Choosing to Continue

Depression is something that I have struggled with since I was a teenager.  I went through a really dark time in high school where I felt utterly alone, unlovable, unwanted, and like I was just nothing.  Kids can be mean and since I was a little girl I just wanted to be accepted.  There are only a handful of people that have accepted me and loved me for who I am, but I still have some serious abandonment issues.

I can remember being under the age of 10 and putting a plastic grocery bag over my head because I had heard you could suffocate and die.  I remember even trying to hold my breath to speed up the process.  I wasn’t doing it for attention, I was doing it because I honestly felt like I was worthless.  Since I was adopted on my dad’s side I so badly wanted to fit in with that family.  They were this big awesome-looking family who all got along and who, to this day, are still incredibly close.  Some of them accepted me and loved me, while others made it a point to remind me that I was not a “real” Bassett.  I have always felt like I am not a “real” anything, like I don’t belong anywhere.  These were some of my very first wounds, along with feeling like my biological father didn’t want me either.  That is an entirely different topic, though. 

I think my hurt and anger made it easy for me to verbally lash out at people which made it difficult to make and keep friends in high school.  My friends were all on again and off again.  I look back at who I was in high school and totally understand why people didn’t like me, I mean, I didn’t even like myself (and sometimes I still don’t).  In addition to this, people in school called me fat, which made me feel even worse about myself. My youth pastor even used words to hurt me deep to my core.  I was completely at the place of feeling like there would never be redemption for me, that there was no hope of ever being loved or understood.  I was alone and miserable.

My senior year of high school I had pretty much given up on everything, I stopped doing my homework, slept through classes, and it got to the point where I didn’t even get to walk at my graduation.  I had my diploma a week after graduation and still had a 3.425 overall GPA but I never had a graduation party, I never had a celebration, I didn’t get to walk with my friends.  This was very hard for me and at this point I had almost entirely stopped eating and if I ate, I was throwing up my food.  The thoughts of suicide were always there.  I was desperate, alone, and didn’t want to keep living with the pain I was in.  Everything felt hopeless.

My anxiety also grew as time went on which made life even more unbearable.  I was worried at all times about everything and it literally made it difficult to breathe.  By the time I was pregnant with my second baby I was fantasizing about jumping out of the car while we were on the freeway.  I used to time it to where I knew a semi truck was right beside us.  I figured it would be quick and painless.  The mom in me didn’t do it.  I would then be hurting my unborn child and didn’t want to do that, so I pressed forward.  I was put on antidepressants as soon as Alex was delivered but it just made things worse.  I was in a fog, I had no feeling at all.  I was mostly numb, but still wanted to end things.  We switched medicines around but have still never found anything that works. 

Being pregnant actually kept me alive.  Having my kids kept me living.  I wanted to be alive for them.  I wanted to strive to be the best mom I could, for them.  I knew if I gave in to my depression I would end up getting them taken away from me, and I couldn’t live with that.  It isn’t a life I wanted or one I wanted for them.  So I pressed on.  I pushed through because they deserved better.  I never wanted any of them to feel unwanted or unloved the way I had felt.

Then March 24, 2011 happened.  My mom died.  Strangely enough I pressed forward.  I went into action mode.  I fed my dad, I talked to medical examiners, to detectives, I notified all our family and friends.  I took care of everyone.  I buried it.  Everyone around me to this day has been worried because I haven’t grieved the loss of my mom, not really.  I have turned it into a fact, something in a box that is almost unreal, something that can’t really hurt me.  Why?  Because I am not sure I can make it through that loss.  My mom held me together through all of my ups and downs.  She was one of the few people who saw my heart, saw my good, saw who I really am.  She didn’t just see my behaviors, but she saw my heart.  She advocated for me.  She loved me.  She deemed me as lovable and demanded that others saw me as such.  And then she was gone.  I was dealing with deep life altering depression before I lost my biggest advocate.  She was my mediator.  She was everything.  She really helped keep me alive all those years, and she made me feel worthy, lovable, and special.  I know that I cannot handle that loss.  It is way too big. 

I have chosen to keep going because I could not leave my kids motherless the way that I am motherless.  They deserve to feel loved and worthy.  They deserve to feel understood and advocated for. They deserve to have their mom.  So I am here.  I will always fight for them.  But sometimes the suicidal thoughts still flood in.  Sometimes I still fantasize about ending it.  I will not take that selfish route because my husband and kids deserve more.  The handful of people who truly love me deserve better. 

Depression is no joke.  Anxiety sometimes strangles me to the point where I can’t function.  These are my daily struggles.  Last night I got a semicolon tattoo.  The semicolon represents my choice to keep going.  A semicolon is where the author could have ended the sentence but chooses to keep going.  My story isn’t over yet.  It may be an incredibly painful journey, but it is my journey.  I choose to keep walking it.  Sometimes I have to take it minute by minute, but I am choosing to continue on.  

I was lucky enough to have my best friend by my side when I got my semicolon, and she got on as well.