"My parents were both alcoholics, and spoiled youngest children to boot. I never remember feeling that I could trust or depend on them for anything. My father and maternal grandfather began molesting me at a very early age, probably about 18 months old. My first real memory of depression is at age 2 when my little sister was born. I clearly remember wishing that I could just be dead because I couldn't do anything right.

I spent my whole life taking care of others and trying to be a good enough little girl that my parents wouldn't have to drink and fight, and that my daddy wouldn't hurt me any more. He finally stopped that when I was about 5 or 6, but I am afraid that he moved on to the younger siblings. We have never been able to discuss it.

My daddy was the kind of drunk who can't hold a job or pay the bills, so my mother worked all during my childhood to support us. I believe that her family, who were well off but HATED my father, helped out with money. My mother had a stroke when I was 11 years old, and was paralyzed on the left side for the rest of her life. Then I really had to do a lot - riding my bicycle to the store for the groceries, helping cook and clean up, buying christmas, birthday, etc presents for the younger siblings. Still trying to be a good enough little girl. During this time, school and reading books were my only escape and release. I loved school because the adults there liked me and there were rules and things were safe and clear.

In high school I did some acting out, by getting sexually involved with a 19 year old guy when I was only 14, drinking (mostly alone-stolen whiskey from my daddy's stash) and staying out late. No one noticed. I was still buying the groceries and taking care of things, and making straight A's, so how I felt and what I did didn't matter to anyone. There were several half hearted suicide attempts with aspirin and over the counter sleeping meds, again no one cared except my sisters.

I met my ex-husband in High School, when I was 17 and he was 15. I can still recall, in detail, the first time I saw him and it was truly love at first sight for me. We married 6 months later, and had my oldest son 7 months after we married. I thought I would escape the horrible home life, but I didn't. What I did do, however, was get help because my husband was (and still is) a flaming co-dependent and he pitched right in with carrying the burden of my family.

So, we had 3 kids in 3 1/2 years, then my brother who is 10 years younger than I am came to live with us, then my mother and her aunt. We had such huge responsibilities, and never even realized it. We were both doing what we had to do at the time. I suffered from several severe bouts of depression, but was terrified to seek help because I was afraid they would take my kids away from me.

I went to college when my youngest child was 1 year old, and graduated in 5 years. Then I went to work at a major, and majorly dysfunctional, amerikan korporation. My mother died, we bought a house, we all grew up together (my kids, my brother, my husband and myself). My husband went to college after I graduated and earned a master's degree. We moved to St. Louis (from Texas BTW) in 1983 and finished growing up there. The kids had great high school years, totally different from mine. I was (still am) a workaholic in addition to being alcoholic and a compulsive overeater, and I managed to stave off a lot of the depression by bouncing from one addition to another.

In 1988 I cracked and asked for some help and a counselor sent me to Alanon. After compulsively reading every self help book known to man and the time, I realized that I was unfixeable, and that I had screwed up so much, and that my marriage was NOT the fairy tale that I truly believed it was, so I killed myself. I wasnt' asking for help, I had a good plan, but my ex got nervous (he was out of town) and called a friend who came over and found me just in time. That was February 3, 1989. Eleven years ago now, time does fly!!! So I spent 6 weeks in the hospital. I loved the hospital. For the first time in my entire life I was not responsible for anyone except myself. They brought the meals and told us when to wake up and when to go to bed and all I had to do all day was go to groups. The doctor finally threw me out of the hospital because I liked it too much.

Sadly, my husband left me and took up with my best friend a couple of months after I left the hospital. I have not gotten over that betrayal and abandonment to this day, although I am better, because I trusted him. I never believed in or trusted my parents, but I trusted him.

The past 11 years have been the best of my life, even though I have had at least 4 other major depressive episodes. I am now sober, and in semi-recovery from my compulsive over eating. I have faced the truth of my childhood, especially the incest, and felt the horrible feelings and moved through them. I have moved from St. Louis to California, which is where I should have been living all my life as far as I am concerned. I have good, solid, adult relationships with my children and they love me for me, not for what I can do or buy for them. I have a good job at a good salary and I have friends in real and cyber life who love and understand and accept me. Now I have a sweetie who brings joy, and some complications, to my life. Things are not perfect, and I did have the worst depressive episode of my life in August and September, but they are good."

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