#Storytime: My Depression

Just a quick note: I have not been formally diagnosed by a doctor, but that's because I can't afford one. My friends who have been say I pretty much have depression, and I sure don't feel great, mentally, so maybe I do.

I've been like this since middle school, but it got a lot worse when I went to college...

Nevertheless, my story starts in middle school.

When I was in seventh grade, something traumatic happened that still haunts me to this day: I was bullied by an entire classroom of kids at the same time and nobody, not even my parents, helped me.

I don't even remember how it started, but someone started calling me names during math class and literally the entire class joined in and the teacher didn't stop it.

I ran outside to the bathrooms and started crying. A couple girls went after me, but they were just telling me to go back inside. I don't know if they actually cared, or if the teacher sent them after me.

Either way, I decided to leave school grounds and run home to the safety of my parents. My parents were my life. They provided me with endless support and I knew they would be on my side.

When I got home, they were pissed, but not at the situation that happened, they were pissed because I ditched. Understandably, so, but when I tried explaining what happened, they said I shouldn't have left. Again, fair point, but I was literally just laughed out of my class. I was publicly humiliated and for reasons I couldn't even explain. I was shocked they didn't care I was bullied at this movie-reaching level.

They took me back to school where the principal suspended me for a week. I explained what happened and since an entire class couldn't be reprimanded, no one got in trouble. Not even the person who started it. I was beyond crushed that none of the adults I trusted were on my side.

I was rudely slapped into a reality I didn't want to be a part of.

Now, I had been bullied since the third grade. People have called me ugly and unattractive, they've called me faggot and gay, they've called me weird and stupid, they told me I had a square head... I've heard it all. Nothing was worse than having all those words and more being thrown at you all at once from an entire classroom of 12-year-olds and then your parents getting mad at you for leaving said classroom.

It's no wonder that a couple months later, I almost commited suicide.

I don't know if you've ever had anything traumatic happen to you, but it replays in your head over and over and it doesn't stop. My event didn't stop for months. Every time I tried sleeping, it would replay in my head. Every time I was home alone, I thought about why my parents didn't defend me in the principal's office.

It was nonstop for months.

During the summer, I was home alone one night and after having fully re-lived the entire situation over again, I finally had enough. I was going to take one of my dad's carpet blades and run it down my arms.

...

Even typing this now, I can still feel the emotions I had while I had the blade in my hand...

I softly touched it and knew how sharp it was. I had accidentally cut my finger as a kid while messing around with it before, so I knew I'd have no problem breaking skin.

My mind spun and a million thoughts rushed through my head.

Why am I doing this?

What would happen when my parents got home?

Would my younger sisters find me first?

Would this scar them for life?

If I don't do this, will I feel like complete shit forever?

Can I handle that?

This is why I have to do this...

I had it against my arm and I was about to apply force.

...but my sisters... will have to attend their brother's funeral.

My parents will have to bury their firstborn and only son.

The rest of my extended family will have to tell my family everything's going to be okay.

But I'm not okay now.

I was fighting with myself for what seemed like an eternity and just as I was about to continue, I heard the front door unlock followed by my parents calling out, "hello?"

I wiped my tears and put the carpet blade in a drawer and I greeted my family like nothing was wrong. I cried myself to sleep that night and only slept due to pure mental exhaustion.

How did a 13-year-old kid have those thoughts? Why does one have to deal with those? It happens every day. It happened to me. It can happen to anyone. Something good happened a couple weeks later, though.

I discovered Lady Gaga.

Let me explain.

If you were of conscious mind in 2008, you remember pre-Lady Gaga radio: emo, guitar, slow ballad, punk rock bands were all that played.

Sure there was pop music, but Gaga was the first person in a long time that played upbeat, electronic pop music on mainstream radio stations.

I felt reborn. She had saved my life.

Her lyrics were positive, they were catchy, and the visuals she provided fueled my creative spirit.

She would have great influence on my life from there until even today.

However, not even her music or her art could save me from the massive depression that hit me when I moved away from home to pursue a degree at a university two hours away.

But First, High School Me

During high school, I was a hard-headed, sarcastic son-of-a-bitch.

After the middle school incident, and my new discovery of a pop culture icon, I had developed a new façade of a no-filter, too-confident, and super-stressed person.

I joined every club to get as popular as possible. I needed people's approval after middle school and it worked. Random people I didn't know knew who I was either through theatre, student council, cross country, the honors program, or through the 15 other clubs I was a part of.

By the way, If you're currently in high school as you're reading this, just know that no one cares if you're popular or infamously popular in high school. When you graduate, literally nothing matters besides your work ethic and if you're a nice person. I just wanted to say that.

I was not a nice person in high school, but it prepared me for today's world a bit.

I knew that wasn't the type of person I wanted to be in life, so I tried being me. I didn't know what that meant until I found my friends in college.

I also came out to my friends in college, and that really helped to shape me into the man I am today.

I came out as bisexual to my friends and they all supported me after I explained that I always knew I was before I even found a word for it.

We had an hours-long conversation about sexuality and gender and the fluidity of the spectrum we're all on. It was amazing to see people your own age accepting you for who you are.

This is the type of approval I was yearning for after so many years of faking it and telling myself I was nothing.

Then I decided to try looking for that same approval in a fraternity.

The best and worst men I've ever encountered in my life, including Trump supporters, came from this fraternity.

This photo is a family tree, and I had the oldest, most respected member as my Big Brother and the president of the fraternity as my twin. I had a pretty great family overall, except the guy right underneath me. He had a horrible Big and that Big was the reason I drank and ate myself into someone I didn't even recognize.

To be initiated, you have to have a unanimous vote by all the brothers. One person didn't like me because I didn't suck up to him like all the other brothers.

