
Most high school kids my age were out having the time of their lives.
Many of the once freshmen, now sophomores, were out water skiing, sun bathing,
and lounging on the many piers of False River. Others were shopping
at Cortana Mall or drenching with sweat from the summer scrimmages of the
Hornet football team. I was an exception to most high school kids.
I was suffering from the illness everyone knows as depression.
I had no clue what was wrong with me. Every emotion one could
fathom was running wild through my mind. One moment I would feel
nervous and the next moment would feel loneliness. My conscience
would not leave me alone. I could not rest or sleep at night.
During the day, it would not let me concentrate on anything else.
The only thing I did was lie on the couch, watch television and cry.
I did not understand what was going on with me. How could I feel
this way? How could I, a usually happy and very healthy teenager
be depressed? We are not supposed to get depressed. Actually,
most teenagers my own age have no clue what depression is. We always
hear the word brought up in normal conversation. But, who knew what it
all entailed. I couldn’t deal with the fact that depression hit me.
Why? I always pondered the question late at night while my family was sleeping
so no one could hear my desperate cries. I knew I had a problem but
I had no idea how to handle it. How could anyone possibly understand
what I was going through? I didn’t want anyone to know my secret.
I was afraid that if anyone knew, everyone would look at me as if I were
literally crazy. And to think if they did know, everyone at school
would criticize me and my reputation would be ruined for the rest of my
high school career. How would I deal with that?
The dreadful day arrived when my parents found out about my secret.
I had anticipated and dreaded this day for a very long time. My mother
had been noticing my so-called ‘laziness’ and my usual silence. But
she figured that every teenager, especially in the summertime, was lazy
and my muteness was normal because all teenagers do not want to associate
with their parents. She never knew how much I cried because she worked
all day everyday, as did my father and sister.
Somehow mom caught wind of her suspicion being true. I remember
the day mom and dad confronted me like it happened yesterday. Dad
was on his lunch break and mom was on vacation because Dr. Fulmer, her
employer, was out of the country. I recall watching the soap opera
Days of Our Lives. I cannot remember the conversation we had.
But I do remember I could not stop crying and they were both very concerned
about my well-being. They wanted me to see a therapist and I refused
any treatment because I insisted that I would be alright soon. I’m
assuming my parents told Tessa, my sister, what I was dealing with.
The same night, she came into my room to visit like she usually does after
work. I remember I was watching Party of Five, and she began asking
me questions. By this time, I burst into tears and started
spilling my guts. I told her how I couldn’t understand why all I
do is cry. And how I never feel like even getting dressed in the
morning much less leaving the house. I remember talking to her for
hours about the way I had been feeling. Then she told me that she
used to see a therapist for a while. It was after my oldest sister’s
friend died in a car accident just three years before. The time she went
I was young and my parents would tell me she was going to see the
doctor and we rarely spoke of it. She convinced me to at least go
to speak to a therapist once. And if I felt uncomfortable or I disapproved
of her, I wouldn’t have to ever go back.
It took only a couple of weeks to set up a consultation with a therapist by the name of Marcia Cox. Mom had told me that she worked mainly with adolescents. The day arrived for my first visit. I remember being so nervous I had butterflies in my stomach, my palms were sweating horribly and my hands were trembling uncontrollably. She did a number of evaluations on me that day and I remember crying the whole time. Leaving her office that day, I felt a little relieved that someone else knew my secret.
As time progressed, I slowly began to open up to Mrs. Cox. I began to feel a special trusting bond that wasn’t there in the beginning. I began to tell her things that I had never told a soul. And to this very day, I still have never told anyone else except her.
She had grown to know me so well that she could sense when I walked
through the door if I was angry, upset, aggravated, or happy. Mrs.
Cox was astounded with my progression over such a short period of time,
even though originally she wanted to put me on medication to help regulate
my moods. My parents disagreed with her and they left the decision
up to me. I felt that medicine was an easy way out of dealing with
my problems. Needless to say, I’m glad I decided against it and overcame
my obstacles one at a time. I eventually stopped going as often as
I had in the first few months.
It was four years June since my last appointment with Mrs. Marcia Cox.
The journey has not been easy, but I stumbled through the potholes and
detours and have managed to land where I am today. She taught me
so much about everything in life. I learned that the tendency for
depression can be hereditary and my family has a history of depression.
I learned to cope with the fact that I suffer from depression. I
find the power to make myself better whenever I get down. There is
no easy way out of it. No one can help unless one realizes that they
have a problem and they are willing to change for the better.
The past four years have been tough. Like many people, I still get down and out. Incidents that would have depressed me do not anymore. In the past, I have been in many strenuous relationships that would normally get the best of me. Recently I was in a relationship that was very trying on my emotions. The guy I was seeing was an excessive drinker who did not respect me very much. I was not at the top of his list of priorities. He would put a greater emphasis on washing his truck and drinking, rather that my safety and well being. Normally this would have brought me down. I knew deep down inside of me, that I was better than that and deserved someone who would treat me with the respect I needed. We broke up nearly three months ago. To be honest, that was the best decision I have ever made. I never imagined that one person could bring me so much happiness yet so much pain.
Over time I have found the strength to deal with dilemmas without seeing
a therapist anymore. After seeing a therapist for sixteen months,
I can honestly admit I have found my true self. With the help of
Mrs. Cox, I found my bad characteristics, my flaws, and my faults along
with who I am and where I want to be in life. Everyday I am finding
out more about myself and who I truly am. My one hope is that no
one will ever be scared or embarrassed to get help if faced with depression.
It is a discouraging battle fought with someone’s soul. Depression
is discussed more now than it was when I was fighting it. There is
now more help and resources out there to help someone dealing with this
problem. If only I hadn’t been scared, I probably could have caught
it before it had gotten as bad as it did. Sometimes it takes a traumatic
experience, like the one I went through, to make someone the person they
are today.