I remember first experiencing profound sadness at the age of 12 when I went to live with my mom and stepdad.
I made a few friends when I had to change schools but for the most part was a loner and bookworm. I started writing poetry in addition to the short stories I’d been creating since I was eight and I rode my bike a lot but spent as much time as I could in my room.
I was being abused and had been since the age of three so that was a big part of it. Plus, I was the victim of a bully all through middle school so I couldn’t get a break either place even though I was in counseling.
As I got older my depression grew as I experienced being shuffled all over the place to various institutions and homes, which included four foster homes. My sister Cindy was my saving grace, always writing me letters, seeing me every chance she could and calling me. I did have a couple of best friends and participated in some activities at school, but my pain could never be quelled even when good things happened in my life.
When I was almost 18, I had an argument with my foster mom Doris and took a bunch of pills which landed me on the psych ward of the same hospital in which I was born.
I was only there three days and when Doris came to get me, I remember her saying, “It’s a beautiful day, Terri,” but it was as if I couldn’t see the sun.
For people who haven’t experienced depression, which I was finally diagnosed with at 27, it’s like when everyone else walks outside and it’s a gorgeous day and they marvel at how nice it is but as a depressive you just see a stormy sky. I used to say that it was like if I won the lottery, I still wouldn’t be happy. I usually experience depression by what I call Creeping Depression which I compare to the little critters who came up from the sidewalk in the movie “Ghost” to drag bad people down to hell.
Clinical depression, also known as major depressive disorder, can take many forms such as loss of interest in things you used to enjoy, sleeping or eating too much, abusing alcohol or drugs, neglecting your hygiene and housework, isolating, angry outbursts, sleep disorders, indulging in various other addictions, and acting out in various self-destructive ways.
At 27 I was put on my first anti-depressant, Zoloft, which worked for 90 days then stopped. But those first several days it was like the grass was greener and I felt like “This is what it must be like to be normal.” Then there was Paxil which worked for 60 days but I got no relief after that, and the withdrawal was awful. After that came what I called “Pharmaceutical Roulette” as I would jokingly say, “Spin that Wheel and see what we land on next.” It involved trying multiple depression medications since 1993 which included increase in dosages and/or combining them with other prescriptions for my depression, approved by my treating psychiatrist. I had treatment resistant depression but didn’t know it.
I remember having periods of suicidal ideation since I was a pre-teen and two months before I got married, I voluntarily admitted myself into the hospital for a few days as my doctor assured me it would be easy to get out. That was not the case at all, but I got out in a few days just by telling the physicians what they wanted to hear. This was a pattern for me, and I learned that that is also a tactic a depressive will sometimes use to avoid getting help or if they’re getting the wrong assistance and they need to get back home.
After losing my boyfriend in 2005 to cancer I stopped brushing my teeth and hair and the housework declined sharply. I didn’t put on makeup any more or dress up as well as not showering regularly. The result was losing all my teeth and having to cut bird’s nest size tangles out of my hair on a regular basis. This lasted 18 years. Things have gotten better but I still struggle with dental care and detangling my locks.
Fast forward to age 58 and I have made great progress through various medications, therapy, exercise, meditation, volunteer work, writing, tracking my depression symptoms, having or taking care of a pet, watching related TED talks, using a mentor, enrolling in depression studies, and trying to do for others daily. I still get depressed, but I can get out of it now by using these methods.
I had a psychiatrist tell me once that the only hope for me was electric shock therapy, but I didn’t believe that and still don’t.
I’m glad I didn’t take him up on it because with the above methods I have made good progress and every day that I don’t surrender to it and engage my other gifts and tools that I’ve been taught is a win.
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