The Silent Killer (My Experience of Depression)

Member Name: Shadowtwinchaos

Product:	My Experience of Depression
Date:	26/12/01 (48 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: It is treatable

Disadvantages: It often goes unfound until it is too late.

There is a silent killer that many people don't understand. Many times it starts during childhood and often comes into full force during adolescence. It is depression. And it can kill. I should know, I almost died from it. If you don't suffer from depression, you can't truly understand it. All of our emotions are connected to the chemical balance in your brain. In my case, I had something called bi-polar disorder or manic depression. Which means my brain does not produce the chemicals needed to balance my world or my emotions. I lived in a world of extremes. From sky rocketing highs to the depths of hell. For those who are interested in research, the chemicals are serotonin and norepinephrine. For those who would rather see what a lack of these chemicals do, here is a piece of my story.

My parents noticed that I was a very "sensitive" child. I would cry for very little reason and when I was happy I couldn't contain it. I would jump around. I would get the blues sometimes for days. And this was at age 5. By my teen years, kids thought I was strange. The few friends I had thought I was wild and crazy. I often felt I was on a stage acting larger than life. I was always the one who took the dare, showing kids that if you stood in the middle of the road, cars would go around you. Climbing the telephone pole just to prove I could. Playing chicken with trains. The list goes on and on of the dares and chances I took with my life. And those were the good days. The bad days were the days when I dressed in all black, hid in the bathroom at school and talked about death and wished I were there. My parents knew I was different, but they didn't know what to do for me. They thought that it was just part of the "teenager" problems that most kids had. I had experienced many problems in my childhood including a bad divorce of my parents, an abusive step-mother and many other things. They thought that I was just trying to cope with t
hese problems.

Living around my house was difficult when I was home. When I would walk into the house from school each day my parents could never tell if I was going to laugh at them, scream at them, burst into tears or ignore them. They walked on eggshells worrying what was next. They never knew when the school would call to say I was in trouble, or not there. But all of the teachers were amazed that I was fully capable of doing the work. I was tested and found that if I could control myself, I would be an honors student. But the mood swings were too frantic for me to control. I would fanatically iron every piece of clothing I owned, then not get out of my pajamas for days. The insomnia would strike and I would race around on a strange high that lasted for days, not sleeping, not eating, filling myself on nothing but caffine and feeling on top of the world. But then the lows would come crashing down on me. I would not be able to move off the couch. I would lay there in the same clothes and watch tv or sleep for days. When they could rouse me, I was mean, nasty or violent. But more often than not, they could not get me to respond at all.

The highs were addictive. When I was on an upswing, I could go for days without sleep. I could conquer mountains, I could fly. There was nothing I couldn't do when I was up. I would tell my parents all the grand plans I had for the future. I was going to be such a success. I would clean, go to class, join clubs, make friends and race around non-stop. I would talk almost non-stop about how wonderful life was and how beautiful everything was. But like a mad pendulum, when I was down, I was down lower than anyone could ever believe. My world turned black and I could see nothing but the walls of my own depression. My parents couldn't reach around that wall. No one could. It was a mad cycle of ups and downs and I was tired.

Tired to the bone of the mad roller coaster I called my life. All I wanted
was to escape. I wanted to stop the ride and get off. So I tried. My first attempt at suicide almost succeeded. My parents were at work when I called them to tell them that I had taken over 100 pills and washed them down with Nyquil. I cleaned out every bottle, container or pack of medicine we had in the house. I called them at work to tell them goodbye. Of course my parents rushed home to find me. My parents found me incoherent surrounded by all the empty containers. By the time they got me to the hospital, it was too late. My heart stopped. I was dead.

Now, obviously, I am not dead if I am writing this. So let me add, they were able to restart my heart. They were able to purge a large amount of the pills out of my stomach. But I was in intensive care for almost a week while my body fought off all the side affects from the medications that had gotten into my system.

So, I was dead. Did I follow the light, did I hear angels, did I see loved ones who had crossed over? No. I woke up angry and sick. Mad at myself for failing at something once again. Was I grateful to the ones who had saved my life? No. The only thing I said to them is "Why didn't you let me die?" I was angry that I had not succeeded and now I had to face my parents. I had to face the world. And I didn't want to. I wanted to be dead. And I couldn't wait to get out of the hospital and do it again. The next time, I told myself, I would not fail.

But they didn't let me out of the hospital. I was kept there. I was put on the Mental Ward. I was in the nut house. I resisted my treatment. I wouldn't take any medication and every chance I had, I would try and escape. I begged and pleaded with my parents, promising them I would behave if they would just get me out of there. I told them that they didn't love me, I told them if they did they would get me out. I screamed, I cried, I threatened. But my parents knew I needed help. From there I was m
oved to another hospital for long term patients. And from there, I was put in seclusion. They took everything away from me but my pajamas. I had to earn my stuff back by going to treatment and talking with my doctors. But I didn't want their help. I fought my treatment tooth and nail. I wanted to die and no one was going to stop me. There was no way that I was going to go back and face the world again.

But, with time and patience of everyone involved, I soon made progress. I got all my belongings back. I took my medication and felt the mad pendulum begin to slow. I started to learn what it felt like to actually be in control of myself. I learned coping skills. I found some peace in my life.

I was one of the lucky ones. With treatment and medication, I started to heal. I started to learn how to stop the mad ride. Did it go away? No. It will never go away. I made a few more suicide attempts, not as serious as the first. After all, it is a very difficult path back from the dark place I was in. But my loved ones were always there to pull me back from the edge I teetered on. I am an adult now and I still struggle with depression, poor impulse control, poor self-esteem. Do I still want to die? Sometimes. Especially when I don't take my medication. But I'm alive, which is more than you can say for some people who suffer from bi-polar disorder. And I take it one day at a time.

I look back now and I feel bad for all that I put my loved ones through. The pain, the long, dark path that they walked with me. I will be eternally grateful for everyone in my life that did stand beside me no matter how hard I pushed them away. It is because of them that I am here today.

Severe depression or extreme mood swings are not something you ignore. It will not go away. If someone you know gets more than the "occasional blues" it may be a sign of something else. If your teenager shows signs of extreme mood swings, don't let
it go, look into it. After all, wouldn't you rather be wrong than find out too late that you were right?

I want to thank Josh (beautifuloser)and dedicate this to him. For reminding me that sometimes it helps others to hear your story.

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