My story…the wounded healer…part 1

Recently, I began chatting with someone on Facebook, that was struggling with similar issues to me, depression and grief, and that sense of alienation that so many creative people can experience at times.
I was asked to share my story, and I sort of froze, because I didn't know how to proceed.
I guess they were struggling, and even though it's kind of comforting that someone talks about recovery from depression, I can relate to wanting to devour someone else's words to see if they really understand what suffering really means.

Its hard for me to write about suffering without writing about joy, because I really believe that those whose hearts and souls  have been touched with insufferable pain, have somehow made room for the heights of beauty and understanding that encompasses the human spirit.  Artists feel things deeply, they have a wider range of emotions to draw from when creating art.  I believe that all emotions come from somewhere, and that we can heal a lot of mental illness if we start to love ourselves and our feelings, instead of being upset that we're so sensitive or moody, or different.

So to help my friend, I will disclose abit about my suffering…

As a young kid, I always felt like there was something different or wrong with me, because of the reactions other kids had towards me, especially after failing kindergarden. I didn't have a great sense of self, or parents that were emotionally available enough to see how much I was suffering.  They were struggling in their marriage and busy with careers, and I didn't want to disappoint them by telling them I got picked on in school, they had enough problems. I definitely have some happy childhood memories, but there was a moody little girl brewing inside me ever since I was five years old, that would shape my view of life for years to come…. I showed my parents what they wanted to see, great student, good at art, a reasonably happy kid.  I kept up this charade until about the 7th grade, when I decided if you can't join the cool kids, be badder that they are, so that they are afraid of you and give you some respect.

This lead me down an interesting path, my wanderings between the world of the lost souls, that abuse themselves and others, and numb themselves to deal with pain and the world or high school and art college.

My one claim to fame from that time period is that I got pretty decent at graffiti, which gave me credit when I was out there getting messed up at bars and house parties.

Still the damage I did to my psyche, the abuse I went through by allowing myself to be under the influence around sick people, and the harrowingly close to death moments I faced, weren't really what I was looking for.  I was looking for myself.

Tomorrow I'll write more about my struggles with recurrent depression, how it feels, and what I have figured out so far to stay well one day at a time….