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This is What Depression Feels Like
In eighth grade, I went through more pain in one year than most people only have nightmares about. My dad left. I had mono. And one of my friends just lost her life to suicide. These events all happened in a very short time, and I never really had time to grieve and deal with each one. Life kept coming at me. I would think of that friend, and how she seemed to convince people that she was okay. Every day seemed to get longer and longer for me. I could feel my smile turn into a painful look. Every step felt like i was dragging a 500 pound weight. Every breath I took got thicker by the second. All of this reminded me of her, how people said that's what she went through. That is when i would take a picture of her out. Her smile was so happy and her eyes were so bright. I examined her smile though, to learn from the best on how to hide my pain. It didn't matter though, my parents knew how i felt (or at least had an idea), but they didn't seem to care. They saw what I did to myself, but looked away in embarrassment. Every day got harder and help seemed to get farther away.
So, I waited. Each day I would wait for someone, anyone, to ask if I was okay, if I needed help. But that day never came, so I kept getting worse.
What was wrong with me? For a year and a half, I would stay home on weekends and cry to myself. I emotionally died. One day in gym, they showed a video on depression. I felt excited and nervous at the same time. During the video, I found out I had eleven of the twelve symptoms of depression they talked about. Would anyone in the class notice I was counting them? Would they look at me and think 'man, that's what's wrong with her'? But to my surprise, no one said anything. No information was even passed out to the class on where to seek help or what to do, so again, I got scared there would never be help.
That night, I couldn't take it any longer. I didn't know how much longer I could live. So I did one of the hardest things I have done in my life. I told my mom that I needed help; I had depression. She got me the help that was needed.
Looking back, I wish someone could have reassured me everything was going to be okay. Sometimes I needed someone to annoy me every day, to see if I needed help or if I was happy. My grandma once told me "Don't worry; God doesn't give you more than you can handle". Where was God when I started breaking? I wanted to break for the longest time, but then, I wouldn't be here, telling you this story.
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