Today I'm going to make a confession. I'll try not to make this just another dramatic story. I just want to state what other people might find useful, no matter if they're similar to me or have someone close who is. But most of all, I want to explain to my friends (those who are lost and those who are still here) why I am the way I am.
I come from a big family. I had the most wonderful childhood anyone can dream of. When I was around 13 things started to become bad in the family and a lot of unfortunate things happened. I was more or less responsible for the wellbeing of my two younger brothers and one baby sister. When I was 15 I had my first panic attack. I moved away from home.
Life away from home
When I was 18, my mum and boyfriend more or less forced me to go to a doctor. I hadn't eaten or slept properly in months, I was dead to the world and couldn't handle even the simplest tasks. The doctor, withough putting me through a series of tests, prescribed my first anti depressants and something to make me sleep at night. It all worked well for a while.
I've been to countless doctors, psychiatrists, therapists, specialists and what not. I've been taking tests, changing medicines, giving me new ones. But in the end, the angst always comes back, immobilizing me until someone else comes up wth something new. So, I'm depressive. It means that I have a lack of serotenin (among other things) in my brain. It's a medical condition and not something that you can simply "get over". I'm still on meds, and while I'm writing this I feel how I'm being pushed deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of depression. And I'm not over exaggerating.
I can deal with all the physical side affects cause by the medicines. I'm gaining weight, I'm loosing it, I've got constant headaches, nightmares and social phobia. I can't concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes. I cry, of course. But the worst of all, is that I've lost most of my friends. I don't keep in touch, I don't call or text or email. I isolate myself to get over the worst part so that I can (hopefully) be stronger once I get out from isolation. But the effect has mostly turned out to be the opposite. I know I'm a burden, so I stay away from the ones I love the most. I can no longer do things that I loved before. Crowds scare me, simple tasks that lay ahead of me give me panic attacks, I'm constantly tired and unfocused.
Yes, I've been running away from the depressions for as long as I can remember. I've moved around Sweden, to Oslo in Norway, went traveling to Australia, New Zeeland, Thailand, Iceland. I moved to Sudan, then I went to Ireland and Dubai. I moved to Morocco. All because of an approaching depression. And it did help, for a few weeks, then I'm back to hell again.
To all my friends that I've lost along the way. I hope that, one day, our roads may cross again. Maybe then, I'll have enough strength to be a better friend. I try, I really really really try.