Looking back now, I know I had been depressed as a kid. I think it probably started at around the age of ten. I don’t remember if there was a life-changing event that happened then, or if maybe that was just the point when my brain didn’t know how to function anymore. Yes, there were stresses at home, but they weren’t addressed and I’m not quite sure at what age I became aware of them. For some reason, I think it was when I was a bit older – junior high age, maybe. But I’m sure it was around the age of ten when something no longer seemed quite right.
I just felt like I couldn’t keep up anymore.
As a little kid, I had been the golden child. Everyone thought I was the smartest, the cutest, the sweetest, the best. I could do no wrong. But around third grade, something changed. I remember when it changed and it hit me hard. I could no longer keep up. I started wanting to stay home from school all of the time. Something just never felt right. I began to think I was stupid…even though I was in the top classes…I began to fall back. I began to feel like I was no longer part of the group. You can even see the change in my school pictures. Somewhere between second and third grade I went from sweet and smiling to gawky and strange.
Of course, everyone has that period of time when they look back and think…those were not my best years. And when I got older, in my early 20’s, I would laugh and say that I went through an awkward stage that lasted from third grade to age 22.
But it was more than an awkward stage with me.
Something just was not right.
Something inside of me hurt constantly. It got to the point that I could no longer sleep at night. Sometimes, I was very afraid. I’m sure that is when the panic attacks started. Of course, I had no idea what they were at the time. But I knew I had a stomach that became upset easily…and I quickly learned to stick my fingers down my throat to quell the nausea. My grandmother had done the same thing. I had seen her do it.
School was very hard for me. I didn’t make friends easily. Almost everyone frightened me and I was an overly sensitive kid. I couldn’t keep up with my work…my mind was constantly wandering and overrun with thoughts. I couldn’t focus on anything to save my life. I was constantly moving between Advanced and Regular classes because I simply wouldn’t do the work in the Advanced classes and the Regular classes made my eyes cross. I was bored by everything.
The nurses hated me, I am sure. I was constantly walking down the halls to their offices with a pass in my hand. Looking back, I’m guessing what would happen is that I would have panic attacks…and freak out…and have the burning need to get out of class and get home. Some days, I would fight to not have to leave home at all. Eventually, because I stayed home and was sent home so much, I had to get creative. Once, probably because the bag warned not to, I ate handful after handful of birdseed in hopes that it would make me vomit so my mother could hear. And, as I recall, it did. I had sat up the whole night before coming up with that plan.
I guess at that time, depression in children wasn’t easy to recognize. This was before the days of ADHD and everything else. Grown-ups just thought I was lazy and unmotivated and not intelligent enough to keep up with the other kids in my class. And they told me so. As a result, that’s what I thought, too.
For years.
Until I was older and the problem spun so out of control that something had to be done about it. I was never so grateful as I was when I learned that I had been depressed for years on end. It was then that everything began to make sense for me. It was then that I was able to pick up the loose ends and start to piece them together in ways that made it easier for me to cope and get by. Looking back, I think it’s sad that I went through my formative years like that – hurting and confused and feeling so alone– but I know I wouldn’t be who I am today if I hadn’t had the exact experience I’ve had. So, in a way, I’m grateful for that, too.