I have always suffered from anxiety. I can remember being in elementary school and being on medication for constant stomach aches, which the doctor believed was caused by stress. I would walk around with my arms permanently cradling my abdomen, the pain was so severe. We're talking back in the early 70's, and I was maybe in third grade. Little kids didn't get diagnosed with anxiety and depression, but apparently I had a very forward thinking doctor who recognized I was undergoing some kind of stress- enough that it was causing physical symptoms.
I was also always very very shy, quiet, an introvert. I was always scared of everything around me, I never spoke up, I never spoke out. Even as a kid I was extremely controlling and a perfectionist. I recently found the letter I wrote to Santa Claus when I was 8- it was TYPED. Yep, no scrawling baby words for me, it was a letter with fully formed sentences and typed out. And I even erased and corrected my typos. I remember the little red plastic typewriter, my mom got it for me when I was about 5 or 6, even back then I was writing stories for myself- most were fantasy and horror. Luckily she saved them, so I have the dated proof that I was a dorky nerd as a child. I was that kid who was always reading, always drawing, always building with Legos.
I liked being alone, I liked playing alone. Even then most of what I engaged in were solo interests. I didn't care to run around with the neighborhood kids, I had no desire to have tea parties or play dolls with other little girls. Or even my sister. I climbed trees, I collected bugs and rocks, I would sit in the driveway and thumb through comic books, I loved stargazing in the backyard. I was a tomboy, but I was also a loner. And I think I was happy as a loner, I don't remember being sad or upset, I wasn't an outcast against my will- I always chose to hang out by myself. The few times I did want to play with other kids, I never had issues with making friends or getting along with others. I wasn't disliked or bullied. As a teen I had friends, dates on Friday nights, played in the marching band, sang in the choir.
It's fair to say my upbringing was happy and normal, that I was happy and normal. There was no trauma, no abuse, I wasn't molested or beaten. My parents didn't drink or party, we went to church but we weren't obsessive about religion. My dad always worked and my mom always stayed home to take care of the house and family. We always had money, we took vacations, we visited family, had birthday parties. We went to the beach, went to the skating rink, swam in the pool, went out for pizza, played little league sports, had fun at the fair or Disney or the movies. I had my own room by the age of ten, filled with a stereo, TV, nice clothes and shoes, toys, a phone. You name something from childhood that was fun, and I probably did it. I graduated high school, went to college, always worked. My shyness persisted- I wouldn't even order a pizza on the phone- but I came out of my shell with my first office job. I continued to write, paint, draw, read. I lived at home until I was 24, when I met my first husband. I always had a car, lived in a clean home with good food, my parents were very demonstrative with their love and praise, they never shot us down and always supported whatever we wanted to do. I was never arrested, I never got pregnant. Even as a teen, I never drank alcohol, never experimented with drugs or cigarettes- and still haven't. I lived in my hometown until I was 30.
So I can't put a finger on when my life started to take a darker turn as far as the depression. I know I was unhappy with my first husband. He created a world for me that I wasn't used to. He was a drug addict, he was chronically unemployed, he was verbally and emotionally cruel. For years his actions bordered on being physically abusive, until the end where he finally started to lay hands on me in anger. He was the first and only person in my life to make me feel stupid, lazy, unattractive, not worthy. He tore me down. I gave up all my creative outlets. I gained almost 100 pounds when I was with him. I can remember days when I would go into work with no makeup, not having showered. I was always angry back then, defeated, I felt hate for him, for everything. But I never looked at myself in the mirror and said, "Girl, you're depressed." I never thought that I wanted to give up on my life. I spent 13 miserable years with him, but I never wanted to kill myself, I never wanted to disappear, I never felt as though my life was pointless. I was too busy being pissed off and fighting with him to look too deeply at myself.
Once I got away from him, I guess I expected everything would be sweet and bright and shiny and happy. Certainly with J in my life, taking care of me, supporting me, loving me, you would think I could shrug off the stink of my first marriage and move on. But I couldn't. It was then that I started to recognize I was suffering from depression, and it certainly wasn't anything that J did or said. It had nothing to do with him at all. Even though I was immersed in an amazing relationship with a man who adored me, even though I was surrounded by all the comfort money could buy, I was literally at my lowest point not long after we got married. But it absolutely wasn't caused by J or being with J. He was the only good thing in my life.
Have I always been depressed? Was I depressed as a young person who preferred to be alone? Was I actually depressed those years with W? Why did I just start to "feel" the depression once I was snuggled safely with J? Maybe being with J allowed me to relax enough that I could look back on my first marriage and see just how horrible it was, realize just how badly my ex screwed me up. I know depression can be caused by circumstances or trauma. I know depression can be the result of chemical imbalances in the brain. I'm not sure if my first marriage caused my depression or if it was already there, and my ex simply pushed the right buttons. Maybe the ingredients were always there, waiting, fermenting, and W finally lit the fire that cooked it all up into one big messy recipe of sadness and self-hatred and emptiness.
Maybe it's not really so important to know when the depression started or figure out what first triggered it? I know it's there. I just need to figure out how to get beyond it, to live the life I know I deserve.
MISS GEE...
...last week in Mexico...
