Well my earliest memory is of my sister taking me into a pub looking for our parents, I was 3 she was 5. It was dark outside and there were lots of drunken people, I still hate the smell of beer now. Alcohol ruled the house we lived in, it bought fear and violence with it. My parents had one of the most violent relationships I can remember. Every night was the same, we were put to bed and they would go out, then we would be woken up by the screams, either where my father was beating my mother or the other way around. Xmas was a terrible time, many xmas, s I would get up excited only to find my father gone and my mother unable to get out of bed as her body was broken from the night before. We moved around a fair bit to which gave me less security, at 5yrs old we were put into care as my mother had tried to kill herself and was admitted to an institution for the mentally insane. I wish I could say that the children's home was an unhappy time but it wasn't. It was quiet; there were people who cared about you. I felt loved and I enjoyed it so much that when the time came to leave and my father came for me I refused to go. I had to be forced to go with my father home.
My parents beat on each other but never us, which looking back was a blessing. My mother over her life has been admitted to many institutions, some for very long periods of time, I can not tell you how many times she has tried to kill her self, even to this day at the age of 65yrs she last attempted it 3yrs ago. She is on so many types of meds that I can't remember which is for what; life was like that until I left home. Growing up like it had its effect. I was a very depressing looking child (or so they say), I loved wearing black and I would leave little notes around the house saying r.i.p with my name on them. I remember 1 year I was woken up by my father's screams, I think I was 13yrs and as I jumped out of bed and made my way down I could see lots of people, they were ambulance people and they were trying to cut my fathers shirt off, he was screaming he was dieing. I could hear my mother crying and saying to the police that she stabbed him 8 or 9 times in the back, the rest of the night is a blur but I had to go and live with an aunt with my sister, my father was in hospital and my mother locked away for attempted murder, my father refused to press charges but the police prosecuted her and she was put away for months then remanded, I don't know for how long as I blocked that part out, again I was forced to go to a different school, away from my parents and friends. Then when I was allowed home, life slipped back to how it was, drink, rows, violence.
I remember my mother on many vacations yelling "I wont stab you, I will slice you from top to bottom". When I was 15yrs my sister left so I felt more alone than ever, but still the fights and the overdosing carried on. At 17 I met a man 10yrs older that I saw as a saviour and I left home. That's when I had my 1st panic attack. I was in the middle of town shopping and I thought I was going to die. They continued till this day, although not often, at 18 I found myself pregnant and in despair, I hadn't been a child so I did not want to be a mother, I tormented myself for weeks about a termination but thank god I didn't have one, but at 8mth my partner disappeared, I had a call 1wk later to say he was miles away and that he will come back when he was ready, that was just the start.
Anyway I went on to have a daughter, and when she was 9mths I found I was pregnant again, I was beside myself, I had a small child and a partner who liked running away for weeks at a time with out telling me, I decided that I couldn't cope. I went out and brought Epsom salts to bring on a miscarriage, but at the last minute I couldn't do it. I told my family and they were all against the pregnancy but I decided I would cope. Then at 3.5mths I had a miscarriage, I was filled with grief and guilt, I saw it as gods way of punishing me for not wanting the baby, I was put on meds. Then me and my partner got married and moved house, then I had my second daughter when my first was 2, maybe to compensate for the baby I lost I don't know, then we moved house again and when my youngest was 3 I received a letter saying my husband was having an affair, the affair had started before we married, the affair was also with another man, my world had caved in and I was sedated for a few days and put on more meds.
In-between I had seen councillor after councillor, cpn after cpn, so this to me was the last straw, my mother was still drinking, and the rows had eased off, as my dad wasn't being her drinking partner. So I felt that some part of my family was normal, and then I decided to kill my self, it was totally pre meditated. I wrote letters to my children, telling them who to trust and turn to in need, I wrote a will and I had secured who would look after my children. But I hit a turning point, I don't know where or how or when, I put it down to someone up there impressing it on me to live. My life suddenly turned around, I was penniless but in a quaint way happy, my weight had fallen to 6 stone where I refused to eat, partly because I didn't want to but I wanted to feed my children, I didn't count, don't get me wrong my family and friends were beside there self, bringing me food parcels, but I had to be ready and eventually I was, I was still seeing shrinks still on meds, still a little unfocussed but alive. I started going out in the pubs and clubs, to be honest I went a little wild, I slept around and would rather go out than eat ect. Then I met a new man who stopped me in my tracks. He moved in and we married 7yrs later. Then at 5yrs old we found out that my daughter was diabetic and would need injecting twice a day, that gutted me more than everything else, I gave birth to her to try to save a failing marriage and to compensate for a child I lost and I had condemned her to a sick unhealthy life, but she showed me that she could cope so I had to show her I could. I still get low I mean it's bread into me, my mother is still drinking, my sister is on meds for the rest of her life, she would never manage without them...ever. Me I gave up on meds long ago. Some times I think that's a big mistake some days I don't. I have seen the dark side of depression, believe me. I have missed out a lot of my life in this story as some things are best left buried, one day they may raise there ugly heads, hopefully not soon. I didn't want my husband or my children to be dragged into my past that is why I refuse meds, I used to watch my mother take hers and 34yrs on she still takes them, to me they never helped her, or she would be like my mates mums...normal. Anyway that's part of my life and me. The moral is that depression is not exclusive to any one... it can get you at any time anywhere, but it can be controlled if not beaten. Good luck to all and their fight for freedom from it.