publicado originalmente en:Psykana Librarius
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Note - Please use CTRL F for 'Story Section - 1/2/3' to find the story sections that I've posted.
Story Section - 1
Alright, so this is the first in a series of threads to raise awareness of depression, it's symptoms, it's treatments and hopefully busting the crap out of the pervasive myths or misunderstandings that hang around this topic because few people want to start the discussion.
The picture at the top of the thread stood out to me as uncannily accurate. People who are depressed very rarely show that they are, let alone tell the people around them about it. They put on the smile or just a blank face to hide what's inside their head. I know I do, I'm sure other people do as well.
All of these stories will be posted anonymously, the only person who knows the identity of those telling the stories will be me. I'm not going to be divulging the names for obvious reasons. Some weren't too bothered about anonymity for their story but I'll keep it blank by default and they can let people know if they wish.
Story #1 - Cyberbullying in a video game - it's not just to be laughed off.
[spoiler]I do have a story to share with you concerning depression and cyber bullying.
A while back, but not that far back, I was an avid World of Warcraft addict. Worked my job for eight hours, came home and raided for another eight every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. All the other days I spent grinding for gold of leveling my alts for similar time periods. In reflection, it wasn't a good point in my life.
Then one day not sure why or when it started, I don't even remember what they said anymore, I started being harassed by the members of a random guild.
When I attempted to sell items in Trade Chat they would spam messages to immediately bump my message out of view so that I could not sell anything. They followed my guild raids into the zone and constantly posted hurtful messages about me. They sent me PMs with more messages of the same content.
I of course blocked them so they couldn't send me PMs and I couldn't see their messages but their spam still disrupted my sales and got to the point where random Pick up Groups started rejecting me for dungeons even though I more than met gear and skill requirements because of the crap they heard from this guild.
I was furious. I PM'd GMs multiple times about the issue and each time they either couldn't or wouldn't do anything to stop them. Being young I didn't want to or know to escalate it further and to not stop until I got a satisfactory ending so I just continued on dealing with it. I couldn't just log out either. I was a raiding member of a guild clearing newish content. I couldn't just pop offline whenever the assholes started posting. My guild needed me. And being a social outcast in real life, my guild mates were the best friendships I had. I even bought tickets to St. Louis to have a get together with them.
It got so bad and I was feeling like such crap that I admitted to the GM responding to my latest report about these griefers that I felt like giving it all up and ending it all and he had to talk me down or he was going to call the cops and give them my address so they would make sure I didn't kill myself.
I'm not sure what happened to the players in question after that. I don't think Blizzard ever did anything but eventually my computer couldn't keep up with new content and I got side lined in raids and I just stopped playing and that killed the problem.
To this day, anyone putting down a person feeling suicidal or depressed gets my blood boiling because they are insulting me. They are calling me a pussy, they are calling me weak willed and I'll be -blam!-ed if I'm going to take that shit lying down anymore, I'll be -blam!-ed if I let the same shit that happens to me happens to someone else, and I'll be -blam!-ed if I let some -blam!-ty Ann peice of shit dump on a person already feeling like shit.
[/spoiler]
Story #2 - Depression and self-harm, 'getting help' isn't easy.
[spoiler]So I'm going to give you my story on an alt. You prooobably know who I am and I wont bother getting into my persona to mask it. I was just too embarrassed to tell you on my main.
It's for you thread should you share it anon. A treatment or idea of sorts.
I suffered from depression for over four years. Got into the cutting scene and was raised in an emotionally, mentally and psychically abusive family. Which is, I believe, the cause of all of my mental crutches. The option to see a therapist wasn't there. It simply didn't and doesn't exist for some people. "Getting help" isn't easy, especially with the social pressure that hovers around asking for it.
I turned 18 and was kicked out of my house while attending college which lead me to turn to games, poor eating/sleeping habits, and denial. Though talking to a selected few did help, it was little more than putting a band-aid over an open wound. A temporary fix to a large problem. As the years went on the depression seemed to drag. Some days I would be okay, other days it was too much effort to breath. I only wished to stay in bed all day. Later a family member got me a cat.
This helped a lot. It kept my mind busy and made me feel needed. I felt more motivated to go to my job everyday so I would have money to spoil him. I would go outside more often, walking him on his leash and allowing everyone to admire him. He understood certain words when I used him. Knew his name, knew when he had misbehaved. Having such a smart pet made me proud. Gave me a sense of accomplishment.
I loved him just as I did my family and friends. But only a year of having him, he became terminally ill. I made the most crippling choice in my life and had to put him down to end his pain. My depression peaked at this point. My mind hardly recalls those days even now.
