When Did The Sadness Start?

I have very few memories of childhood, I used to think it was because we had a pretty "blah" kind of family, but I realize now that I was so sad for a very long time that I probably put out of my mind many many memories. When I struggle I can remember some very distinct moments, many of them with me crying in the midst of something, or biting back tears that I couldn't really explain. I remember distinctly the first time I felt painfully, inexplicably sad, it was the day before I was to start my 8th grade year. I cried that night, so much so that my mother, a person who tended to ignore (perhaps flee from) emotional outbursts came to my room, and when I could not supply her with a reason for my tears nudged me to her bed, where I fell asleep beside her with tears drying on my cheeks. We never spoke of it again. As I retreated into my loner status no one seemed to wonder why I never had friends over, why I was so disinterested in hobbies or activities.

There were moments of comfort, I don't remember real joy, excitement, any thrilling emotions. I was comfortable in band, despite not being a stellar musician, the woman I babysat for gave me flute lessons for free, and probably helped keep me going by giving me something to be interested in, and through it the opportunity to be in band, and at least keep involved with something.

In high school I finally expressed some of my inner turmoil. Shaving off most of my hair, wearing combat boots and plaid skirts I had a good time for the 1st time in my life. I enjoyed dancing, no matter how odd the style was, slam dancing was at the hardcore/punk rock clubs of the lower east side and I spent every weekend at the hardcore matinee with my friends. I finally had some. I spent so little time in school that my mother finally allowed me to transfer to an alternative school in manhattan. I moved in with my father, and drowned my sadness in marijuana, mescaline and shrooms. Fortunately my body rejected alcohol, leaving me violently ill if I had more than a drink or two, or I might now be a drunk on top of the sadness.

I got pregnant at 17. Which saved me from going any further into destroying my life. I found a place to stay through a church, and after the baby was born I went home to my mothers with her. I was still sad, all the time. I got into one silly relationship after another.

I tried to kill myself twice. They were feeble attempts at best. A couple of attempts to try to swallow an overdose of whatever was available at that moment. Both times my boyfriend of the moment picked me up from the emergency room and never discussed the incidents again. The psychiatrists who released me with follow-up appointments never called or sent notes inquiring as to why I wasn't keeping my appointments. I pretended the suicide attempts were the workings of a hysterical female (...as if!) and tried to pretend these things never happened.

I left my daughter with my mother, never explaining to her how sad I was, how lonely, how useless and inferior I felt. I was going to college, but left before finishing my degree, despite doing fairly well until that inexplicable emotion crept up on me, sucking away my motivation and esteem. I finally realized about 5 years ago that I was sad. I started taking St. John's Wort, when I didn't feel anything after a month I doubled the dose and it worked for about 18 months. During that period I went back to school, I ended a terrible relationship, I was going to the gym often and eating well. It was the moment when I graduated from college, that I realized that this had been the longest period of my life that I had been content, and the ONLY period of my life when I had felt that good. I realized for the first time that my melancholy wasn't just my personality, that there was something wrong. But I wasn't ready for treatment yet.

Right before my daughter's father moved out of the house I took a trip to Puerto Rico with my youngest daughter (then about 5) The St. John's was no longer working well. I was sad on that trip, but put it off to the end of my relationship, rather than anything long term.

When did it finally get so bad that I picked up the phone and made an appointment? I couldn't make myself do the things that made me feel good, church, the gym, I abandoned them for long periods at a time. I got to work late, I left early, I took days off for no reason other than I couldn't make myself go. I was always missing what was going on at my kids school, frequently surprised by sudden information of a special event on any particular day. I gained 40 lbs in a year, and couldn't make myself go to the store to buy some new clothes (even though I was, and still am) down to about 3 things that fit.

So finally, when leafing through my medical plan papers I noticed that I didn't need a referral from my general practitioner to go to the mental health office. I picked up the phone and made an appointment.

So here I am, at the beginning of what I hope will be a journey toward feeling good again.