Depression.

Depression sucks. I've been there, done that. For years and years. Most of my teenage life, actually. I think it started around age 13 or 14.

I lost interest in friends. I didn't enjoy seeing them. I didn't want to go out with them. I wanted nothing to do with them. I didn't enjoy my passions. I even forgot what they were. They were non exsistant. I didn't pay attention during school. I wound up getting horrible grades and not even caring. I'd go home and sleep. For hours. I wouldn't eat. But, I secretly enjoyed that. I loved having an empty stomach. Feeling thin and so lite. And I secretly enjoyed staring at the bones protruding from my body. 

My depression got SO bad, to the point where my thoughts were being taken over by suicidal thoughts. Sharp objects soon became my best friend. Alcohol was amazing. Nothing mattered to me but those three things. Those three things were now my life. Nothing else mattered. 

Everyone became concerned. Parents, family members, teachers, friends. Anyone. Eventually the cops got involved. No one could deal with me anymore, no one knew what to do. Eventually, I was taken to Rogers and put in the inpatient program. I spent 2 weeks there and was released. Only to arrive 2 days later for attempting suicide. I spent another 2 weeks there and was released again. This time feeling like a different person. A better person. Someone completely knew. Almost.

Things were great for a while. But, eventually I went back to my old ways. And this time I was sent to Winnebago Mental Health Institute in an ambulance. I was monitored closely. Wasn't allowed to have any of my own personal belongs. No shoe ties. Wasn't allowed to use the bathroom after I ate. It was hectic there. And I spent 6 whole months recovering, learning new coping methods. Healing. Learning to love myself.

I was prescribed many anti-depressants while I was there. Some worked, but many didn't. The side effects and constant switching made me feel like shit. Eventually, I found "the one." The one that made everything better. I felt happy...alive. I felt like a normal person.

But deep down, I hated taking medication. Despised it. I wanted to deal with my emotions on my own. I didn't want medication to make me happy. To make the pain go away. Why couldn't I do it on my own? But I couldn't. The suicidal thoughts never stopped, the cutting never stopped. The rebellion never stopped. The horrible feelings never stopped. Unless, I was on medication, of course. I needed the anti-depressants.

Years went by and eventually I didn't need the medication. I had no suicidal thoughts, no cutting, I continued to eat...some days (I still struggle with this) I was HAPPY. I felt FREE. I felt ALIVE.

And here I am today, still ALIVE.

But what hurts me, is the fact that I am back on anti-depressants.