I was diagnosed with depression and a mood disorder last year. I always had trouble with stabilizing my mood, often having mental breakdowns where I'd completely lose it. Not until then had I ever had depression. It was a foreign word to me. The only place where I ever had seen anything about depression was on one of those commercials for "Abilify" or "Zoloft."
It would all have the same thing. It would usually be a woman sitting down in a chair with a blue screen behind her and her name at the bottom right corner. She would say, "Hi, I'm Martha Smith, and I was diagnosed with depression when I was 12 years old." Then she would explain her symptoms which usually included loss of interest in activities, low appetite, low moods, not wanting to socialize as much, and lots of crying.
Next the medication would be introduced and she would say how amazing it was and all the changes it made in her life, while she played in her backyard with her dog. The side effects would be listed as she still played happily with her dog and her children would come out and play too. At the end it would flash back to her and she'd say something like, "I'm Martha Smith, and I've overcome my depression."
In the beginning when I was diagnosed, my family helped me through it, even though I treated them like shit. After about six months of utter sadness, I found Harry. We fell in love very quickly and my moods increased. About a month or two after we confessed our love, my moods dropped again, but this time I had an extra person there for me. He's been with me since.
I never had any tragic events in my life. The depression was genetic along with my mood disorder. It made me very self conscious and I began to hate everything about myself. I carried an extra few more pounds then I wished and I didn't see myself as the prettiest girl.
Tonight I had come home from work after a hard day. My friends had invited me to go to a pool party with the rest of the office but I declined. All of my friends had perfect model like bodies that made me look like a balloon. I was never able to wear bikinis and since my depression hit I felt more self conscious about it then ever.
Harry wasn't home. He had gone out to dinner with his family for his mother's birthday. That gave me enough time to get to the bathroom and grab the razor. I cut my wrist letting the blood drip out. It was the winter time so I could easily cover it up with my sleeve. I felt the burning sensation that I craved to feel. The feeling of pain. I liked to cut to get out my feelings. It was a way to express myself. No one else understood my feelings so maybe I could take it out on myself.
"Hello?" A familiar voice echoed through the house. Shit! He was home. I didn't reply hoping he'd think I was asleep. "Babe? I know you're home. I see your purse. . . And your car keys." I still didn't reply. I stayed silent in the bathroom and hoped he wouldn't find me.
I walked over to the sink, turning on the water and rinsing the blade. I heard footsteps in the next room.
"I hear the sink!" He said playfully as if this was a game. It wasn't. The door opened and Harry walked in smiling, then his head went down to my wrist, his face instantly changing.
I immediately felt guilty and my eyes started tearing up.
"I'm sorry." I said. He shook his head at my comment. "I didn't mean to."
"I can't leave you home alone anymore. When is this going to stop?" He made his way over to me bringing my wrist to the sink and washing away the blood. "What led you to it this time."
"I can't deal with this anymore, I'm a mess. I'm a complete waste of space. I'm ugly and fat and no one likes me and I have too many problems in my life."
Harry embraced me trying to make me feel safe. He didn't say anything; he's tried that before. It doesn't help me at all, so he just hugged me, trying to take away all the pain.
