They think it is something you can get over. That you are being selfish. Ungrateful. That?s what you are told, to ?perk up?. Or to stop whining.
I wish they knew how it felt. To be like this, every day. Knowing you are stuck like this till you die.
It doesn?t just affect you fucked up brain, but you?re fucked up physical self.
The shakes, the breathing, heart palpitations. Being unable to move, walk, talk, eat, and sleep. Or being able to do all those things to well.
Never being normal. Just going from one extreme to another. Drama, drama, drama. Drama you do not want.
You try and fight it, but the black fog surrounds you and you become so, so lost. You can feel so overwhelmed and so emotional. Then feel so numb at the same time. You can watch days go buy as a blur. Be on the outside of the world looking in. Looking through a frosted glass at life.
It?s not you, this, this disease, this illness that takes over. It is a whole other person. The bad person in your brain. You try and lock them away, bury them deep. Just like bad memories. But they have a habit of biting you in the ass and you?re trapped. You see it all and you just can?t stop.
It must be like this when you are addicted to something.
You just want to sleep and stay that way. Sometimes you just want to die. Sometimes you just want to know what it is like to feel alive.
But this is me. This is forever for m now. And you know what?s worse? This all could have been completely avoided.
Yes ?depression?. Most of you don?t know what it is. Or you treat it like a person who is foreign and talk to them as if they are deaf or dumb. Treat them as if they are physically ill with leprosy or something and avoid them like the black plague. Or you?re one of the bitches in life who pretends to care and gossip and back stab. Or you?re the amazing friend who has no clue. The family member who doesn?t give a dam.
Some of you are good with it and treat us like NORMAL ACUTAL PEOPLE. Even though to be honest we aren?t, or why the fuck would we be depressed?
Depression is like this for me. It varies for a lot of people. There are loads of reasons why you can get it. Change. Loss. Chemical imbalance of the brain. Physical illness etc.
For me it was my child hood and my oh so loving parents, and how I would do anything to protect my sister and look after my Mum. My Dad. Keep things behind closed doors a secret. Well I thought it was all fucking normal didn?t I. So why would you say when you think every kid in your class gets the same. Then you find out one day at school in a class. The you think. Oh Shit. No wonder everything has gone to piss. Then you are fucked because you alone in a situation you can?t get out of. Ever.
So here is a bit of background history.
2 Years Old?
We lived in a village. In a maisonette (shit council flat.) This was before my sister was born and when she was born. This is what happened in 3 years. Well the significant memories to help you feel what it was like. The dreams and things no 2year old should ever have or remember.
My first memory of my mother. Pushing me into a chest of drawers. My white chest of drawers. With the gold handles on, all because I wouldn?t put my baby away... I had a big black old fashioned pram for my baby dolls. I had a black baby doll with a nice knitted cardi and a white one. I was a 2year old having a temper tantrum, I do believe terrible two?s is terrible two?s for a reason. So she yelled at me. Real bad. I wasn?t scared though, I knew it was my fault ad I~ was being naught, and that I deserved it. I was just a bit shocked and numb as I know Mum was scary, she made me feel so uneasy. I didn?t like it. But I went bang into those doors and it went black. Theses chest of drawers were right the other side of the room. My bedroom. My bunk bed that dad mad me. My single bed in the corner near the window. My cot from when I was a baby and my wardrobe with my pink indoor pop up tent in it. I loved that tent. And my big grey and white spotted rocking horse. I remember thinking that room was so big. That everything was so big. I know now that it was small and over crowded with crap. It was so suddenly black. I woke up in mum?s arms, the other side of the room, with her crying and rocking me saying she was so sorry. That she was a bad mother. That she didn?t mean to. That it would never happen again.
When most domestic abuse happens the victims are told it is a one off and stupidly believe it.
I knew she was lying and that it would happen again, and a lot more, something would happen every day after that. Some physical, emotional and neglectful abuse would happen every day until I would be ill and get a break from it, and until I did the stupid thing I try so hard to hide.
I didn?t cry at all. I knew I was naughty, that I should have done as I was told, so therefore I deserved it. I was ?a little bitch? who had her ?discipline.? That was the day my childhood went. If you think at 2yrs you have a childhood that?s when mine went and I never had one and never will.
