Depression: Maybe She's Born With It

What comes to mind when you hear the words: crazy, insane, lunatic, unstable, disturbed, loco, screwy, not right upstairs, barking mad, mental case, sicko, unhinged, fruitcake, loony, wacko, nutjob, off one's rocker, or cuckoo for coco puffs?

Me? I think of my late mother and late grandmother. Not because I ever called them any of those words, but they were both mentally ill. Depression, anxiety, bi-polar, and schizophrenia. The latter two I'm not clear on, and we never got a definitive diagnosis on either of them before they passed.

When I hear someone use the words or phrases above, I cringe. Mental illness isn't funny or something you sling around when you're trying to be funny. It's real and real people suffer from it everyday. We must squash the stigma of mental illness.

My maternal grandmother, Betty, died when I was four-years-old, so I don't remember much of her. My mother left my father, packed me up, and moved her and I down to Texas from Illinois. Long story. I'm guessing the last time Betty and I saw each other, I was two, in 1973. Betty died of a massive heart attack at forty-two-years-old. She was a heavy smoker, an alcoholic, and in and out of mental institutions during her thirties. I know from my mother's stories, Betty suffered from mental illness, was often heavily medicated, and she received shock therapy during her hospital stays.

Catherine, my mother, didn't fall too far from her family tree. Drugs, alcohol, depression, anxiety, she heard voices, felt and knew things, had manic episodes, and obsessive compulsive behaviors. I recall two separate times she tried committing suicide, or at least threatened to. I know this all to be true, because I lived through it. Welcome to my life.

A couple of us siblings believe mom ended up the way she did because she was a sensitive. She predicted things before they happened. Saw things. Heard voices. Maybe she drank to drown out these things. Maybe it's what drove her to drink, be depressed, etc. Maybe Grandma Betty had it too. Who knows?

I will admit this, I am sensitive, an empath. I can pick up on others' feelings/moods, and it affects me. But, I do not hear voices, nor can I predict future happenings, and I've never seen a spirit. Thank goodness, because what a curse it would be. My experience with depression and anxiety has absolutely nothing to do with my empathy. The only link I can find is, my mother and grandmother suffered from them, too, which I believe makes me predisposed to both the illnesses.

Was I born with the shit? Is it in my DNA? Am I hard-wired to be anxious and depressed when the shit hits the fan? Again, who knows?

My goal with this project is to learn how not to allow personal trauma, grief, sadness, and loss to dictate my life. I want to learn from my depression and anxiety, not hide from it or because of it. I want to educate myself and my grown children of the things to watch out for, the warning signs.

I want to break the cycle of family mental illness.

And, I want it to end with me.

~Heal, rise, & shine, C.