We often
think of depression and anxiety as diseases that affect adults and teens but
children can struggle with them as well.
I know because I did. Looking back
at my childhood I can see the pain started at five-years-old after two terrible
traumas that ripped a little girl apart but I couldn’t express my emotions
because I didn’t know how. Children can have
such a hard time verbalizing their feelings and thoughts so they may suffer in
silence not realizing what’s wrong. I
was too young, shy and well behaved for others to see I was in pain. I didn’t act out, instead turning everything
inward toward myself. It was a heavy
burden to bear on my tiny little shoulders.
I
struggled to sleep every night but I didn’t tell my parents because I was
afraid I’d get into trouble and I couldn’t tell them about the traumas I
experienced because I thought they would stop loving me. So, I cried.
That was my way of dealing with the pain. My tears fell so easily and too often. I tried to hide them as much as I could but
sometimes, it just wasn’t possible. My
first-grade teacher yelled at me and called me a crybaby. She told me to stop crying so much. She didn’t understand I couldn’t control it. She made me feel bad and worthless, like I
was too broken to matter.
As I
grew older my pain worsened. More
traumas drew me deeper into that pit of torment as I struggled to stay
alive. Ruminations of past experiences
mixed with a guilt and shame of what happened to me ate away at my mind and
pushed me down a lonely, heart wrenching world of despair and fear. My life was shattered and too painful to
continue. I had to find a way out. At eight-years-old I decided to kill myself
but I didn’t know what I was doing. I
tried again at nine and almost succeeded but the terror of not breathing
shocked me back to the living.
I
continued to struggle like a baby trying to walk, always falling down; afraid of
everything and nothing, still thinking I was worthless and hopeless; seeing the
world as a dark and frightening place but the worst part of my life was just
beginning. I came home from school one
day to find my mom had been put in a psychiatric hospital. Dad took us to see her every Saturday but she
didn’t know who we were or where she was.
She lived in a different realm, seeing things that weren’t there and
believing things that weren’t true. It
was very difficult seeing her like that.
I cried every night not knowing if she’d ever come back to reality and
back home but she did.
My mom
was back in the real world but her personality had changed. She became childish and hard to manage at
times. She couldn’t be an adult anymore.
I had to step in. Dad was a truck driver and gone most of the
time so I became mom’s main caregiver and emotional support. It was hard but I loved her so much. The fear of being away from her crushed me
like a ton of bricks, grinding me into the ground. I started missing a lot of school till I got
to the point where I couldn’t go at all.
My
separation anxiety drove us to court twice as the school system threatened to
have me taken away from my parent’s. The
first judge told me to go to church but the second judge was nicer. He sent me to be assessed by a
psychiatrist. She asked me if I was
suicidal. I answered honestly. She asked if I had a plan. I told her about the pills I had been
saving. She put me in the hospital right
away. The hell of being in a psych
hospital and away from mom tore me apart.
I made sure I did everything I was told so I could go home as soon as
possible. I learned to tell the nurses,
therapist and psychiatrist what they wanted to hear. Finally, after two months of pure hell I went
home.
Unfortunately,
my depression and separation anxiety never really left me. I continued to miss school. The superintendent came to our house and
forced mom to sign papers saying I was quitting school. If she didn’t he would have me taken
away. Mom signed. What else could she do? I was relieved from the stress of school and
the fear it brought but I felt embarrassed and pathetic, like I’d never amount
to anything. I was allowed to take the GED
and get a diploma but it was too easy. I
felt I hadn’t accomplished anything. I was
still worthless and useless, a complete nothing.
I
continued to struggle with depression and anxiety till I was old enough to try
medication. Then my life changed. I was happy for the first time. I had energy and knew I could do
anything. I went to college then grad
school and earned my master’s degree. I
wasn’t worthless. I was smart and
determined, a woman ready for her life to finally begin. A child’s battle with herself can teach her
many things about life, empathy and pain so she can use her past as a path to
her future. I still struggle at
times. For me it’s something I’ll always
battle but that just makes me appreciate the good times even more.