What I do remember is living in a fog. My body on autopilot. When I wasn't working I was sleeping. Didn't eat. Hardly drank water. Closed up to anyone who tried to talk to me. Thoughts of suicide strangled me. My room was a constant mess. Never cared about my attire or appearance very much then. It was too much trouble and simply wasn't worth it. Each day that passed felt more and more of a chore. Existing was a chore.
It finally broke me one day at my job. Working the night shift and I sat in the back and cried as a child would. My hands were shaking. It was it. It was the day I was done.
Completely done with everything. Despite that something in me still wanted to live. I flipped through my contacts searching desperately for someone to call. To talk to me and listen. I wanted help now. Being alone was too difficult. Holding it in; hiding from the world. Putting on a smile when I was around people to pretend everything was fine. Goofing off so no one would even have an idea that I wasn't okay.
There was no single person I had the courage to pour out to so I bit my cheek and wrote out a confession on my facebook. I told everyone. Absolutely terrified that I would be scolded, patronized or belittled for it. It was the opposite though.
My friends gave me so much support. Family members were giving suggestions. Phone calls. Texts. I finished closing the store, went home to my flatmate asking what she could do to help. I cried in relief that night. Even as I type that sensation of it is causing me to tear up in happiness.
It was time to change. I cut out soda and junk food entirely. Instead of going home and jumping in bed or on the xbox I took a walk. Explored the rural expanse around me. Sat and stared out at the lake to relax on clear nights. I took the effort to talk to friends about things that stressed me out. Soon a work out routine fell into place.
Every two days a week I set aside time to clean the house. Even making sure to keep every thing as tidy as I could. Once I forced myself into being healthy physically my mind slid into place. The depression and suicidal thoughts ebbed away.
Happiness became genuine. It was as if a massive weight on my mind, chest and shoulders had melted away slowly. It was crazy. Just by changing my diet, talking to people, and organizing myself the depression was going away. To this day I find it bizarre and wonderful all at the same time. It was one of the most difficult paths however.
To be in a state of not wanting to do anything, because it simply didn't matter
To doing everything a functioning person would do. Choosing to do it. And getting better due to that. Convincing myself was hard however. It wasn't as simple as snapping my fingers and thinking "today I will get better". It was a road of success and failure. Some days you won the battle, other days the battle drowned you.
But you have to keep grabbing for that light at the end of the tunnel. It's there. You probably can't see it but once you do you'll never let it go. While it will fade some nights and the depression will nibble at your mind, you will feel so much lighter. So much more wonderful in the process. That's all I've got to say. Really rather a messy and all over story but *shrugs*
[/spoiler]
Sparkles said this, I think it's very apt and needs a highlight up here.
[quote]The thing about depression is that it isn't sadness; the opposite is not a state of happiness. It is resignation, and the opposite is vitality. Depression takes the life out of life, and gives the world a haze through which you think you see clearly. Two words are simply needed when referring to depression, whether regarding yourself or somebody close to you: get help. [/quote]
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Well... If everyone else is doing it... So will I. Ever since I got my first school report back in first grade, showing straight A's, my mum has been super hard on me to get perfect marks at school. My dad was the same for a while, but he's now an alcoholic. My parents are separated due to my father -blam!- my mother several times one night, so I rarely see my father anymore. Because my super rich grandfather died, I had enough money for my mother to send me to a private school (I live in Australia, BTW). So, that started half way through grade one. But, throughout that grade, I only had one friend, a girl named Ebony. She was really smart and pretty, so the other kids made fun of us because a boy and a girl together back then was all "ooooh". Those were hard months, but I made it through. I was only 7 at the time, though. In grade 2, I made my first friend, "W". W was like a popular kid, but he didn't mind spending time with a lowly kid like myself. Until then, I was with Ebony all the time, but she got some other friends, and left me. I still don't blame her. In 3rd, W discovered girls. He spend his whole life that year, with girls. This was the start. I'm a sh*t-awful human, in the fact that I'm socially incapable. Talking to people is so hard, and starting conversations usually gave me nervous breakdowns. I was the "class nerd", and even the teachers picked on me for being nerdy. At grade 4, I started maturing. With this, came my unwanted friend, Depression. I learned all about sex, girl, drugs and death in that year. I started slitting my wrists because it made me feel something. I could finally see evidence of my own actions in the scars. In grade 5, the bullying really kicked off. I was shoved into lockers, kicked, cyberbullied and stuff at home from mum was painful too... At this point in life, I had no friends. And, at this stage, I