I Was Born Depressed...

I am the youngest of three children. My siblings were teenagers when I was born, so I was raised much like an only child. My mother was very intelligent and wanted to further pursue college and go to work once my brother and sister were old enough to drive and be mostly independent. Just as she was embarking upon her education and a possible career, she learned she was pregnant with me. This was a very unwelcome surprise, and my mother made this known to all. She started to cry daily and was very angry about the pregnancy from day one. My father, in desperation, moved the family back to their small hometown so extended family could help with my mother, who had what amounted to a psychological break. She hated her hometown and did not want to move. This just added another layer of anger, anxiety, depression, and negativity to her state of mind.

A difficult beginning

I never bonded with my mother. When I was born, she did not hold me. My father, brother, and sister would go to the nursery to hold me and performed the majority of my care. I was bottle fed from day one. My mother came up with physical complaints to justify an extra day in the hospital, but my dad and sister came and got me and took me home without my mother.

We lived in a remote, rural place, and I did not interact with any other children. My mother stayed home with me until I started to school but kept me in my room with books, a record player, games, whatever I could do to entertain myself; or sent me outdoors where I was to stay until she called me in. Animals and nature were my saving grace. If she wanted to go anywhere, I was dumped on relatives and sometimes perfect strangers to me. I was quiet and made every effort to be "no trouble" to anyone. Ever. I evolved into a natural loner and am still one to this day.

A sad child

As soon as I started to school, my mother went back to college and work. She was cold and distant and made it abundantly clear that I was an enormous inconvenience that she resented. When I was about 4 or 5, our family doctor spoke to my mother in a low voice, thinking I was not listening or paying attention. He said he thought her physical and mental state during pregnancy and afterwards had affected me, and though it wasn't his expertise, he felt I was a "sad child." I remember hearing the word dysthymia. He recommended a child therapist. The combination of our rural location and my mother's unwillingness to be bothered resulted in my never getting any help.

In the first grade, I would literally feel ill and not be able to get out of bed to go to school. It felt like I was under an iron blanket. I didn't understand this, and my mother thought if I didn't have a fever or any symptoms, then I wasn't sick. She would give me a cup of coffee to get me moving. This persisted throughout my school years. I did well academically but did not form friendships with other children as I was accustomed to being alone and entertaining myself. I was only around adults and older teenagers, so had never learned to play, run around, act silly, or do "kid stuff" and felt ridiculous trying to pretend normal "kid" behavior. This was not tolerated in our household. My mother ruled the roost, and my dad just worked a lot of hours and did not defy my mother. He did love me and taught me things that came in handy later in life, but ours was not a typical parent/child relationship.

Surviving school

The first grade teacher called my mother for a conference. She said the exact thing the doctor had said when I was younger. I was a "sad child" and she was very concerned. I made straight A's, I was perfectly behaved, and made every effort to be "invisible" and always "pleasing" when I had to interact with any teacher or authority figure. My mother told the teacher on the phone that this was just my "personality" and that I had always been that way. Nothing was mentioned about the doctor's earlier observation, and no therapy or help was pursued.

I smiled, I participated in academic clubs, joined the track team and ran long distances, performed any given assignment or task as if I were just fine and enjoying every minute of it. The truth was I was in agony and dying inside every minute of every day. My introversion caused me to be labeled a "snob" and "stuck up" by other kids, and I was relentlessly bullied all through school. Physical threats and abuse happened that made me afraid of certain groups of kids, and I told my parents. Instead of concern, they claimed it to be "kid stuff" and did nothing. I continued to endure and count the days until I could leave. By the time I graduated high school I had almost ZERO relationship with my parents.

Independence and hidden struggle

I was awarded numerous scholarships, applied for grants, loans, and work-study programs. I got a part-time job while still at home because I did not even want to ask my mother for school clothes or anything I needed for other activities. I was determined to support myself and put myself through college because any little thing I had asked for from my mother was made to seem like an enormous personal sacrifice and a lot of trouble for her to bother with. Sooner or later she would actually say, "I sacrificed" or "I gave up" this or that just so I could have something any normal parent assumed as their responsibility in seeing to the needs of their child.