One time I spilt some lemonade and got a good old kicking. Mum cleaned it up, but I was wasting her time being a burden. I was on eggshells the whole time. One time I asked to try coffee. She made me some, it was too hot, it burnt my mouth, I didn?t like the taste, a coffee taste horrible to me now, makes me nearly vomit. I hate it so much. I refused to drink it. She slapped me a few times, said I was being ungrateful, I asked for it and I shall have it and not be so wasteful. She forced me to drink it, then wacked me about even when I did. Then made some stupid shitty origami flower to say sorry and that she didn?t mean to hurt me. It wouldn?t happen again. The flower looks like a scrupled up bit of paper. We both knew she was lying.
Then she got pregnant. The moods got worse. Every day, twice or three times a day I was a punching bag for her so she could let out her emotions. Mum and Dad?s arguing started. The bitter arguing that saw them shout, saw mum hit dad, saw her run away. Saw her try and kill herself countless times. Saw her say I?m leaving you both. You hate me and I am shit and worthless and your both king-sized shit. I?m leaving and am going to jump under a lorry. I cried. I loved mummy so much. I didn?t want her to die. It was all my fault and I tried every day to make her happy and not annoy her. I was never good enough. I was stupid and I got things wrong and I didn?t mean to. It was all my fault why they argued. But when my sister was in Mummy?s belly it got worse and when she was born I hated her so much because Mum?s moods were so much worse and I got it all. At the same time I was glad it wasn?t Deborah. But I hated her so. I think I was just so jealous she didn?t get it. I had to have it all. That was how it was I wanted it to stay. I didn?t want D to get hurt. She would, no matter how much I tried to stop it and she hurts now, I tried to make it all better. I did. I tried to make Mum cheer up.
When I was in reception at my first school BH I missed the school bus. All of us in reception did. Because my name was first on register I was always first in line. The teaching assistant told us to wait here while she checked something. She was gone ages and we couldn?t work out why. Then she came back and said I told you to follow me not wait here! The buses left an hour ago. How could you not check behind you and notice 10 4-5yr olds not there???? It was her fault we all said she told us to wait here. We were 4 so even if we miss heard it is up to her to check. I thought that then and I think it now. Anyway teachers took us home. I got in. Mum was hysterical, crying and screaming at me. Said she called the police and how could I be so stupid, that it was all my fault and I was a silly little bitch and that she looked like a bad mum now. (Well news flash, you ARE a fucking bad mum!) I told her what happened I said sorry, I was so upset then I got my leg stuck in the kitchen chair and I got in more trouble and I was crying and scared and she was hurting me because I was bad. She said she was going to call the fire brigade to get my leg out but in the end it comes out. But she hurt me still. I always wore clothes to cover it looking back, and she was clever, marks were where no one could see, and in the visible places she would hurt to leave a mark for a little while but be gone by the time dad got back or the next day.
Anyway X had hip dysplasia or dyspraxia or something and was in and out of hospitals so I didn?t live at home for a while, I lived with family and neighbours while she had the operations and was looked after. I never got attention of Mum and Dad. I missed a lot of early primary school up to year 3. I think I missed most of year 2 because of this but I moved schools in year 1 because we moved to a house for d. Still council house. Still shit coloured brinks!
Basically X's hip wasn?t in probably and if left she would be disabled and one leg would be longer than the other so they screwed a big metal thing into her leg and we would be in and out of hospital with this until near the end of primary school when she had It out. She is fine. It never bothered her. She is so energetic and sporty you would never know, there is just a worm looking scar on her left thigh and a white thin scar on her left hip. It?s what makes X, X and I love her for being her.
R. he was this older boy who lived below us. His dad was in prison. His mum looked like a fat alcoholic. He knew what mum was doing, and made me kiss him on the stairs under the coats, full on tongues at 4. I knew how to snog please a ma and make them point. I didn?t know what tit was or what it was called. I didn?t like it, he smelt funny but he said if I told Mum would call me a dirty little whore and beat me up. He was right. And he said If I didn?t he would tell on me or make up something on me. And she would believe it. We both knew he was right. I was 4 and I understood all this. Well it started like a 3 and stopped when I moved. I didn?t count it as sexual abuse, I completely blocked it out my mind and only put the dots together when I was about 16. I never told anyone until it was too late and he didn?t realise how bad it was at the time. We both had abusive homes. Not an excuse for him. But it?s obvious how his dad and mum are. I don?t know what happened to him. I saw him once when I started secondary school in year 7, he made a sly comment to me about what happened, so he knows it was wrong now and he was so sick and perverse. I was scared of him. I avoided him after that. That was the last time I saw him. He is one fugly son of a bitch.
