Depression Speech

This is a speech I wrote about my depression last year. It was for Diversity Day- a day against bullying and helping troubles kids:

I’m Jen Mandeville and I’m 16. I’m one of millions of kids who have suffered from chronicle depression.

My cousin, my aunt, and my mother suffer from bipolar. Most of my family members have suffered from depression. I was bound to be next in line.

I was six years old when my mom died and I was the one who found her in the morning.

When I was 8 my dad’s girlfriend and her two children moved into my home. For seven years she made me feel useless, stupid, and guilty. She used to mock me and tell me she was glad I wasn’t her real daughter; she used to tell me she hated me. During these times I leaned heavily on my friends and my gramma because I didn’t feel so bad with them.

When I entered my freshman year of high school I was really confused on who I was. I entered a foreign place where all of my other peers thrived when I seemed to just disappear into the background. I silently and quickly fell into what seemed like a bottomless, miserable hole. My grades went from B’s to failing. I began to withdraw from my family and kept few friends close to me. I started wanting to stay in bed every morning because I was afraid of facing the day ahead of me. I used to want to cry just because I had to get up, I went through the day like a zombie, and as soon as I got home from school I would sleep to forget the pain. Because I was sleeping through the afternoons I couldn’t sleep at night. I spent all of those hours thinking; soon it went from only thinking to crying. Everything that happened seemed to happen for the worst. I never talked to anyone about it; I kept it hidden because I thought I was too much of a burden to say anything. Everything became really embarrassing. I became very anxious and paranoid. Little things made me break down; I dropped something from my locker, everyone looked at me, and I burst into tears. My phone went off during class, everyone looked at me, and I burst into tears again. I felt worthless, stupid, and ugly. I felt like I wasn’t worth anyone’s time, even my own.

One day for some reason, without any warning, I went to guidance and confessed that I thought I might be depressed. Mrs. Labacz and Mrs. Studley graciously called my dad and my gramma, and we went to Griffin Hospital where they evaluated me. They referred me to Bridges who referred me to the PCRC in Derby. I was evaluated by one of the therapists and I was diagnosed with depression. I began taking anti-depressant medication and attending weekly therapy.

After I found out what was really wrong with me I had to tell all of my family and friends. The number one concern for my dad and me was that I would be diagnosed with Bi-Polar disease later on. Everyone tried their hardest to help me in any way they could. Even though I had great support from my family and my best friend it was still incredibly hard. I used to feel like I was stranded on an island in the middle of a storm. The pain I felt was so bad that sometimes I curled up because I thought I might fall apart. It was like I had a giant hole right in my torso that someone kept throwing salt into. That was only the burning in my stomach. On top of that there was a constant storm going on in my chest. It felt like there was a massive hurricane just ripping up my organs and causing me so much pain. I never stopped shaking. My mind never ever shut off. The only time I could turn it off was when I slept, which wasn’t often, and even then I had nightmares. The mental stress I put on myself made me constantly exhausted. It felt like I hadn’t slept for years and my thoughts would never let me rest. I literally tortured myself. My intelligence was used against me in harsh, mental ways. I tricked myself into believing everyone hated me, that everyone saw me as I really was: worthless. I remember hating myself. I remember thinking, “You’re ugly. You’re stupid. You only have yourself and you don’t even like yourself. Stop being so dramatic. Deal with it, no one needs to hear you whining.” I remember one time one of my classmates referred to me as a “that” as in, “he liked that?” and I didn’t even correct him because I believed that he was right. I was a that. I used to cry for hours at a time because of feeling so alone. My self-confidence and strength was dumbed down to nothing. I used to hate everyone. My actual problems weren’t even that horrible but every little thing was amplified to me. Everything was dark to me; I couldn’t see the good in anything. I couldn’t even remember what being happy felt like. I wanted to die. I wanted to leave everyone alone, I wanted the pain to stop, and I wanted to see my mom again.

When I became more isolated, I fell into a place where everything was completely numb. The winter was over but I still couldn’t see the sun. I became frightened of really losing myself. I began cutting just to know that I was alive. The physical pain was something straightforward that I had no problem feeling while everything else inside of me was smothering and confusing me. One day, when I had finally took enough abuse from my “step mom”, I finally broke and went insane from isolating myself. I threw things around my kitchen; I broke glasses and broke my favourite kettle. I screamed and yelled. When my dad ran into the house I was on the floor, crying. I yelled that I wanted to kill myself. I went to the hospital the next day and it was decided that I would leave my own house to live with my gramma because I needed a safe environment. I started intense therapy every night for three hours for the first part of my summer. They were rocky days full of anxiety filled suicide watches and “no sharp objects” and Benadryl to help me sleep.

Slowly but surely, with the help of my gramma and my therapists, I became okay again. It took so long but I finally began to see some light. I began to love the days; I was able to sleep at night peacefully again. I moved back home after my dad’s girlfriend moved out so I could start anew. It took me about two years to officially like myself again. It took even longer to regain trust in myself with my own feelings, and I’m still working on trusting the people who enter my life. As I grew stronger I learned how to cope with my depressing feelings. I’ve learned that it doesn’t define me; it defines a part of me. I became less pessimistic. I began living for something again. The first time I smiled after what seemed like years was the greatest feeling I’ve ever had, even to this day.

As terrible as it was, it helped strengthen my relationships with my dad and brought me even closer to my gramma. It made me grow up. I know myself a lot better now because of what happened to me in my past. And now, I’m incredible. I love my family and I have the absolute greatest friends that I truly fit in with. The people I’m surrounding myself with are the best thing I could ever wish for. I have confidence. I’m working hard at getting into a great art school where I can exercise my talents. I know that I am pretty, I’m smart, and I’m not weak or someone that people can hurt easily. I still face problems today. I still have to take medication. Sometimes I feel lonely. Sometimes I think I’m ugly. I face judgment when people listen to my writing and think I’m “suicidal” or “depressed” when it’s really just a way to express myself. It’s still incredibly hard to think I never really knew my mother. I’ve recently faced the death of my gramma, 4 months ago, and she was my rock. She was my mother figure and so much more. She was my strength for all my life. And she’s one of the reasons I’ve gotten through. I’ve saved myself with the help of others.

What I want to pass onto people is that mental illness is just as important as anything physical. Depression is not something a person can just “get over,” it is a physical chemical imbalance in a person’s brain that needs to be attended to. Don’t judge a person by the way they look or the way they act because inside they may be suffering and looking for help. Reach out to those who seem broken instead of just steeling away from them because you’re scared. People hurt from this and die from it. I was lucky that I got help but there are so many others who aren’t as lucky. A lot of teens don’t want to speak out because they don’t think they’re important. I’m telling those kids now: You are. You are so important! You have no idea how much one suicide affects everyone else. You are not forgotten. If any of my peers are feeling how I have felt or worse then you need to find a guidance counselor or someone you trust because it’s serious. Come to me, I am always here, even if you just want to talk. Even if you’re completely random and I’ve never talked to you. Even if you don’t like me and I don’t like you, I will try to help. Because no kid deserves to feel like I have. Ever.