So once again I was reading something else that struck a cord in me. I was reading about Wil Wheaton's ordeal with depression. (To know what I am talking about, click this link: https://wilwheaton.net/2014/01/on-a-long-run-2/ ) It made me think back on my life, my ordeals with depression. I have had a few bouts of it. The worst was when I was a teen. Which to many would probably make sense. As teenagers, we are at such a pivotal point in our lives. School, extracurriculars, friends, dating, figuring out our futures (And what the hell??? I mean seriously at 16, 17, and/or 18 we need to decide our entire life or at least the career part??? Ok, that needs to be saved for another post), but you get the point.
See at that age I felt beyond alone. Especially at school . Teased mercilessly daily, except when I had a break down in theatre class. Then I got about a week of being left alone. Too bad it didn't last. I could easily put all the blame on those that picked on me, that verbally tortured me, and pounded my brain with untruths. "You are ugly, you are stupid, your clothes aren't right, your hair is disgusting, I should beat you up." Back then I thought I was the only person in the world that went through this. I plugged through with a couple of meager "attempts" at suicide. I didn't really want to die, I just wanted someone to notice me, to see my hurt and pain and help me. But I didn't know how to ask. And most times, I hid it well. From family, the few friends I had that didn't go to school with me, even from the majority of classmates, most of the time. But inside was just gloom.
My depression at that time got so bad, that even when we changed school districts because we moved, and I saw two people that had also moved and used to go to my old high school, I just couldn't face going back to the new school. I couldn't face the world. I couldn't leave the apartment without my mom. When she did get me out, to like the mall or something, if she went to the bathroom, I had to be there too. Not in the stall, but in the general bathroom, near the sinks. Thank God for my mom. Thank God she realized that something just wasn't right, and thank God she did something about it.
Her doing something led to a month long stint at a psych hospital. I celebrated my 17th birthday there. I hated it. I felt I wasn't being heard, that things that I revealed were of no importance even though they were a MAJOR significance into part of the reason for my depression. What I didn't understand was I had to mentally get into a better place, my way of viewing me had to change before I could work through those things. Those MAJOR things.
I did. I got better, and over many years, and a lot of therapy I worked through things. Things that some people can never truly move past, but I did. I was determined not to allow myself to be a victim again. And I watched myself closely. If I got into a slump that I couldn't move past in a week or two, I asked for help. I was doing great until August of 1997, when my brother died. That started my second, but much, much, MUCH, shorter bout of depression.
Since then I haven't had anything that lasted until 2010/2011. 2010 was going down in my life's history as one of the happiest years of my life. (2004 was the other one) In 2010, I got married, and got pregnant with Lil Man right away. I mean like wedding night right away. All great and happy stuff. Until a few months later when I noticed the lump in my left breast. Lots of doctors appointments, ultrasounds, and a biopsy later, I learned I needed to do a lumpectomy. Ok, made sure risks were minimal for the baby, and had it done. The belief was it was benign, but the hormones from pregnancy was causing it to grow, so better safe than sorry. I recovered very quickly, and was good to go. Until almost a month later. Of course pathology had to be done, but what was found, was not expected. A spindle cell sarcoma. Malignant. It went to cancer. The only "good" thing, was that it was not the type of cancer that spreads into the lymph node system. After talking with my surgeon, and an oncologist, the consensus was a second surgery to remove that breast.
I was in high spirits. I joked about only having one breast afterwards. I thought, it's just fat and flesh. I will still be alive, my baby will be born, all will be good. But see all wasn't good. About 3 months after Lil man was born, I crashed. Things settled down, crisis averted, baby born, everyone was adjusting. And I fell into my third depression. I can't say for sure if it was all body image issues, or if some of it was post-partum. I didn't have those issues after E-man was born, but who knows. Forget sex, forget wanting to be seen. I felt less than a woman. I did not feel attractive.
I will not go into how this effected my marriage, or my soon to be ex-husbands dealings with this because honestly, I don't feel right airing our issues to the world.
So many woman think it's so easy. Think the way I thought, or think "well it just get's reconstructed right away". Sometimes, it really just depends. In my case, no. I was still pregnant when lefty was removed. I couldn't. I have spent almost 3 years now walking around with one boob. I can joke about it, but I now have major body image issues that I am working through. I'm getting there. With help from some that are close to me. But it's still a form of depression. What I am doing now? When I start feeling like "less than a woman" I start telling myself " I love me" over and over in my head. And if it doesn't help, I start screaming in my head "I LOVE ME!". It's starting to help.
