Battling Depression

When I was fifteen years old my mother was diagnosed with Hepatitis C and a cirrhosis of the liver. She was in need of a transplant and placed on the list. This was the beginning of what has become a long battle of depression for me. She was in and out of the hospital and my little brother and I were left at the mercy of our step-father. My mother was permanently hospitalized until she received her transplant when I was sixteen, it was then my stepfather began molesting my brother and I. It was maybe the most difficult time of my life. Not because he was abusing me, my brother was four and I was unable to protect him. I felt as the eldest sibling I should have been able to save him from the monster in our home. He would scream at me when I would try to stop him, no matter how hard I fought. Locking my brother and me in my room so we could have some peace, but we inevitably would have to emerge.

When my mother received her transplant and found out what had been happening during her hospitalization, which had taken months, she kicked him out. We began the long road to healing, but she herself was still recovering. A liver transplant is not an easy one and not something you just pop back from. I was homeschooled to take care of her and nurse her back to health and take care of my brother.

When I was eighteen, her hepatitis came back, and she didn’t want to go through it all again. My brother was adopted by a family from her church. A good family took great care of him, but he was angry, always had been. Both of us had been in and out of therapy because of what we had been through. My brother was put on medication because his was so bad. I was lucky, just the once a week session on the couch. It helped. Talking about it, no matter how hard it may be, helps.

When I was twenty, my mother died. When the call came I knew, I didn’t want to believe it, but it had finally happened. My brother was eight and he lost his mother. He never knew his biological father, and now the only birth parent he had left was gone. We began the long road to recovery, hardly seeing each other because he lived three hours away.

I began running when I was twenty-seven, and it has been a game-changer for me. When I run I feel like everything is okay and will be okay. I can think and see clearly and during that run, however short or long, I feel free. When I run consistently my depression stays under control and maintained. When I don’t run, I feel it creeping back into my life and try to take me down. I don’t like that feeling and when I don’t want to, I will lace up my shoes and go. It’s not always easy but if it were everyone would be doing it.

Battling my depression is a battle that I fight every day but running helps me fight that battle. Depression has many faces and effects more people than some realize. It’s a tricky beast that is difficult to tame, but it can be done.