My first recollection of showing signs of depression was before age ten. We were eating supper around the kitchen table, and I started to cry. Momma asked where the tears came from, and I answered I didn't know. I just felt extremely sad. She wanted to help, but I didn't know the source of the pain, and she was left wondering what to do.
My next recollection was sitting front and center in Ms. Connie Wilson's seventh-grade classroom. In the middle of a perfectly normal day, in the middle of approximately twenty what I thought were perfectly normal seventh graders, I sat with tears flowing down my face. Looking straight at me, Ms. Connie asked if I was okay. I said yes but continued to cry.
Fast forward to Beta Convention, my senior year of high school. While everyone else was off doing what teenagers do when they leave home, I was with my mom, falling apart again for some unknown reason. Vaguely I remember her taking me to a department store for a make-over, even wearing the makeup to the performance that night. It was her way of getting me to snap out of it. Once again, I remember feeling sad and lonely in the middle of a large crowd, not knowing why.
Fast forward to my sophomore year of college in Patricia Pearson's Biology class. I had cried for days and days yet continued to go to class. My boyfriend, who would later become my husband, had become friends with Ms. Pearson the year before when he had taken the same class. I felt comfortable enough to tell her that, for some strange reason, I could not stop crying, regardless of how hard I tried. I would be okay if she saw the tears to just ignore them. She agreed that sometimes she felt the same way and completely understood. Once again, sadness and loneliness engulfed me for some unknown reason, sitting in the middle of a class of over one hundred people.
Thus the origin of my depression. This is how I remember my journey began.
My next recollection was sitting front and center in Ms. Connie Wilson's seventh-grade classroom. In the middle of a perfectly normal day, in the middle of approximately twenty what I thought were perfectly normal seventh graders, I sat with tears flowing down my face. Looking straight at me, Ms. Connie asked if I was okay. I said yes but continued to cry.
Fast forward to Beta Convention, my senior year of high school. While everyone else was off doing what teenagers do when they leave home, I was with my mom, falling apart again for some unknown reason. Vaguely I remember her taking me to a department store for a make-over, even wearing the makeup to the performance that night. It was her way of getting me to snap out of it. Once again, I remember feeling sad and lonely in the middle of a large crowd, not knowing why.
Fast forward to my sophomore year of college in Patricia Pearson's Biology class. I had cried for days and days yet continued to go to class. My boyfriend, who would later become my husband, had become friends with Ms. Pearson the year before when he had taken the same class. I felt comfortable enough to tell her that, for some strange reason, I could not stop crying, regardless of how hard I tried. I would be okay if she saw the tears to just ignore them. She agreed that sometimes she felt the same way and completely understood. Once again, sadness and loneliness engulfed me for some unknown reason, sitting in the middle of a class of over one hundred people.
Thus the origin of my depression. This is how I remember my journey began.
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