Hello, My Name Is Depression

Warning: Triggers of depression, anxiety, suicide, and self-harm.

5

I was first 10 years old when you came knocking at my door. I was a tall, short-haired fifth grader. I seemed pretty average, I really wasn’t anything special, but I was hiding a secret: I was depressed. At the time I was bullied by some of the popular kids and even by my own friends. I mean I don’t blame them, I was shy and short-tempered. My dad had been verbally abusive my whole life, he constantly put me down, and it took a huge toll on my self-esteem. At that point in time I had nothing and no one; it was the first time I wanted to commit suicide, and it I wasn’t the last. I thought that feeling would go away, but it never really did.

6

I eventually moved to a new neighbourhood the next year and I started at a new school. It was amazing, I met so many new people, and I tried so many new things. That was even the year I got my first “boyfriend.” That year I let out one of my biggest secrets. I came out to my close friends as Pansexual, and by the end of the year, I was completely open with my friends and school about it. I didn’t tell my family at that point because my mother was very strict and critical about her opinions involving the church.

7

Grade seven rolled around quicker than I thought it would and I was starting at my senior elementary school, sure I met a lot of new people, but the workload was a lot more and my mental state rapidly declined. I had no way of coping with emotions and everything just bottled up until it just exploded. That year I had mental breakdowns in class because I just couldn’t take anymore of it, even if it was over the stupidest things.

8

I started grade eight. My class had lots of great friends and definitely some class clowns, but this year was something else. I noticed my grades starting to drop and my depressive episodes getting worse. This year was the first time I ever wanted to cut myself. Though I never did, my mind was still haunted with thoughts of self-harm, suicide, and self-deprecation. At this point in time I started to be able to trust my friends and was able to talk about it, but no one really understood what it meant or what was to come. I had just graduated from senior elementary school and was heading into grade nine in September. It was the mid-summer—early August to be exact—which really sucks because my birthday is August 7th. This day was extra horrible, things had been getting worse and worse, so I picked up a pair of sewing scissors and made a small cut across my ankle.

9

It’s now May and I’m soon finishing grade nine. The things that have happened since the summer are probably more than enough to write a whole book on, but all I’m going to say is, “I have been through a lot of shit this year.” Here is the present day me. I have a boyfriend who I love very much. I still suffer from depression and anxiety disorders, but I’m on the waitlist for adolescence psychiatry. I still suffer from suicidal thoughts and I still cut my ankles, but at a greater degree now. This year has probably been the worst for my dear friend depression, and I hope you can go home soon.