5 years old until let?s say 14 years old.
The end is the bad thing.
I was always ill forever at the doctors with tummy ache, looking back it was because I was always being pushed on the floor and kicked in the stomach.
We always used to argue the whole family. Me, mum and dad. Separately and together. She would always run off and go to kill herself and say she would never come back. Oh me and d used to wish it true. But she is al full of B.S nad all DRAMA. The attention seeking sod. All for dad. So would come back. I would go round the village in my pyjamas or nightdress all the time looking for my mentally unstable mother and once people saw and I was crying shouting mum, they looked at me funny and kept walking. So much human compassion.
I broke my toes once playing tag in the housed with X. It was quite funny. I turned round and said ?ha, hah you can?t catch me!? then I turned back and went smack into a wall. Karma! Serves me right. I broke my arm once kicking a football trying to show off in year 6. The primary school field had a hill and I was going down it to play and a ball came up so me trying to show off kicked it fell over it and broke my arm. I was glad these times as I knew mum wouldn?t hurt me while they were healing. She was on her best behaviour for a short while. We didn?t really speak for that time.
I broke all my toes in the other foot the next time. So all my toes have been broken. That time Mum was arguing with be and pushed a coffee table onto my foot deliberately to hurt me and broke all my toes. Dad saw he was there. I was never allowed to go to the doctors about it. I never got a sorry. She said it was an accident. How do you accidently push something over. Dad didn?t exactly see as he had his back turned he admitted, but what mum says must be the truth because she is a fucking saint. She always used to write me note off for P.E. Probably because she hurt me or wanted me to hide the marks. I never noticed them. Looking back I was always bruise and cut and could never work out why. Oh How stupid I was.
Arguments with mum and dad, Year 3, Granddads , Wardrobe, Arms, ?arson?, Cricket pitch, Glass bottles, Conifers, Spoons, Shaking, Hair, Knife, Locked out debs, Not letting d get hurt, Mum saying about miscarriage condoms and devil, Spitting on me, Putting d to bed, Hiding in our rooms, Distraction technique, Breaking things, Me running away @ 6 and 13, Diabetes, Year 6 swearing, Ringing dad/dad knowing, Forced to church and refusal to go, Bullying for Jesus freak
The bad thing
So the bad thing. The thing I never speak of unless I absolutely have to. The thing that I always keep a secret till the very, very last minute. The thing I hide.
So 2 weeks prior to me doing this Mum and me had a massive fight and she trashed the house, smashed glass everywhere and ran out. I was so fed up. Every night the same thing. The only thing keeping me going was X. But I just couldn?t anymore. I had been crying every night since year 6, since I realised exactly how wrong this all was, and how it didn?t happen to everyone like normal as I thought. None of my other friends Mum?s beat the shit out of them and their sister. And their Dad did not chose work over family, or ignore what was going on, or stick their head in the sand or whatever they didn?t do that they should have done.
Basically in year 6 I stayed in at Lunch to finish some work, (a special privilege in primary school,) so the teacher wrote your name on the board if you were allowed, and these girls. Complete utter bullies, and now slags might I add, were in too and they were basically bullying me saying I wrote my name on the board and I was a liar and a Jesus freak. (Just my parents are,) and so on and so forth. So in the end I called J, one of girls, a fucking bitch. This shocked and astounded everyone because in primary school, swearing never happens. Probably does now because primary schools manage to turn out slaggy year sevens as easily as politicians manage to lie. Anyway they told the teacher and I told everything about my home life to that particular teacher. Made her promise never to tell. She never did tell. She promised not to. So by doing that a teacher broke some laws, she could blame herself for the ONgoing years of suffering, physical and emotional pain me and my sister endured, but I made her promise not to tell. She kept her promise to me, I suppose that?s good in a way, or maybe she just didn?t want the paper work and a fuck up on her hands.
So Mum trashed the house, broken glass everywhere. She ran off in the middle of the night for the umpteenth time leaving me with my 11year old sister to sort out, the house to clean up and Dad doing a night shift again. Always working.
