Good evening. I am going to try to climb out of this damn deep hole I’ve dug myself into.
There is so much to say; so much to figure out; so much to fix. Here is to a change of pace.
I know I am depressed. I know I am drowning. I feel responsible for it and I feel so damn bad for being depressed. I KNOW what I can do to get my out of my funk. I know that if I eat better, exercise more, communicate more, be more honest (mostly directed towards myself), love more, think more positively, be more grateful, be less judgemental, be more forgiving, and just DO whatever it is I need to do, my life would start getting better.
I have had a lot of crap happen in my life. My parents divorced when I was 9. The last of my grand parents to die, was my Dad’s Mom, and she died 10 years ago this September. My oldest brother passed away nearly 9 years ago. My Mom died 8 years ago in May. My Dad luckily beat cancer 6-7 years ago, but right after my Mom dying from cancer, finding out he had cancer too, was a knife in my gut. I was molested as a child – luckily, as far as I know anyway, I haven’t suffered too much from those terrible people. The most that has upset me, at least as an adult, from being molested is knowing my Dad didn’t believe me when I told him and my Mom as a child. It took me testifying against one of the men who molested me for my Dad to truly believe it.
With all the shit in my life that I had no control over, I’d like to think I overcame those trying times with an optimistic healthy outlook.
On the other hand, before my Grandma, on my Dad’s side passed away, I became very addicted to the internet; specifically socializing with strangers online. I honestly believe this specifically was my first giant downfall of digging myself into the deep depression I am in now.
I am so ashamed of myself then. I remember feeling so drawn into chatting to these random people because I was wanted. I was desired. I was in middle school at the time. I don’t remember if it was 6th, or 7th grade it started, but it didn’t end til about my sophomore year of high school. Honestly, sometimes I wonder if it’s still an on-going thing for me.
I remember lying to my Mom (my Dad too, but I lived with my Mom most of the time) about what I was doing on the internet. Why I needed so much time to spend on my homework? I remember lying to stay home from school to chat. I had so many online “boyfriends” I hardly remember their names. There is only one person from those days that I have as a friend on FB. He was never my “boyfriend”. He was my best friend/big brother on those chat sites. We haven’t actually had a conversation in years.
Migraines, nausea, colds were the main reasons I used to stay home. I remember finding out in 8th grade, one of my best friends thought I was pregnant. That was heartbreaking.
My Mom first got sick with what was labeled as internal shingles. I believe that was around the time I started high school. High school was better for me. I didn’t miss as much school then. Some, but not as much. I mostly reverted to chatting with people my own age, in town. I still talked to people I shouldn’t have. Anyway, on-top of my deceit, “illnesses”, missing school, etc., my Mom was in pain. For so long we had no idea why. She fought everyday to work so she could pay for bills and take care of me. She finally started missing work when the lump on her side got to big and too painful to tolerate. Luckily, by this time I wasn’t missing hardly any school. My chatting days were limited to friends and those I actually went to school with. Shortly after the diagnosis of internal shingles, my Mom was finally diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. She had 6 months, give or take, to live.
I had come home from school one day and my Mom was on the couch. I can’t remember if it was she was too cold or too hot, but whatever it was, it was the opposite of what she should have been. She was hardly coherent. She was saying things that made no sense.
I decided that I was going to let her rest for a little while and check in on her in an hour or so and see how she was doing. When I checked on her, she was worse. Her pain was worse and she was pale. I talked her into going to the emergency room. After hours of waiting, we finally saw a doctor. She hurt so bad and was so tired as we were waiting. I remember feeling so angry and helpless because she wasn’t laying down in a room, but instead waiting in the waiting room, in those darn uncomfortable chairs.
We were sent home that night without many answers.
The same thing happened over the weekend. This time she begged me to take her to the emergency room. This time the wait wasn’t as long. We saw a doctor somewhat soon and she was transferred to be an inpatient. Within the next few days, family and friends visiting, lots of tests taken and lots of waiting. We finally got the answer. With a room full of loved ones she was diagnosed.
Before my Mom was sent home, but Aunt, her sister, and my Dad had decided it would be in the best interest of my Mom if I went to live with my Dad. It would be too stressful to my Mom if I was there.
I remember being so resentful and confused why they would take me away from my Mom when she was dying and our days were limited. I ended up trying to avoid evenings and weekend with my Mom. Whether it was school, work, or going to hang out with friends, I avoided my Mom. I couldn’t deal with it.
Within 3 months or so of me moving in with my Dad, I finally wrote my Mom and letter telling her how sorry I was for not spending time with her and how much I missed her but I couldn’t deal with it.
I moved back with her and my brother (he had moved back in after she was diagnosed). It was not pretty living with them. I hadn’t lived in the same house as my older brother (my youngest sibling is 12 years older than me, which is my Mom’s son) since I was 6, so it was an adjustment to say the least.
My Aunt and Dad both came to me after my Mom died and apologized for taking me away, and expressed they were happy I was able to move back in with her.
She was diagnosed a week before my junior year of high school started, and she died 2 weeks before the end of my junior year. Just short of 9 months.
I lost a lot of respect for my “friends” that year. It wasn’t necessarily their faults. I just had different priorities than they did.
More to come another day….