He was a sexist, racist, chauvinistic pig of a person and I let him know I didn't like him. He spread a rumor about me that I raped someone, and me, being the virgin that I was, obviously denied it.

Everyone knew it wasn't true, since they knew about my virginity, but he had ruined my reputation. I loved all those guys, except him, and they encouraged me to be myself and be a better person and I felt robbed of my growth as a person since they always hang out together and I didn't feel wanted.

My Big noticed that, and he bought me a bottle of vodka on the night of initiation.

I appreciated the gesture, but I don't think it helped the depression and anxiety this rejection caused me.

I still had my regular group of friends, but drama occurred, as 18-year-olds know can't not happen, so we all drifted apart after talking behind each other's backs and getting into insane arguments.

I felt alone.

I felt unsupported.

I was back in middle school all over again, but this time, in order to quiet the suicidal demons I knew I was capable of breeding, I ate excess amounts of food and drank heavily every day.

I stopped going to class. I spent all my money. I felt my parents' disappointment, but then remembered they probably didn't care about me if I told them, since the last time I felt like this, they didn't help.

They didn't help my sister with her anxiety. They dismissed it as "being sad" or "everyone goes through periods of 'sadness'."

In case you weren't aware, having depression and anxiety does not mean the person is "sad." People often mistakenly feel like "feeling depressed" and "depression" are the same thing. They are not.

There are people with high-functioning depression, which is what I went through after I returned from my only year at university.

I weighed 130 pounds in high school and I thought I was fat. I gained about 30 pounds in college for a total of 160, which is where this photo is.

Looking back, I know I didn't show any symptoms of depression. I was working, I liked going on vacations with my family... but on the inside I felt like dying and while my drinking was done, since I was back home and not of-age, my eating habits didn't go away.

I felt incomplete; I still feel incomplete. I didn't even attempt to finish college. I'm stuck with student loans for ten years now. I shot myself in the foot by ruining any chance of returning to college after I ran my GPA into the ground.

I graduated high school with a 3.8 GPA and an honors diploma. I did sports. I joined clubs. I was president of a handful of those clubs. My college GPA was 1.9. I gained thirty pounds in six months. I couldn't even keep a group of friends... My actions were screaming for help, but my parents were still blind.

This empty feeling of rejection, humiliation, and self-doubt made me go all the way up to 200 pounds. I had a negative attitude about everything. I had a temper. I gave in to that temper and ruined friendships, jobs, and relationships with my siblings and parents.

I had matched my physical outside with what I felt inside.

I was horrible.

It got to the point where my dad and I would get into daily fights. Mostly it got loud, but my dad threatened to kick me out of the house almost all the time.

Sometimes the fights were physical with furniture being thrown.

I knew this wasn't a safe environment for myself or my siblings, but without a place to live, where else could I go? I could call the police on my dad and get him sent to jail, but then my mom and sisters would be homeless and I'd be the primary provider. Not to mention, I'd probably be hated by them for making their lives difficult.

I knew I needed to leave in order for my family to live a happier life.

One night, my dad and I got into another argument. He had been drinking, per usual, and I was not in the mood for anything, also per usual. One thing led to another, and we were arguing loudly.

We said some things we shouldn't and threw some furniture around. My mom was in hysterics and my sisters were awkwardly quiet, but still around.

This fight wasn't the same as the others. This one was worse. I said some unfiltered things. I told my dad he was a drunk and an asshole. He said I was fat and lazy. We almost hit each other, but instead he chose to yell and spit in my face and he told me to get out.

My mom and my sisters couldn't believe it, but I saw this as my escape. I didn't want to leave my sisters and my mom with him, and I didn't know where to go. I knew I was choosing homelessness over living with my dad, but he was that bad.

My mom gave me her savings and through tears told me that she'd help me as much as she could. My sister did the craziest thing and joined me. I could see my mom's heart breaking. My youngest sister just went to her room. I assumed she didn't want to see the situation unfold and thank goodness she didn't.

I had never seen my mom so broken. She was losing two of her kids and she didn't know what to do. She sacrificed her savings for us and provided me with the support I had been desperately yearning for. I knew then and there that I'd do anything for my mom and my sisters. Nobody loved me except for them, and that's worth my entire life.

My cousin took me and my sister in & about a month later, we moved into our first apartment together.

I still have never loved anyone as much as when she signed the lease with me. She did the most selfless thing I've ever seen anyone do for me, and I can never thank her enough.

During our time as roommates, I grew into a habit of being financially responsible and my goal was to never ask my parents for money. I accomplished that goal in the year we lived together.

Today, I feel like my relationship with my depression is almost non-existent. It likes to creep up every now and then, but for the most part, I count my blessings and thank my mom and my sisters for their love and support, so it doesn't get to control my life.

I still have a bad eating habit, and I have gained another ten pounds, but now that I live with my boyfriend and we're eating home-cooked meals, I think I'll get that under control soon enough.

Typing my most private life out for complete strangers to read is scary, and during some parts, I had to take a break and cry, but I'm hoping my story helps someone out if they're going through something similar. You're not alone.

I think what I want people who have family troubles, and direct depression and anxiety that stems from that, to know is that it can't last forever and it will end soon. I didn't plan on getting a boyfriend. I didn't plan on moving out with him so soon, but I feel like this is a step in a positive direction.

I'm fully committing to myself and my work and my love of cameras and graphic design and I'll see what the year has for me.

Love yourself. Find your passion. Rely on others for help because there are people who would do so much for you, even if it doesn't feel like it.

I'm still here and I want you to be too.

If you don't have someone, there are amazing people who are willing to help you 24 hours a day. Let them help. You are worth it.

Please call 1-800-273-8255.For Spanish, 1-888-628-9454.For Deaf and HOH, 1-800-799-4889.