I couldn?t be arsed with looking for Mum. I tidied it all up. Put D to bed. I tidied everything up except for a bit of glass and then cut my self with it. On my left arm, nearly halfway down on the inside of my forearm and that is how my self-harm started for about 3years, it was quite weird using my right hand to self harm because I?m left handed. Well I am a bit ambidextrous when it comes to things.
That is how the self harm started. It was that night I though to myself. Right, I give up, Mum has won. I am going do end it all. I just wanted to go to sleep and stay asleep, maybe even dream happy dreams. I got a bit crazy planning it all. I made a little scrap book of ways to kill myself, all the options, drawings and diagrams, it is weird, like someone else was in control when I look back. In the end I chose overdose, I remember drawing a noose in the book about hanging myself, a knife to slash my wrists and throat, a car to jump in front of, a building to jump off, it went on and on. If someone really wants to kill themselves and it isn?t a cry for help like mine was, they will do it. They will end up dead. It?s like a druggie, if they want the smack, they will find a way to get it.
So skip forward 2 weeks and it is a Friday and really snowing, school finished early because of the snow and I had somehow managed to fall out with all my friends so I thought today is the day. I just know I had a really shit day and stuff was still going on at home with Mum, so went home, pissed about in the snow abit, made a few comments to people about not seeing me again, I was really in a dark mood that day. Went home, took all the paracetamol, Ibropfrufen and calpol I could get, walked to the park and waited to die. At the time I couldn?t understand why I wasn?t dead, let alone I was standing in the freezing cold for 3 hours. I thought the tablets would make me sleep and die. Now I know paracetamol is one of the slowest most painful ways to kill you and can take up to a glorious 2 weeks. Anyway I went back home, sent goodbye texts to some of my friends. One particular friend (who doesn?t give two shits about me now,) rang me worried and made me tell my parents what happen.
Boy oh boy did Dad flip. X was in bits, Mum was understanding, went to hospital and told a lot of lies. Mum came up with the lie actually, she seemed to think I did it because I was stressed with schoolwork? What a fucking dumb ass. Do you realise beating your kids to shit may have something to do with it you fucktard. Told the lies and got away with it.
So a week or so later Mum and Dad sit me down, in a corner of a room and tell me they are forcing me to go to the doctors because I am depressed. Oh and that I haven?t been right for a while now and they are worried about me and don?t know why. IT?S BECAUSE OF YOU!!!!!
I told the doctor everything; I also told the counsellor at school everything. So social services got involved. (For all the shit their worth.)
I was in a science lesson and I had forgot to do my homework and I was thinking excuses up and the school counsellor comes in and sys I have to go with her, when I get to her bit of the school X is there too and there is a social worker. The Social worker (S/W) takes us to Leicester to this stupid child friendly, big brother type house to film our confessions of Mum. (of which X mostly lied at the time.) They S/w took us to macdonalds and it was like 11pm now and pissing it down. We transeferred to another s/w car with a different s/w who would be our social worker. Auzzie we will call her. She took us to our temporary home.
Foster Care.
So as you know I started self harming. By now I moved up to a razor and in foster care I remember it getting really bad, the only instance I can remember is when Mum and Dad came over to ?talk?.
It was a warm day, it was only spring but felt like summer, I?m sure I had school that day and by now everyone knew I had tried to kill myself and was in foster care, except my own friends?! Did not believe me, they thought I was lying. So it was pretty shit, to top it off I got to seemy mother and father. We ended up arguing and Mum called me a liar and to stop being a ?silly girl.? Before she had said that ot me after I tried explaining stuff at home and she called me a silly little girl so I threw my drink over her?
One night not long after that I stayed over a friends and got completely pissed, drink blots out the bad stuff for me, I just can?t stop when I start. I still struggle with it now, but I aint stopping drinking, it helps me be warm and fuzzy and not remember. For a while anyway.
Any way I ran upstairs, found my razor in it?s hiding place, went to the bathroom and just kept slashing my arm, I did it well. I did this every day. I just stood there slashing my arm, crying and staring at my ugly, fat, worthless reflecion in the mirror, in the end A&E (foster parents,) found out and took my razor off me. That wasn?t the end of it though.
