Depression; I wanted to set myself on fire

I am 33 now but this post relates to a time in my life when I wanted to set myself on fire. I was eleven when I was diagnosed with depression. I lived in a violent home. I was bullied badly in school and most of my school life was spent trying to be invisible. I didn’t speak, was known as a mouse. If I had a voice what would I have said to the teachers who saw my bruises? I said nothing.

I dreamed of setting myself on fire. I imagined hanging myself. I had a nurse but I just told them what I thought they wanted. I kept going in and out of sections, I was on self destruct convinced nobody would want me. I was ugly. A bad person. I walked around at 4am, just walking and not knowing where I was going or why. Became known to the police. The wandering one they called me.

So many doctors tried to figure me out, it became a hobby to collect reports. They all said I had this or that, I didn’t listen.

When I was 21, I had my first child. The most perfect boy. Right from the second he was born I knew I had to be a better person. He loved me without question. I tried so hard and even thought I was doing so well coping with him. Then at a check up they asked me to fill in a mood questionnaire. It showed I was severely depressed and I was crushed.

I didn’t act depressed, didn’t cry or anything but they took all my hope right then and crushed it. I was left feeling inadequate. I felt like my best wasn’t good enough. It meant my relationship with my son was fractured. I constantly questioned everything I did. I couldn’t enjoy him. I had my daughter to prove them wrong.

Somehow time passed and along the way there were other women in my relationship with my partner. He looked elsewhere a lot. It knocked me back. Massively but I stored it all in my jar.

I’ve got five kids now. I try hard to be the best mum i can be. Most days I feel like I am lost in a fog. I look around for help and there’s none, I lock it all away. That jar is full now I am sure, but the jar is the only thing I can do right.

My kids are happy, healthy and love me. I love them too but I am not good enough. I get it wrong, my thoughts turn dark at night where I have nightmares. Its like I am stuck in a puddle of sticky mud and its impossible to get out of it. Invisible hands pull me back and keep me down where I belong.

Not one person in my life has any clue, not one inkling of how my thoughts torture me, how hard it is to get up every day to face another day of failing. I hide it well. I worry about what to do with the jar when its so full. Where am I going to put my feelings?

I cant tell anyone my real feelings, they will run screaming. To be honest so would I. I just want to be good enough. I just want to be free of the chains that make me hate myself, but I wont be. Its a part of me.

This post is an inspirational anonymous post to highlight the effects of depression.

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