My Darkness (Personal Story)*

**Disclaimer: There are topics touched upon in this post that may cause a trigger.  So I ask that you read with caution.**
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Everyone has a story in this world. Good or bad, we all have a different walk in life. And although the problems and obstacles are generally the same, the paths getting through them are different for everyone.  

​Through our stories, we learn the makeup of each individual and how they have handled these obstacles through their written stories. I’ve shared bits and pieces with a few individuals throughout my life but never the path that got me here today, the path that led to years of deep depression. Have a seat because this one’s my truth. This is my story.

These days it’s no secret to those around me that I live with depression. Major depression is what I was diagnosed within 2006. I’ve experienced it all my life and it comes and goes but never stays away for good. I first noticed that I was sadder than most in the second grade. In elementary school, I was the quiet, awkward kid which made me a great target for others looking to feel better about themselves. I was the tallest female 2nd grader in my class, skinny with the biggest 2 front teeth which I still have today and love more now than then. So you could only imagine the names they came up with. Green giant somehow managed to stick around for a few years.   

Every day until the 4th grade, it was always something new. The only bright side was that I had my best friends at the time along with me. But all their inclusion of me in everything they did just couldn’t erase the damage that had started to begin. It wasn’t until the fifth grade that the bullying would get worse. Up until then, it had been verbal (teasing, name-calling) from certain kids outside my class with the occasional random ball to the face injury that would send me to the nurse’s office and heading home with a knot on my head to explain what had happened to my mom.

After the second time, I stayed as close to the teachers during gym and recess as possible when my friends weren’t there to shield me. But then my parents separated and I moved with my mom and younger sister to Chicago where my grandmother lived. I thought my parents would work it out by the end of summer but unfortunately, they didn’t and I had to spend my fifth-grade year going to school there. By far the worst year of them all. 

I remember being placed in the front of the classroom to sit and each time the teacher would turn to the board, I would have a sea of spitballs shot at me until he faced the class again. That occurred every day. Or walking in the halls to each class and being pushed into other students or the wall or locker so hard that at times I’d return home with bruises or cuts on my shoulders. Or having a seat in the library at the same table as my bullies because it was the only seat left and having them poke me repeatedly under the table throughout the class with some metal rod they found.

And the numerous times I was called ugly, stupid, a liar or worst to my face. To this day, I can visualize it as if it was yesterday, right down to the color of their clothes. The number of tears I cried that year could fill ten buckets or more.

By the time I returned back to New York, my self-esteem and confidence had no shot and my depression had consumed my world. It was as though my mood was stuck. I didn’t want to do much. I walked with my head down even more. I would wear the baggiest clothes because I was so insecure about my body. I was no longer the skinny girl I once was in elementary but rather the chubby pre-teen which meant another thing for them to attack me about. At that point, I had pretty much given up on life because in my eyes nothing was ever going to change no matter how hard I tried. ​

And that was the worse way to head into your ninth grade year in high school. The laughter and teasing were on a whole other level and I became the loner, even more, sitting alone at lunch, observing all the others interacting with each other. My own little isolated hell. The boys in school treated me like the plague and the girls laughed at me because I looked nothing like them with their makeup and name brand clothing. My family just couldn’t afford the high price items that everyone was dressing in those days. And until I met my at the time best friend in the tenth grade, no one wanted anything to do with me other than to make themselves feel better. She didn’t realize how much of a lifesaver she was at the time because she was my reason to cut classes every day, to escape the walls of high school.

Yet she wasn’t enough to keep some things away. My head was filled with self-hate and the thoughts of suicide had flooded right in. I mean they’ve always been there. I was nine years old the first time I found where my father kept his service gun. And each time I had a bad day, I’d wait for everyone to go to sleep and sit in front of it just thinking about “If I could just end it all.” He quickly moved it once he found out that I knew about it and never talked about it again. But as a teenager, all things changed. There were more options for me. And my commute back and forth to school was always consumed with thoughts of how to end it all, to stop the torment. 

So at age 14, I picked up a less permanent option until I got enough of an urge to figure out the bigger ending. Other cutters you hear about used their cutting as a release while I used mines as a form of punishment in my mind because I didn’t do better as a person to make these people like me. Looking back on it, it’s not something I’m proud of. I didn’t know I was capable of something like that. But when your mind is so clouded of all the negative things people have told you about yourself over the years, this was just bound to happen. Last time I cut myself was two months after my sister’s birthday and five months into therapy. I was twenty-eight then.

For ten years, bullying both physical and verbal by my peers and some adults had been my everyday norm that I felt in school and on the streets. It was ten years of struggling with my existence here in this world, undervaluing my self-worth and really just not developing the proper skills to deal with those in society. So at 28 years old, I punished myself for the last time and I got myself help. Therapy was not easy at all but I was tired of drowning in my own sorrow, in my own darkness.

​Four years of cognitive therapy, group therapy, and a brief stint on anti-depressants, unfolded all those years of living on the edge of darkness and gave me a new lease on life. My negative was slowly being changed to a positive way of life. And although it has changed my way of thinking about me a bit, I still have my struggles. I still have some trouble taking compliments from others. I still find it hard to speak in one on one conversations with those around me and then hold that conversation. 

I still don’t love myself on the outside the way I should. I still struggle to voice myself in group settings or show others my intelligence without having to write it down or doubt myself. I still struggle to make friends, to not feel alone all the time. And there are still times where I slip back into my darkness. But all of these I continuously work on to build my confidence because like they say Rome wasn’t built in a day. I’ve come a long way from those days and I’m proud of that. My negative thoughts have 85% turned to a more positive outlook. This is something I thought I’d never experience.

And as sad or horrible or cruel it may have been, I don’t think I’d be at this stage if it wasn’t for my past. I still find it hard to believe others when they say I’m so strong, that I’m a strong person, the strongest they know. But looking back at all this, guess I can see what they mean and say I was strong. I can tell seven year old me that we’re in a better place now, that no one can hurt you that bad anymore, that we are a work in progress and that one day, today, you’ll find a reason to smile. And hopefully, one day, someone will finally understand and accept you for who you are, not what they want you to be.

Depression is not easy to live with. There’s no switch to turn it off and on, trust me, I wish there was. But it does exist and it does affect a lot of people in different ways. Bullying revealed mines. How I got there is only half of my story. How I continue to maintain my depression is the other. I didn’t open up about my background for a shock factor or because I wanted anyone who reads this to feel sorry for what I went through. I shared this part of me because there are many out there who have gone through or are going through this or worst. And I’m here to say, You are not alone. You can get past this and see a different side of you. And there is someone out there who loves and cares about you. Me!

Until next time this is Tammy saying keep strong, keep positive and nothing’s impossible!!!

​Top Photo by David Gomes from Pexels

If you or anyone you know is a victim of bullying, don’t wait until it’s too late. Find help for you or that person. Reach out to them, don’t wait for them to reach out to you. Or if you are the individual, reach out for help. You never know whose life you’ll save. Let others know that they are not alone. Could be a family member, a friend, a stranger or your very own.

If you are having thoughts of harming yourself, please, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline because your life is worth saving.
                                         Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255

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