Dad?s choice (He chose WRONG!)? So A few weeks in, or months, when social services were getting bored of me they anted to turf me out. Dad spoke to me about coming home and I said, ?I will come home, if Mum leaves, it?s your choice.? He said he loved us both very much and could not chose. Well he obviously chose Mum because I didn?t see her having to move. I moved. I was taken away from everything and everyone. So Mum got her way.
The social worker also told me why mum had kids apparently, because she needed people/babies to love her and when we grew up because she was a crap mother, of course wehated her. So she hated us.
So at the end of foster care w had a family group meeting, to decide what to do with me and d, like we were objects in Mum?s game. Wait?we are bjects to Mum. Well Mum and Dad said to us, we will get a dog if you come back and you can chose, X wanted a dog, so she went back. Mum chose the dog. It wasn?t X's dog. It was Mum?s. Lies, lies and more fucking lies. I also at The FGM Mum playing the victim. I wish I answered back and stood up for myself more. Why do the liars get the help, support and believed. In this world you lie and get everything, you tell the truth and you get worse than nothing. You would be better off with nothing, but you get all the bad stuff and shit thrown in your face.
This is random but my parents have their fucking PRAISE THE FUCKING LORD attitude, which is so fucking ironic. They believe the church is their family but they are a bunch of gossipers who believe Mum and if religion is true, why would my Mum be a fucking child abusing cunt? Oh, and they forced me to go to church and if me or D didn?t we would get a nice beating from Mum.
DRI just want to say I have the best partner and son in ther world but here is a brief thing of my Post Natal depression, my son's birth and my stay in hospital?
My battle with the continuously shit NHS. (The email says it all??)
Hello,
I gave birth to my son at XXX Hospital on the XXX XXXX XXXX.
I have several complaint-
- Midwife injected me with Pethidine and and Anti-sickness injection without asking. Me and my partner had to ask what she had injected me with.
- I was left to labour after my waters had broke which were green, and was hooked up to a monitor and was not checked on every 10-15minutes as I believe this should be when the are monitoring babies heartbeat.
- I was only vaginally checked twice. One when I came in after my waters had broke. and one after I had been given an epi-dural. I was fully dilated. If I had not had an epi-dural I would have been able to push out my baby and not have forceps or a 3rd degree tear.
- I was told I was going into theatre to have a forceps delivery. My partner and father of my child was told that it was to have an emergency c-section. When I got in the theatre I had nurses ask me what I was in for as they said I was in for a c-section and I was told forceps.
- When I was staying on the Maternity ward, myself and several other women were told not to buzz because they were to busy and no one would be able to help. I was suffering (and still am suffering with post natal depression.) The other woman could not get out of bed to pick up her baby.
I hope to hear from some one soon and thank you for taking your time to read this.
Many thanks,
[my name]
We also have a house and the landlord is a tightwadded fucker, we spesnt thousand doing up this house to make it ?livable? and struggle with damp and everything and he wants to put the rent up when 2beds aren?t even going for anywhere near aas much and they are in better condition and cheaper by a hell of a way. But that doesn?t bug me any more because my partner who is the bees knees shares problems ike that. This is a later I nearly sent, and we have talked to him about this but he refuses to do anything.
Dear Mr tightwad,
I am writing to inform you about the issue of damp in your property.
Damp is rising up the walls from the floor causing paint to come off and there is damp around windows and in the bathroom.
The damp is a mix of rising damp and condensation.
We have already paid for and fitted an electric heater fan in the bathroom to help with the steam and do open windows for ventilation. We also wipe down windows daily to get rid of condensation on them.
However through the house there is damp still and black mould. We do try and get rid of this with a mould killing spray but it keeps reappearing.
We are worried about the damp and black mould as we are about to have a baby and are worried about any health problems it might cause.
We feel in the bathroom that maybe an extractor fan would also help get rid of the steam.
We do not know what to do about the rising and feel as our landlord you should be able to come to an agreement with us to fix the problem.
We have taken and labelled pictures of the damp if you would like we could also request a professional opinion.
We are also having problems with the toilet as it drips a blue clear fluid as if there is a leak, we keep wiping it and cleaning it and wiping off condensation however it appears as if it may be a minor leak.
Nursery-Where I used work that accused me of child abuse, the bastards.
A letter a sent to principle.
I previously had sent you a letter (written by hand, as my computer was broken,) and I also sent my resignation which you should have received by xxxx