The point of this loooong tirade? That depression is there. Most people will have little bouts for any number of reasons. Most last less than two weeks. But for some of us, we either will battle it daily for the rest of our lives, or like me, will have to always be cautious. Always pay attention to how we are feeling. We have to talk to people, and we have to learn the tools to battle it. Depression will always try to battle me, will try to win. I just won't let it. Because I LOVE ME!
See at that age I felt beyond alone. Especially at school . Teased mercilessly daily, except when I had a break down in theatre class. Then I got about a week of being left alone. Too bad it didn't last. I could easily put all the blame on those that picked on me, that verbally tortured me, and pounded my brain with untruths. "You are ugly, you are stupid, your clothes aren't right, your hair is disgusting, I should beat you up." Back then I thought I was the only person in the world that went through this. I plugged through with a couple of meager "attempts" at suicide. I didn't really want to die, I just wanted someone to notice me, to see my hurt and pain and help me. But I didn't know how to ask. And most times, I hid it well. From family, the few friends I had that didn't go to school with me, even from the majority of classmates, most of the time. But inside was just gloom.
My depression at that time got so bad, that even when we changed school districts because we moved, and I saw two people that had also moved and used to go to my old high school, I just couldn't face going back to the new school. I couldn't face the world. I couldn't leave the apartment without my mom. When she did get me out, to like the mall or something, if she went to the bathroom, I had to be there too. Not in the stall, but in the general bathroom, near the sinks. Thank God for my mom. Thank God she realized that something just wasn't right, and thank God she did something about it.
Her doing something led to a month long stint at a psych hospital. I celebrated my 17th birthday there. I hated it. I felt I wasn't being heard, that things that I revealed were of no importance even though they were a MAJOR significance into part of the reason for my depression. What I didn't understand was I had to mentally get into a better place, my way of viewing me had to change before I could work through those things. Those MAJOR things.
I did. I got better, and over many years, and a lot of therapy I worked through things. Things that some people can never truly move past, but I did. I was determined not to allow myself to be a victim again. And I watched myself closely. If I got into a slump that I couldn't move past in a week or two, I asked for help. I was doing great until August of 1997, when my brother died. That started my second, but much, much, MUCH, shorter bout of depression.
Since then I haven't had anything that lasted until 2010/2011. 2010 was going down in my life's history as one of the happiest years of my life. (2004 was the other one) In 2010, I got married, and got pregnant with Lil Man right away. I mean like wedding night right away. All great and happy stuff. Until a few months later when I noticed the lump in my left breast. Lots of doctors appointments, ultrasounds, and a biopsy later, I learned I needed to do a lumpectomy. Ok, made sure risks were minimal for the baby, and had it done. The belief was it was benign, but the hormones from pregnancy was causing it to grow, so better safe than sorry. I recovered very quickly, and was good to go. Until almost a month later. Of course pathology had to be done, but what was found, was not expected. A spindle cell sarcoma. Malignant. It went to cancer. The only "good" thing, was that it was not the type of cancer that spreads into the lymph node system. After talking with my surgeon, and an oncologist, the consensus was a second surgery to remove that breast.
I was in high spirits. I joked about only having one breast afterwards. I thought, it's just fat and flesh. I will still be alive, my baby will be born, all will be good. But see all wasn't good. About 3 months after Lil man was born, I crashed. Things settled down, crisis averted, baby born, everyone was adjusting. And I fell into my third depression. I can't say for sure if it was all body image issues, or if some of it was post-partum. I didn't have those issues after E-man was born, but who knows. Forget sex, forget wanting to be seen. I felt less than a woman. I did not feel attractive.
I will not go into how this effected my marriage, or my soon to be ex-husbands dealings with this because honestly, I don't feel right airing our issues to the world.
So many woman think it's so easy. Think the way I thought, or think "well it just get's reconstructed right away". Sometimes, it really just depends. In my case, no. I was still pregnant when lefty was removed. I couldn't. I have spent almost 3 years now walking around with one boob. I can joke about it, but I now have major body image issues that I am working through. I'm getting there. With help from some that are close to me. But it's still a form of depression. What I am doing now? When I start feeling like "less than a woman" I start telling myself " I love me" over and over in my head. And if it doesn't help, I start screaming in my head "I LOVE ME!". It's starting to help.
The point of this loooong tirade? That depression is there. Most people will have little bouts for any number of reasons. Most last less than two weeks. But for some of us, we either will battle it daily for the rest of our lives, or like me, will have to always be cautious. Always pay attention to how we are feeling. We have to talk to people, and we have to learn the tools to battle it. Depression will always try to battle me, will try to win. I just won't let it. Because I LOVE ME!