I grew up with both a mother and father living at home for most of my life. We weren't ridiculously poor (as far as I was aware), we were white, we were American, we lived in the suburbs. All of these were very obvious advantages. But there's always something isn't there?
Daddy worked nights mostly, so I rarely saw him conscious. This left mom to take care of me herself. She was very depressed, however, and seem to feel abandoned, alone, undervalued, and also a little like she deserved it. This led to a lot of "go play outside" intermingled with over-protective coddling and smothering. I also had two older half-brothers: one who lived with us only during the summer, and the other who lived with us most of the year until he turned 18.
The one who usually played nice (a saint compared to the older brothers of other girls I knew) was the one gone most of the time, while the elder brother was much too old for me to play with. He was just entering the sulky/angry teenager phase, if I recall correctly.
Other than the basics, my memory of my childhood is largely incomplete. This is due to the coping mechanisms of a 6 to 8 year old girl going through a long and hellish ordeal: trauma and abuse I won't really get into here, perpetrated by three people two houses down from where I lived. This was my main source of learning for those years since I was so young, and when I start talking about CPT, I'll mention more about how that period of time is where I got most of my "stuck points" (yeah, I know that sounds more like "hippie crap").
Anyway, these experiences changed me. I became nervous around others. My once utterly fearless self was reduced to a socially crippled, overly cautious, and highly distrusting child. I didn't deal with what had happened properly, because no one was there to help, so all I could do was repress, withdraw, dissociate, and eventually develop depression. Just like my mom, I had become hopeless and alone, and I had begun to feel like I deserved it.
Pretty much from that point on, I had been either self-isolating or ostracized by others just about constantly. There have been good things, of course (such as my previously-mentioned husband), but that's for part two.
UGH--so this is just too depressing, amirite? Here, for making it this far, here's a reward:
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| This is my dog. :) |
So anyway...I have always been trying to better myself (I suppose that's a logical route for someone who hates themself to take) through religion or knowledge, or practicing different talents I had, but I never really found what I was looking for. And of course I never got over my mental problems (if you could just "get over it" there wouldn't be Ph.D.s for that kind of thing). What I did get was a gift.
A wonderful, useful, life-altering gift: my depressive journey.
Wait, no! Where are you going? Let me explain!
I promise this isn't some stupid New-Age-y thing. This is a legitimate feeling that took nearly 27 years to fully appreciate, which is why I'm writing this now.
I'm not cured of my depression. Realistically, I've accepted that I may never be. But after really thinking about it and looking at all the insight I've gained and the opportunities I'll have to help others once I (one day) graduate with a degree...I couldn't help but re-frame it.
It is a purpose, a career, and an advantage--it's still a goddamn pain in my ass, but a beneficial one, nonetheless.
As for the Crohn's...I'll talk about that on Wednesday. But after that, this will stop being such a depressing string of posts, I promise!
Next time: "Biography Lite, pt 2: The Military and Crohn's, or Why I Hate the CCFA.
Keep on keeping on guys!
~ML