started the phase of being attracted to girls. And, of course, the first girl to catch my eye was Ebony. In grade 6, I got to sit next to Ebony for the whole year. Looking back on it now, I actually do think she liked me. But, being socially incapable, I didn't make a move. Around this time, my beloved cat, Scooter, passed. He was the only sentient being that would listen to me talk. Mum was always off with some guy or drinking, I had no friends, and the teachers were cruel to me. That left Scooter. When he passed, I cried for several days, before attempting suicide. Well, I almost did, but I stopped. Because I realised that it didn't matter. If I died, no one would care. And so, I then slit my wrists, but harder. More often. Then, the agony of highschool. In 7th, a few new kids came to the school. Al bullies, much stronger than I am. I had no one. I was alone, and so I tried drowning myself, but I couldn't even do that. I was such a failure that even suicide didn't want me. After that, my grades finally took a hit. I went from an A student to a B student. Needless to say, I still have a few scars from when my mum saw that 76%. It was also in grade 7 that I discovered what was the first light of hope in a long time. I know people will hate on this, but my light in the dark was My Litttle Pony. I accepted the ideals and teachings of the episodes, and became a Brony. Still am to this day. I found that MLP would help me survive a little longer. By no means was I coping, but I was surviving by a thread. Eventually, I grew obsessed with MLP, (not telling anyone I was a brony though) and fell in love with the character Luna. It wasn't the creepy kind where the old guys lust over the ponies, but I fell for her personality. She was like me. Damaged beyond repair. The one no one liked. The sole embodiment of what people hated; The Darkness. And, even today, that's who I am. What I see myself as. The shadow in the light. Upon coming to 8th, I was easily at a new low. Suicide attempts stopped because I couldn't even kill myself well enough. MLP faded into the background, and I found that days at school were filled with me sitting at lunch, by myself. But, during one lunch time, I saw someone. A girl. And, at that moment, I thought I was dead, because that's the only way I could have seen an angel like her... I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to, so badly. I would buy special deodorants, just to see her reaction when she walked past me every day. She never commented once. But I didn't care. Then, one time, I was at school, and the girl (we'll call her "L") wanted to go through a door. One thing I've always believed in is being a gentleman, whether people are watching or not. So, knowing full well that she wouldn't notice, I held the door anyway. She stops. Turns. And thanks me, with the warmest smile I have ever seen. The evening, I can say I was truly happy. But, of course, as all things do, it ended poorly. She got a new friend, and then they would hang out in a place out-of-bounds to my year level. And then I slit my wrists, forcefully, cursing myself for falling for a girl one year older than me. One lunchtime, I sat in religion class, and I analysed the teacher. I realised that, despite what I thought, I could trust her. I began to slowly open up to her, because I was so desperate for help. But, tragically, she passed. I cried quite a bit that night. In the same year, a friend I made a little while back and myself were hanging out. Her name was "C", and oddly, I trusted her. But, to make a long story short, she was murdered before my eyes, and watched her die in my arms. That night, I was beaten by my mum for coming home late. I was done. Ready to just jump. And, so, I prepared to. Until another girl, named "N", long story short, got into contact with me. She heard about me, and then, the conversation came to the fact that she was going to kill herself. I wasn't going to let this happen. I essentially acted as her psychologist, and talked her out of it. And, since then, I have prevented 21 suicides, 14 acts of self-harm and boosted the self-esteem of 39 girls, 61 different times. I even helped 2 couples get together. But, as any psychologist could tell you, it's a task to handle all the sadness of other people, as well as my own severe depression. I gave up. Helping other people, giving them advice is all I had left in life. So, at the expense of my own health, I was, and still am prioritising other people, before myself. Always. And, I feel all the worse for it, depression-wise. Finally, we come to 9th. Present days. As a 15 year old, I have witnessed 3 deaths, 2 -blam!-s and 2 suicides. I have the most severe from of depression possible, and I'm helping other people, not myself. Because, either way, I'm useless. Throughout my assisting others, not once was I thanked. I've realised, it's just because they don't care. No one does. Recently, with my French class, we went for a week-long trip to New Caledonia. And, who might I find on the trip? None other than the angel from the past year. I got a few brief chances to talk to her, but I hardly remember what I said to her. I was too scared. So, now, here I am. On top of this 29 storey building. And after essentially telling my life story, I realise that jumping is best. Death. They say it's bad. I say it's relief from daily bashings from bullies. I say it's a way out of my mum's beatings. A way from the girl using me for their own purposes, at the cost of my own health. A way out of heartbreak. So, go ahead. Give me a reason why jumping right now is a bad idea. Thank you for reading.