A Letter from Depression

Copyright, Rhianna

Dearest soulmate,

You don’t know me yet but you will, I’ll explain a bit about how. One day you’re going to wake up feeling sad, and you are going to be sad all day, and the next day you will feel sadder still. Then out of nowhere you want to cry all the time and all these issues about your self appearence and personality will become an obsession. You will sit in your room all night and want to hide away. the world will be the scariest place around. You will have 2 paths to choose from at this point, they will be a) tell someone how bad you feel and that you don’t know why b) keep it inside, you don’t know why you feel sad so you won’t be able to talk it over with anyone.

You chose? You guessed it; path b, and you will follow this path, it’s a bumpy one and your soul will be shredded along the way. Then I come in and befriend you. I take over your mind, I make you want to die, I make you hate yourself more than ever, and I control your life.

I tell you not to eat and if you do eat I punish you by telling you what a fatty you are. You feel tired, but I don’t let you sleep at night, I make you lay awake whilst I tell you what a worthless person you are, and make you realize this world isn’t easy. I tell you how bad it is to tell someone and swear you to secrecy about feeling bad.

I make you lie for me, when people ask you ‘are you okay’. I make you say ‘yes I’m fine, thanks’, when people ask you ‘what’s wrong?’ I make you say, ‘nothing I’m just tired’. I play with your mind, so it works all day, over-analyzing your surroundings, making everything scary and bad.

Then one day, I would have been running your life for about a year now, i make you cut yourself, I make you punish yourself for being so useless and selfish.

Then the day will come, We fall out. You want me to leave, I refuse so you try to make me leave, you cry, you cut you scream and you shout, but I sit back and watch you fall further and further into my control.

Then one day you fight back, well you try, you try to get rid of me once and for all, you lock yourself away, alone in a room, you take a sharp blade to your arms just how I showed you to, then I was shouting at you to stop, you didn’t listen, you cut deep, really deep, then you took some pills, lots of pills. Then you lay down on your bed and let the cocktail and loss of blood work its means, then as you slipped away, I slipped out, to find another fresh new soul to destroy.

I stood by and watched you die, then 15 minutes later I watched your family come home and your mother find you dead, she will cry with pain, all your family and friends will. And I will stand by laughing and smiling because, you may have escaped me but I won the battle, because you aren’t living without me, you’re not living at all. You give into my powers and do what I set out to do, hurt everyone around you so they don’t think of you the same. All because you took path b, I won my fiend, thank you for letting me live.

Love always,


My Story

Copyright, Rhianna

When I’m out and I’m alone I find myself remembering that day when I was 12 and walking home from school alone, I walked through part of the estate that was elderly persons bungalows, I remember someone jumping out on me and pulling me into an empty garden and he pushed me up against the fence and he started touching me he was hurting me, I was frightened and didn’t know what was happening, he heard someone coming and he said that if I told anyone he’d fine me and kill me then he ran off. I pulled myself together and walked the rest of the way home, I decided to keep it quiet in case he did track me down. I was jumpy, and depressed and after a while I felt a bit better but still felt the need to keep it quiet.

I often find myself going back to being that 13 year old girl walking to school alone feeling depressed and hating herself for being fat and ugly. I remember so clearly telling myself that I was going to be in a good mood all day. I used to get to school early and just sit on a bench alone waiting for my friends. I would think about how I wasn’t important to anyone, and I didn’t deserve friends like I had, when my friends got there I would act like I was happy etc. when inside I was dying, but the second I walked away from them or wasn’t with them I didn’t hide what I was feeling, I was miserable. I hated myself I wanted to die. Food was my enemy. I used to avoid eating whenever I could. And if I ate I’d tell myself what a pathetic fat cow I was for eating and then I’d make myself sick. I made myself sick after eating for about 1½ and still I didn’t tell anyone, no one knew how I was feeling, no one knew that I didn’t want to live anymore, I kind of grew out of making myself sick but still I felt depressed and didn’t let anyone get close to me.

When I was 14 I started seeing a boy in my class, we kept it quiet and one day I woke up in severe pain and I was bleeding a lot, not like a normal period, so I told mum and she took me to the doctor’s, I went in on my own and she did an internal and told me I had miscarried. I was in shock I didn’t know what to do, she said take a week off school to let my body recover so I did, I told mum the Doctor said it happens when you aren’t resting enough and growing up and that I had a virus, I think she believed me because she let me stay off school for a week, after the week I had to go back to the doctor’s for a check up, and she lectured me about eating and she took my blood pressure.

