Project Depression: Your Story

Anonymous' Story.

** Please know that this contains a trigger warning for cursing and mention of rape so avoid this chapter if you're triggered by them.

I was born in a small town in Scotland. It was just me, my mother and father. I don't remember much about my biological father honestly because he left me and my mother when I was six? seven? somewhere around there. Blamed myself, felt like it was only right. He couldn't handle having a child to take care of. Now that I have a son, I can sort of see how hard it is. I left Scotland at nine after my mom found another bloke who I now proudly call my da. I live in Alabama now, have for about eight years. 

The day I turned thirteen I invited a person who I thought was a friend of mine to the lake house my da got. He came over and stayed the night because his parents were having a screaming fest and didn't want him home. He came into my room and raped me that night. Never talked to him again, I still have panic attacks when I see him around town. I wish I could just leave so I don't have to see him again. I found out not too long after the incident that I was pregnant. I had kept what happened a secret from everyone, including my parents. I felt disgusting and like it was my fault, in some twisted way. I had to tell my family at that point and when I did, it was like I was the bad guy. My da blamed me for it. My mom wouldn't talk to me, which I later realized was just because she had her own similar traumas and never wanted that to happen to me. I told them I was pregnant and I wanted to abort, but my da said no. He held firm on that (he's pro-life).

Once I started showing and couldn't hide with baggy clothes, people in school started to judge me. I can't count how many times I was called a slut, a whore, told my baby is a bastardized shit. He's my whole world now and although I wish I could've had him from someone else who I actually love, I'm glad he's in my life. He's the reason I started going to therapy to get help. I didn't want to be a bad mum who's triggered by different things. I wanted to be there for him no matter what.

When my little tyke turned one, I decided to go into a short-term facility to get some help. My mother and da were glad to take care of him while I was there and I couldn't be more thankful for that. After the first two days there, I realized that it really wasn't helping. I needed more help than a simple week-long thing. When I got out, I explained what I wanted to do with my parents. They agreed and I went to a long-term. Most people there asked me why? Why would I leave my child to be in a place like that? I hated being away from my little boy. Every minute of every day of every week of every month was horrible. I stayed there for three months trying to get better for my little boy, and it did help some. I'd had so many therapists before going there and it sucked because no one could help. This mental hospital did something for me and I was so grateful until I fell back down the rabbit hole so much harder than before.

My boy was three. I didn't want to leave him again so I just went to therapist after therapist until I finally found one that helped. I still go to her every week (except during this stupid corona bullshit) and she's made me a better person. I'm such a better mom now. I spend all of my free time with my baby and I show him just how much I love him every day. We have weekly movie nights together (he loves Bambi so that's what we watch more often than anything else), we play games all the time, and when the weather is nice we go for walks around the neighborhood. I haven't had any suicidal thoughts in about five months and I feel so, so much better about my life now. I still have depression but it's not as bad as it used to be.