My Characters

Things have been going good lately. My depression is getting better (for lack of a better word) and my anxiety is getting better. The therapist I'm going to is ten times nicer than all of the other various ones I've gone to throughout my life, so that's good.

Earlier today, I came across some quotes about writers, and for some reason it really sparked something in me. I realized how much of a writer I really am.

Some write for recognition (I guess we're all guilty of it) while others write for necessity. I think I write for both. But one thing really struck me: my characters. I think that the characters I create are all different aspects of my personality. One of the characters in the story I'm writing now is completely crazy; she was driven to insanity by the things done to her as a child. I think that I can really understand that, considering things that have happened to me before. I understand how she feels, and I know what it's like to completely lose your mind.

On the other had, the main character I'm writing about - not-so-coincidentally called Saruta Valentine - she is the sort-of heroine that always wants to do the right thing. I understand that. Some of the things she does though, I'm not sure I could do. She's very courageous and lovely and beautiful and kind. I kinda wish I was more like her.

I guess the thing I'm getting at is this: I may write as a different character, but it's still me inside. Every character I write from represents a different aspect of myself. Every person has a different persona that represents specific wants and needs. And I guess I have to write like that, I am a writer after all. :) It's just interesting to see all of the different aspects of myself come out in so many characters.

Depression

Sometimes I watch people, wondering how they're happy. It's not that they don't have anything to be happy about - they do. I just wonder how they do it. Then, I look at myself, wondering why I can't do it. It gets frustrating when people say things like 'I think you like feeling sorry for yourself' and 'I wish I could just have a pleasant conversation with you instead of all this negativity'. The worst part was that, at first, I thought it was my fault.

I looked at myself, and beat myself up for not being able to be happy. But looking back, I shouldn't have had to do that. I'm not saying that those people are in the wrong - they just don't understand. It's hard not to be angry and resentful to the people who give me crap about my problems.

I understand that they don't understand because no one really 'gets' depression or anxiety unless they've been through it. But it's still hard to hear the insults day after day about something that I can't help.

That's when I started isolating.

Because of my heart problem (my medical condition) it's always been easy for me to isolate. All I had to do was say it was because I didn't feel good, which was 100% the truth. But as I isolated, I realized over time that people began to forget about me. What really pissed me off was when people all scrambled to help the lady who's kids hardly had anything wrong with them, but didn't even bother to look at me - let alone call - when I had a life threatening surgery that I wasn't going to survive (during which I told the doctors I would be fine, and ended up being right) I mean, is this how people really act? I don't know.

Depression isn't something that can be helped. It's just like if someone were to come up to me while I had Pneumonia or something and said 'well, staying in bed won't help'. And getting up will help?

After a five month institution stay, suicide watch, a horrible therapist who told me I was wallowing in my sorrow and needed to get over myself, and years of sadness and agony, I am finally starting to recover. Finally.

It's getting better. One step at a time.

My Story

I don't talk about my depression a lot, maybe because of things people have said in the past. A lot of people have called me an attention seeker, and said that I was faking. These people were friends, family, and school teachers, so of course I believed them. But this belief led to my spiral downwards. I've had depression for as long as I can remember, and it's been a struggle.

I was born with a rare and difficult-to-survive heart condition, and I think the first bits of depression stemmed from the hospital. I remember crying when the nurses would touch me, severe PTSD having come from having to be held down to have blood drawn every other day.  They weren't doing it to hurt me; they were saving my life. But that didn't stop the fear.

I get a lot of flack because of my depression, as well as my anxiety, OCD, and sometimes PTSD. I don't think a lot of people realize that these are diseases, just like a physical one, that needs to be treated with love and care. But so many people only see the outside; not the inside.

I want to use this blog to talk about what I've been through, and hopefully give hope to anyone who needs it. But I also want to bring things to light: people who have depression are not attention seekers. People with anxiety are not worry-warts or scaredy cats. People with serious life threatening medical conditions live with debilitating fear every day. Just because I can inspire others with my story doesn't mean that don't shake in my boots every time I go to the hospital. I think overly optimistic people that are sick are unrealistic. They are hiding a dark side.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: I'm going to share my story, I'll give hope to anyone I can; but don't expect my story to be a pretty one.