Damelza's Story

I just finished reading your depression entry. I didnt think I was depressed, but half way through reading your description I found myself crying my eyes out, because I can see myself in your words...

People tell me that they know I'm great, that I'm clever, and I look back at them and think, WHAT THE HELL DO YOU KNOW? People say they care about me, but I don't really believe it. They say that I'm pretty, beautiful even, and I don't believe it. I get so angry. I don't trust what they say after that. I don't feel like I can tell anyone how I really feel. I don't want to burden them with my problems. A prime example of this would be tonight, this guy I have a total crush on emailed me and said that basically I'm nice and all, but he's not really looking. I can't help but wonder if it's got to do with the email I sent him, that he sent that message to reply to.

My story though, would have to be one of being grown up before I'm old. I'm 19 years old. I live in New Zealand. I'm female. I went to highschool, and passed rather well. I did go to university, but two years after highschool, I'm starting a computer course, fulltime for six months.

Where does my depression seem to start? I would have to say definitely in highschool. Somewhere in there, between being carefree and worrying about my grades, I became depressed. At least thats what I think. I stopped believing I could sing (people tell me that I can, I never quite believe them). I stopped believing that all would be right with the world, if only I got through today. I tried to overdose that year, I took a handful of painkillers. They just made me sleep for about 18 hours. My mum wasn't worried, because I often didn't come out of my room all day.

I can't quite believe that I really feel this bad. I didn't know that I felt like this. I guess I've been hiding it from myself and just displaying the symptoms. After that I tried to slit my wrists. I say tried, I'm too much of a wuss to really slit my wrists, I managed to cut them, not too deeply though, but it hurt so much more than what I felt inside, that I couldn't cut them anymore. After this, I thought jumping off a train bridge would do it. You know, one of those walkways that the train goes under. How comical. Like I would really die from a 12ft drop. All I did was sprain my ankle. During all of this, like all the great depressed, I wrote a diary, I wish I still had it, but my friend Laura made me promise to burn it. See, I gave the journal to my friend Laura to read. Silently asking for help I guess. And now that I know that I really feel this bad, I guess I'm going to ask for help from one of my friends. But which one? Or shouldn't I do that?

Just lately I feel so hopeless. That guy I mentioned back at the top has been my hope for the last two weeks. He's kept me happy, and now he's pulling out saying that that's not him. I know he hasn't said anything, or implied anything to say that he likes me like I like him, but... I can't help but wish. But in all seriousness, I can't exactly offer myself to him, if I'm this messed up over someone elses description in their journal over the pain they had. I don't know how I will get through this. After all, I've had it for about five years now. I didn't get past it before. I just buried it deeper. I wonder if I'm going to do it again. I wonder if the friend I ask to help is going to try their best, but not be able to, and so I'll just dig it in.

Back to the main depression section