And she saw my arms, all she said was “I know life is hard but does it really have to come to that?” To which I said well it’s the only way I know, and we chatted for a bit and it gave me hope and for a week or 2 I was fine.

One day when I was 15, it was 17th of December 1997, I took a kitchen knife up to my bedroom with me at bed time, and I sat there just pressing the blade on my arm, scared to move it. But when I did I felt pain, it really hurt but when the pain died down I felt better. So I did it again and again. The next day at school I covered it up with long sleeves. My problem was when I was at work at the weekends, I worked in a kitchen and it was a short sleeved uniform. Somehow I hid it. I cut myself every Sunday. Then it went up to 2 times a week, then I moved from my arms to my legs.

I was emotionally scarred and started acting like I was a badly behaved kid, I answered back, I didn’t do my homework, but this was just at school, at home my mum and dad believed I was fine until one day my head of house had a go at me for not making an effort. It was like no one understood me and no one cared. So I walked out and phoned mum who had a go and told me to go back to school so I did an hour later, I was shaking and nervous, I tried to pretend I wasn’t in trouble and didn’t care.

I realize now that this was a pathetic cry for help because I didn’t know how to ask for help, I wanted to die. Despite all this they twigged onto the fact that something was wrong and I had to see the school counsellor, so I did.

I was scared, and I knew she could help but I didn’t want anyone to know about the cutting so I couldn’t tell her. Because if I was in danger of hurting myself she would have to tell someone and I didn’t want her to. I felt numb.

My first session was hard. I didn’t tell her much but I was hurting inside. Really hurting. And she could see it, she said even though I hardly spoke she could see a severely depressed frightened little girl who was in a lot of pain. I wanted to say yes that’s how I feel but I didn’t know how to say it.

I still felt alone, I felt trapped. I wanted to break free but didn’t know how, I couldn’t concentrate, the eating disorder came back and I carried on cutting myself. Then came my GCSE’s and I left school. I didn’t do well in my GCSE’s I was too mopey to concentrate on them. I was scared. I left school and I was out in the real world, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, I didn’t want to go to college, I didn’t have a clue of what sort of career I wanted.

I did extra shifts at the nursing home and for a few weeks I pushed things to the back of my mind, then we went on holiday to Austria, my best friend Julie came with us. I loved the holiday but at night time Julie had found a holiday romance and I was left alone, until I had someone take an interest in me, he was about 40 and I was tipsy and then all of a sudden he brought me a drink and I don’t remember much about it, accept for waking up the next day in my own room in pain, and I was bleeding. And I realized he had raped me, and the fear I had when I was a 12 year old girl walking home from school returned, I managed to convince myself that I was wrong and he hadn’t raped me, I tried to tell myself that because I was drunk I must have acted like I wanted it, and that I didn’t remember much about it because I was drunk when it happened. Despite the nightmare I didn’t tell anyone and in time the feelings faded.

I got my GCSE results, when I got them I didn’t feel anything but the next day at work I fought back the tears, and a good friend at work and I had a row and it hurt me, it felt like I was a bad person and life wasn’t worth living, so that night I took an overdose only of 30 paracetamol but I didn’t know what would and wouldn’t kill me, in time I went to bed saying I felt ill, I didn’t tell anyone and by the time I went to sleep my vision had narrowed to a small tunnel, I went to sleep praying I wouldn’t wake up, but at 2am (6 hours after taking the pills) I woke up and had to run to the toilet where I was violently sick loads of times, then I went back to bed and got up for work the next day, I was in a lot of pain and people commented on how pale I looked but I kept it quiet and in time my body recovered, but my mind was still on an emotional roller coaster. I got used to it and just lived with it I had about 7 failed relationships all emotionally damaging but I didn’t care.

