I know it's a long story but this is real.I'd have to say I had a pretty decent childhood. Not great, but pretty good. I mean, I knew kids who had it a lot worse than me. We were middle- class, had a nice home, my mum and dad stayed married, and we went to church regularly.
I had a good mum. She and I were close when I was young. She loved me and did many things for me. I spent quite a bit of time with her.
My dad loved me, I guess. We didn't have much time together. The way my family worked was along gender lines: dad and my brother, Mike; mum and me. My dad clearly favored Mike and even though I wanted more time with dad, it didn't happen.
Dad didn't understand me. I couldn't please him, no matter how hard i tried. Grades, chores, my appearance--it was never good enough. He was critical of me and gave out compliments about twice a year. He didn't say "I love you" and wasn't known for being affectionate.
The truth is, he was cranky and difficult to be around. Mum said he had a tough childhood, was stress at his job, and didn't know how to relate to a girl. Oh well, that was the way it was. I'm sure i wasn't the only girl with dad like that.
Oh, there was one thing that really did bother me. One day-I think I was almost out of elementary school-I accidentally came across my dad's box of pornography in the attic. I was shocked and repulsed by those filthy magazines. That did hurt me. I remember crying in the room for a long time. I never told a soul.
I want to discuss how my family handled the expression of emotions and opinions. From early on in my home- as far back as i can remember- emotions were not expressed. Dad could get angry, but no one else could. Dad- and mum, too- just didn't let loose with their emotions. Everything was held in, stuffed down, and tightly controlled. Mike and I learned to squelch our feelings because we got punished for sharing anger, hurt, or any other intense emotion.
I remember getting angry once when I felt Mike got special treatment from dad. I actually said something at the table, and my dad told me,"Shut up. You have no right to feel that way." He told me in a loud voice (again, he could be angry) that I should be grateful to be in his family and to count my blessings.
It was the same way with any opinion I had. Once I entered middle school, I had some pretty strong opinions but was cut off at home when i tried to share them. If dad didn't agree with my opinion (and he seldom did), he'd say something like," Pipe down. You're wrong. What do you know about it?" He belittled me, so I stopped speaking up. He was always right, and i was always wrong. period.
Mum and dad didn't deal with conflict, at least, not that I ever saw. I really never saw them fight or work through a disagreement. I think dad called the shots, and mum didn't buck him. She kept the peace. I never knew how she felt about things and what her opinions were. She just kept on smiling and taking care of the home and us kids. She didn't work outside the home, although I think she wanted to. One day, she let it slip that she had dream of being an art teacher. When i probed, she just sighed and said," Your father and I decided I should stay at home with the kids." I figured it was dad's decision, not hers.
I almost didn't write this, but I decided it was important. When I was around 9 or 10, a neighbor's friend's older brother fondled me. He was in high school. It was at a sleepover, and he came into the room where i was sleeping. I think he thought i was asleep. He pulled down my panties and rubbed me for a few minutes. There was a noise some where in the house, so he quickly left. It only happened that one time. I felt dirty, ashamed, and confused. I never told anyone.
As I'm writing this, I'm starting to realize my childhood was painful. Not horrible, but painful. I'm feeling sad now. Sad about my dad, sad about not being able to express my emotions and opinions, and sad about being abused. Sad is a good word to describe most of my life.
Middle school was bad. Bad. Bad. Bad. I think this is when i first felt depressed. I felt so stupid and awkward. Very self- conscious. I hated my nose and my long neck. Some of the boys called me giraffe. That really hurt, but I had to pretend it didn't. I wasn't that good in school. I wasn't that good in sports. I wasn't good-looking or popular. I wasn't much of anything. I didn't know who I was. I couldn't find something I was good at.
I played the clarinet but wasn't very good. My parents didn't push me to get involved in any activities. I didn't click in my church youth group. I had a few friends, but we didn't spend much time together. I spent a lot of time in my room.
One incident in middle school stands out. It was in eighth grade, and Mary, the most popular girl in school, was having a big party at her house. EverybodyH was talking about it. Everybody, even the few friends that I had, seemed to be going, except me. I didn't get an invitation. I thought I would die from grief an sadness.
High school didn't get much better. I stayed depressed and apathetic most of the time. As i think back, I can see how the depression was limiting my life. I pulled inward. I lost all confidence and took no risks. I didn't try out for cheer leading or any sports. I didn't join any clubs. I didn't share my opinions, for fear I'd be rejected. I had a small circle of friends but didn't do many fun things. No boys asked me out. I did get better grades in high school, but that didn't make me feel any better about myself.
College was better-at first. i wanted to get a fresh start away from home. I made some good friends but still didn't have the guts to branch out and try new activities. I studied too much and should have more fun. I did feel closer to God my freshman year. I was having regular quiet times, talking with Him more during the day, and attending a local church. I was developing my own faith and not just following what my parents believed.
Then I met David and everything changed. I met him at the beginning of my sophomore year, and we got serious right way. We dated all that year and we were inseparable. I loved him and believed he loved me. I felt more alive and confident than I had in my whole life. My depression lifted, and the feeling was wonderful.
Right at the end of the year, we went all the way physically. I didn't plan to have intercourse, but it happened. I was so stupid. We had intercourse three more times. I will never ever forget staring at the home pregnancy test that told me i had a baby inside. I was horrified and scarred out of my mind. And I felt terribly guilty. What was i going to do?
When i told David, his reaction killed me. He was confused. He was angry at me. He blamed me for not using protection. He convinced me I had to get an abortion. He took me to a clinic, paid for it, and I had the procedure. Two days later, he dumped me.
I was never the same after that. All my newfound confidence and self-esteem evaporated overnight, and I was as depressed as I'd evern been. I went home for the summer and told no one. I was too ashamed. I got through my last 2 years of college, but it was a blur.
I met my husband near the end of our senior year, and we fell in love. I told him about the abortion, and to my great relief, he didn't get upset. He just wanted me to be okay with it. We didn't talk much about it. I have moved on and God has blessed me with my kids. But i still feel guilty about it.
The first few years of marriage were good, and my depression seemed better-not gone, but less intense and at least managable. The kids came along, and I was too busy with them to really notice how I was feeling about myself and my life.
I still live my life in safe, careful way. I don't take risks. I don't express my feelings too well. I don't do anything outside my comfort zone. I'm in a rut.
These last two years, I noticed my depression is deepening. It's like I can't control it anymore. It's getting worse by the month, and I'm scared. I'm not happy except once in a while. And it never lasts long. I'm edgy, tired all the time.cynical, having outburst of temper at the kids, not close to my husband, not close to my friends, and not close to God.
It doesn't take much to get me angry or to send me into a depressed funk: the kinds being noisy or disobedient, my husband coming home late from work, having a disagreement with my husband, hearing a sermon about the victorious Christian life, talking with my parents on the phone. It could be anything that triggers me. My tolerance is shot.
I'm tired of being depressed. I want to be happy. I can see now how long I've been depressed and he depresses me. Maybe I'm just meant to be depressed my whole life. I hope not, but I don't know how to stop it.
My dad, that slime ball brother of my friend, and David all hurt me badly. I'm feeling angry at them but don't know what to do about it.
Sad isn't' it?
