I want that part of me back

It was the 21^st October of 1990 when I started working.  I was only 17, although I would be 18 the next month.  I had this dream of being a high management person within a big and important company.  Never thought about marrying, or having children, or getting old for that matter.  I suppose when we are young, we don’t think about getting old.  But I tell you, what I never thought was that I would suffer from depression.

My father was an alcoholic since I could remember.  I remember being a child waking up in the middle of the night him shouting at my mom and calling her names, only because he was drunk and had hidden some money away and couldn’t remember where he put it.  One day he got home from work and he had found a pistol in one of the fridges he was fixing (so he claims).  That is when things got a bit worse, since he thought he was God only because he had a gun.  Sometimes, if he got home drunk and pissed off, he would get the gun and go out.  We didn’t know where he went, what he did, or if he would come back.  He did, every time.

Since then, mom and I were afraid each time his car got near the house.  We didn’t know whether he would be drunk or not, but only just in case, we would be in our best behaviour.  I hated growing up like that, so I got stronger and stronger with the years, only by resenting.

Once, I remember mom and dad were arguing and he got the gun out and pointed it to my mom.  I honestly thought that that was it, that everything was going to end that day.  He didn’t pull the trigger, but I grew up resenting him for doing that.  On another occasion they were both arguing again and he said that he never loved me, or wanted me.  I can never forget that day for some reason.  I was only about 6, but those words hit me so hard in my heart.  I grew up resenting him because of that.

I was 18 already when one night I got home just about 8pm and he went mental.  He called me every name under the sun and threw a punch at my face.  I was so furious, I just got up and looked at him in the eye and said either he gets tired of punching me, or I would drop dead, it was his choice.  Of course he punched me again and to my surprise, mom didn’t do anything.

On another occasion I fell down some stairs and hurt my ankle and could not walk, and only had money either for the taxi or the medication I needed, so called home to see if dad was in.  Mom asked him and he said he didn’t feel like going out.  I was furious again and I bought my medication and took the bus back home, having to walk a few miles from the bus stop home.  When I got home I confronted him and said if he was not a dad to help me out when I needed him, he could not be a dad to punch me again.  From that day, I grew rebel to his behaviour and took control of home.  I was so strong, determined, fearless, nothing could stop me then, only until hallucinations took over his mind.  I completely broke down since there was no logic way of me taking back control of things.

I wish I was that strong again.  I wish I had that determination.  Was it anger and resentment that made it come into me in the first place?  Who knows, but those few years that I experienced being on top of the world, were like no other, and I miss them.

With this story of my life I just want to point out that I don’t mean to belittle anyone’s courage for living their lives with depression, and I am sorry if I offended any of you.  What I mean is that at one point in my life I did experience that strong and determined person, and it is very hard for me to accept that I have this illness and that I will have it for the rest of my life.