My depression although brought into the depths by chronic pain, has many other contributors.
My parents could not have children of their own and Mom really loved kids, so they decided to adopt. First came my brother, #1, a son! Dad was in heaven, he had a son. Six years later they adopted my sister, olive complected, brown curly haired, brown eyed, perfect. Then a little over a year after that I came along, bald, pale, blue eyed girl. What, another girl?
I was constantly told that I would never be as good, smart, talented, pretty as my sister. I can still hear my dad's words ringing in my ears, "If you would just apply yourself, you would get better grades. Not A's like your sister but at least B's." "If you would cut out snacks you would lose weight. You are big boned so you won't be as skinny as your sister." My mom would often try to soften the harshness of my dad's words with food (her own addiction) but of course that just made it worse.
My sister was the cheerleader, track star and all around miss popular. She always had girlfriends, dates, boyfriends and parties. I was shy, tall, overweight, artistic, had a few friends but for the most part lonely. I started taking painting lessons when I was in jr. high because that was my passion. I had already made up my mind that I was going to go to the Colorado Institute of Art after high school. Oh but then my sister started to take art class and my dream of CIA died (really long story).
I continued to draw and paint and mom was my biggest fan. I have always been attracted to surrealist artists such as Dali but portraits was where I could make some money. The last painting I completed was a commissioned portrait in oil. Mom was going thru radiation treatments for brain tumors at the time and two years later she was in a coma. I had lost my biggest fan and along with her, my heart. I have not been able to complete anything in 21 years.
Enter a work comp injury and chronic pain. I have been suffering with depression from the loss of a career I loved and as the pain continued the depression deepened. I suffer with suicidal ideation and my two antidepressants and mood stabilizer have been increased as the depression increased. Finally I have max-ed out on my meds so my physician insisted I start going to therapy.
My therapist is a very sweet young gal who has a very easy way about her. I still have the depression but she is making me work on some "me" issues. There are so many different facets to what causes me to feel like I don't matter, so we have to work in layers. Some things I should be doing, I am not, others I have. My most recent task was to draw, something, anything. I have had some issues that came up that had to be dealt with so I didn't do anything Thursday thru Sunday. Finally today I got out my sketch pad and pencils and made myself draw. I chose my dog Herbie. I got him when I was a freshman and when I moved out I had to leave him with Mom. He became her dog after that and she loved him dearly. It was a really quick sketch and I took this picture before I was completely done but I want to share it.