Always Remember This

Charlie

Art by Lauren Drinkwater

Now I’m a twenty-one-year-old adult, memories of foster care don’t come with the pang of anger and resentment they used to. Feelings of loneliness are replaced with the confident desire to make friends and be included. Guilt has flourished into acceptance and the ability to move on rather than constantly striving then failing to change the past.

However, one thing that’s left a deeper wound is the constant feeling of melancholy engraved in everything I did that soon became a black hole.

Depression.

Being shunned by the family who had promised to accept me left me in an all-consuming, self-medicating, cycle of self-harm, withdrawal and anger, often leading to feelings of worthlessness and isolation. Mental ill-health led me into a false sense of security. Despite how hard it was, being unable to get out of bed and face the day could also be comforting. Knowing I could bury myself under the covers and wrap myself up in my own sadness made me feel safe. I couldn’t be seen as fragile and a burden if I isolated myself from everyone and kept myself hidden.

My reluctance to open up to any one close to me further shut me off from the world and continued to warp my sense of reality. I became someone simply occupying a body. I couldn’t experience or relish in anything; things I loved became excuses; everyday tasks like showering and putting on make-up became tiresome missions. Friends became people I used to know and family became strangers as my depression pushed me further and further into myself where everything felt numb.

Day to day, I hold down a full-time job. But my eyes are glazed and everything feels heavy and hazy. Everything is heightened. My skin feels more sensitive to the touch and noises become loud echoes. The only way I can describe depression is by saying, for me, it’s like the TV’s on in the background but it’s quiet apart from a constant buzzing. The inconvenience of that never fades. No matter how far the moment is from all of ‘real life’s’ struggles, the depression feels like it’ll always be there.

I’ve lived with depression for a few years now. Now I’m older I’m able to articulate my feelings and make sense of them a lot more clearly; I realise the importance of speaking up too. I’ve learned there’ll always be someone to listen no matter how much of a burden I think I am. I personally struggle with accepting this fully, but hopefully with time and the maintaining and strengthening of relationships I can continue to open up and let myself be vulnerable.

Vulnerable doesn’t mean weak.

There’s strength and courage in letting people see the vulnerable side of you. The world wouldn’t be the same without you and it’s important that you – and I – always remember this.