I managed to get a cheap efficiency apartment in a run-down building and picked up numerous off campus jobs to support myself and pay for what grants, loans, and scholarships didn't cover. The entire time, every day was a struggle to come up with the energy to not just function but to function at a very high level of competence and with a smile on my face. Thankfully, my cheap, run-down efficiency apartment allowed me to live alone so no one would witness my collapse and meltdowns.

Finally, as an adult, when I got my first job, I went to therapy. I had to pay for this out of pocket. This was the late 80's and 90's and the stigma of any "mental disorder" would have caused outright judgment and the perception that I might not be "dependable" even though I was performing very well and succeeding in my job position. I continued to keep my secret. I had boyfriends and dated but never for very long. As soon as things seemed serious, I backed off. Nobody wants to be chained to damaged goods, do they? The one person I had decided to trust was my older sister. When I told her I was in therapy and the therapist felt I had suffered from clinical depression my entire life, my sister's response was, "Well for goodness sake, don't tell anybody that or they will think you are "damaged goods." I never mentioned it to anyone outside of therapy again.

My therapist's partner was a psychiatrist, and she had me see him to possibly take meds. I tried several things, and all had side effects which dulled my ability to perform at the top of my game at work. I ran miles and miles every evening because it was the only thing that made me feel any better. Raising my serotonin levels at least gave me a temporary "lift."

Marriage and a double life

I eventually married and had a second career as an adult probation officer. I loved the work, but we were subjected to random drug screens, and a positive screen for any meds would have exposed my secret and been detrimental to my job. More years of suffering in silence.

My husband is an extreme extrovert and a very decent man. Oddly, it has worked out, as I am happy for him to be the center of attention and am well practiced at appearing charming and pleasant as need be when we interact with groups or other couples. He has been self-employed for most of his career, and the business was doing well enough that I was finally able to quit my job and take care of a family farm and assist him with his business.

Understanding the past

Through therapy, I came to understand that my mother's physical, emotional, and psychological state during her pregnancy with me no doubt caused me to be born with a predisposition for depression. I have read articles by so-called experts claiming this to be untrue, but my entire life is a testament to the fact that they are WRONG. The theory is that I was born with early onset "dysthymia" or a low grade of ever present depression with bouts of serious "double" depression interspersed. When the inevitable bad things in life happen, my depression is just further compounded. My husband trys to be patient and understanding, but the bottom line is that unless a person has experienced this themselves, they cannot possibly understand. He nor other "normal" people simply can't comprehend that there are periods of time when I just cannot get out of bed or when I function, but as soon as my "performance" is over, I am exhausted and sometimes sleep for days to recover.

A new diagnosis and unforeseen acceptance

In 2012, I was diagnosed with three autoimmune diseases. Rheumatoid Arthritis, Sjogren's, and another as yet unidentified disease which very rapidly inflamed my ears and mastoid processes on both sides (jaw joints) destroying my eardrums and doing extensive damage to my inner ears along with nerve damage. In a matter of months, I became legally deaf. It has taken two major surgeries called tympanoplasty-mastoidectomy to reconstruct and repair my ears. At one point, the inflammation of my jaw joints only allowed me to open my mouth enough to drink through a straw. I have recovered some of my hearing and continue to be treated with the hope of being able to reach a point where hearing aids will be of benefit. Ironically, for the first time in my life, people have expressed sympathy and understanding of my introversion and self-isolation. I hate not being able to hear well and that in itself has been very depressing, but it is now an "acceptable" excuse to decline invitations or to not have to go the extra mile to perform and always have on my "happy face." I try not to overly subject my husband to my inevitable periods of darkness, but he too seems to now have more tolerance and understanding because I have RA, Sjogren's, and the ear issues which are "justifiable medical reasons" for me to not be able to get out of bed and function for periods of time.

I see a good psychiatrist who helps me with tolerable drug therapy. Meds have come a long way since the 80's and 90's. I have spent hundreds of hours in therapy and understand very clearly why I am this way and have accepted that it is just a part of me and always will be. Although society in general may not understand, this is very much a physical condition in my brain that has a known cause. I was born this way. Just as smoking, drugs, or alcohol will affect a fetus, so will the chemicals flooding the brain of the mother during her pregnancy; and so will how she treats you from the moment you are born throughout your formative years.