In a way not telling anyone was a form of self punishment. I stopped cutting myself and swore I’d never do it again. I changed jobs and I stayed there for 16 months, i rose up to become a supervisor, but that only lasted 3 weeks then I stepped down because I couldn’t handle it, and then I was just a senior member of staff, but my boss hated me and made my life hell, then in June 2000 I started to look for another job because I could feel myself falling again and I thought maybe the job was the reason. I thought if I changed jobs then I’d be okay. I finally got another job in September I was excited and looking forward to having a fresh start, a chance to leave the past behind, when I turned up stood outside waiting as well was Teresa, an old school mate, she was a user she used me when none of her other friends wanted to come out. She was bad for me in other ways, I can’t really describe it though, and it’s weird how she got in my head. I saw her stood there and my heart hit the floor. But I smiled through it and pretended I was fine. For the first 2 weeks I felt okay but then my mood fell, I went to the doctors who prescribed me anti-depressants (Paxil) and because I didn’t know what was wrong referred me to the bridge centre (local mental health centre), I took the pills like a good girl and I saw a psychiatrist who put the dose up on my medication, I felt better for a while but then out of nowhere the suicidal thoughts and feelings returned, it was worse than ever and I cut myself again about 2 months before christmas and I felt even more relief than I had before, I got hold of 3 new craft knifes and hid them in my box, that hid under my bed, I slipped with that knife so often, like I did before and made deep gashes like I did before but I was cutting deeper and more often and I felt like I was out of control. All of a sudden I found myself back on the ground with both feet, I tried to carry on and cover up my scars, but people saw, and even though I trusted them I couldn’t tell them why. I plodded on depressed suicidal, meds being put up weekly and then came that Sunday.

Sunday the 17th December 2000 wasn’t different to any other day apart from how I felt, I wanted to hide away, I was suicidal, I didn’t want to be alive anymore, I worked the day, I kept finding myself needing to get away from what I was doing, I was restless and kept disappearing out the back to hide away, I hid how I was feeling and no-one knew. Maybe it was the madness of the Christmas rush, maybe it was because I was exhausted, maybe it was because I felt like a freak, I don’t know. But I felt weird, like I had overcome all sadness and I was strong, stronger than I had ever been, I was jumpy and by mid day I had a plan. I walked through the estate after getting off the bus and I went to the shop, brought a bottle of vodka and a can of gas and some painkillers, then I went home, I watched telly for a while and at about ten to eight I drank half of the vodka and then I inhaled the gas which made me numb all over then I took a craft knife and cut my arms, I caught the vein and there was loads of blood. And then I found whatever pills I could, I took anti-depressants, painkillers, prescribed pain killers, and whatever else I could lay my hands on, I didn’t realize it was so late, it was 9pm when I took that lot, and I laid back and let it happen, my arm still bleeding, I didn’t feel any regret, I don’t think I even realized what I had done it was like none of it was real, like I was dreaming, like someone else had taken over, then at 10pm my parents came home and mum found me, she just kept saying “what have you done” and then she was asking “why have you done it?” I was half conscious at the time and dad called an ambulance. The next thing I remember is laying in a hospital bed in A&E with my mum at my side, attached to a heart monitor. It still didn’t register that I could easily die because my heart was beating dangerously fast.

Then this nurse and a doctor came in, the Doctor took blood and asked me why but I didn’t tell her because mum was there. The nurse brought in a bottle and a cup. The bottle was full of activated charcoal and she made me drink all 2½ pints of it. She said if I didn’t drink it they would have to put a tube down my throat and pour it down, I was transferred to a ward and mum went home. I didn’t sleep that night I just lay awake on the ward, spiking a temp of 43 degrees (normal temparature is 37 degrees, my heart still beating fast. And every hour this nurse came round, took my temperature and my blood pressure and shone a light in my eyes. In the morning I got up and dressed and laid on my bed staring out at the grey dull winter sky wishing it had worked, I hated who I was and all I wanted to do was go home.

Then someone from the local mental hospital came to assess me and I blagged my way out of being admitted. Then I went home and everyone was and still are being nice to me. I hate it, because I know it’s fake. I know what I did was wrong etc. But I am still really confused about it, I haven’t spoken about it at all. It’s like no one wants to know. No one seems to care anymore, they’ve forgotten about it, and don’t realize that I have flashbacks of it and sometimes wish it had worked and recently all I’ve wanted is the means to do it again, but this time it will work. I still cut occasionally if anything to make sure I can, to make sure my safety net is still there.


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