I am 28 years old and as cliche as it may be to begin with that, let me continue before you turn your attention back to nothing else important.
9 years ago was the first time I saw my mom since she basically obliterated our happy, little family. 8 years before that was the last time I had any glimpse of a somewhat normal family.
For the mathematically challenged, that is 17 years since I first discovered what depression felt like. To further elaborate, that means I was about 11 years old when I first experienced the lack of will to continue living. My life hadn’t even begun and I wanted it to be over.
But that doesn’t mean I’ve lived the last 17 years of my life like that; I haven’t had that intense feeling this entire time. I’ve stopped, for the most part, the past couple of years when I stopped having hatred in my heart for what happened and started living for myself.
I’ve discussed it with my mom and got the closure I needed to forgive and love her again. And I do, in the weird way where I speak to her on rare occasions, in five minute spurts. But still, I don’t resent her anymore, I’ve spent enough years doing that.
I’ve come to understand what my dad went through and I can’t blame him at all for how he dealt with the situations he endured. I love him so much more for it and being able to raise two kids on his own. I’ve given him enough grief, so now I onlygive him love which he deserves.
And my brother, he still may not know his part in all this, but I know he was hurting too. Even though I’m not sure I can ever have the conversation with him, we have each other now regardless. And I love him more than he’d ever believe.
In case you were wondering what experience I have to advocate on being happy despite having depression, make yourself comfortable because I have plenty more to share. Happiness doesn’t always come easy, but it’s obtainable and I have proof.