Everybody has their monsters. Their monsters they are afraid to face on their own. The monsters they hear about as children. The monster that I deal with every day beats me down and screams with all of its might that I will never be good enough. This monster doesn’t have certain victims. It goes after anyone, no matter age, sex, or race. The monster I face every day is depression.

Depression is one of the most misunderstood “illnesses” anyone could have. Most people don’t understand the emotions and thinking of a person who is depressed. A lot of people just think that depressed people need to have people feel sorry for them or even just pity them. That is the last thing people with these, I’ll call them “mental illnesses” even though I don’t see it as an illness. There is no correct term for what depression is. Doctor’s don’t even know what to call it. Some call it an illness others call it a disease or a condition. It’s not an illness because there is no cure nor a disease because there is not cure for that either. Calling it a condition is maybe one of the best things to call it only because a condition cannot be cured all the time. It really is a personal preference. Call it what you want. I never really called it anything only because every word that people use to define it make me feel sick or like I will never have a chance to get better. Whenever they use illness or disease it makes me feel as if they don’t think I will be able to beat this monster. It makes me feel like they think it’ll be the death of me. I feel as if not a lot of doctors even know how to talk to patients about it. Almost like they don’t really understand it. This monster is a complex thing to try and understand. I even deal with it and I still don’t understand how it works.

The biggest thing that some people don’t understand is that people with things such as depression and anxiety don’t want anyone’s pity. I personally don’t want anybody’s pity, because paying attention to someone’s pity is a waste of time. Pity isn’t feeling bad for someone the correct definition of pity is “feel sorrow for the misfortunes of.” Pity to me is a sarcastic version of caring. Especially from the people you have barely talked to a day in your life. It’s annoying when people pretend they know what you’re going through when they don’t even know your last name.

My 8th grade year, my first year in a brand new school, was just one year away from being in high school. I thought everything would be great. But unfortunately it wasn’t. It was like an itch you can’t scratch. You know it’s there but you also don’t. Me being the way I am, kept on thinking that this was new school, new year jitters. I slowly began to realize that half way through the school year, I was still having this feeling of anxiety and sadness. This monster that latched onto me came with more than just sadness and the feeling of being lost and confused, it also came with anxiety which is another monster on its own. I pushed this feeling off my shoulder confused of what it may be. This monster was so persistent to drag me down, but towards the end of my 8th grade year it did. This thing this monster that I have to deal with affects so many different parts of my life. I guess I didn't do anything about it because I had to no clue to what it might be. It was so confusing to randomly get sad especially when you’re an 8th grade girl and so many new things are happening and now adding this monster right into all of this. It’s pure chaos. I just happened to have the pleasure of being thrown right in the middle of it.

The easiest thing that my monster can impact is my emotions. I've felt so many different emotions, emotions I didn't even know how to feel. My monster will slowly creep up on me making me feel sad at the most random times, but then I slowly started to realize I can’t control it. I would always force myself to try and feel happy, but then I started to understand that I was not in control of my emotions anymore, it’s the monster that controls me. I’m not in control of my life anymore. Not yet at least. But once I realized that I can’t control much of my life I kind of let myself go numb or I would become, either too emotional or emotionless. When I can actually feel emotions the ones that normally come up would be the ones like being scared, confused, utterly lost, and wanting to cower and hide. I know I can hide it or even pretend like it isn't there anymore. Pretending isn't always bad. I mean it is so much better than knowing that I am powerless in the face of this monster. I have started to realize that there is no hope for getting better when I don’t have the support system I need. Knowing that it won’t ever end for me and I don’t ever want to be that girl to commit suicide because of my monster. I’m not afraid to say that this monster had beaten me. It’ll beat anyone or anything in its way if it wants to.

One of the hardest things that I’ve had to come to terms with is my self-harm. The place I was in when I decided to do that to myself really wasn’t good. I was always moody and pissy all of the time. It’s weird though because I wasn’t ever upset with anybody but myself because I was feeling this way. My monster always makes me feel like it’s my fault for every single thing even if I never had anything to do with the situation. Looking back at these scars on my arm remind me of something I never want to go back to again. Not because it’s not the right way of dealing with my monster, but because it’s not healthy. Not to mention that hearing my dad once tell me the scars look disgusting As if I didn’t know that already? But hearing it from my father tore my heart to pieces. I don’t think that my scars are disgusting, they remind me of a dark place I never want to let myself back into again.

But what I had the hardest time with was the consequences of my cutting. Yes, before they scared they were red all the time. But the looks I got from people were awful. Most of them were quick glances but I could always tell when they saw the marks of the monster on my arm. There are the type of people that will look at my scars and silently judge, verbally judge with others, and the ones that will connect with what they are from. But then there are the people that will turn me into the guidance office only because they think it’ll help me. Then I go through this whole process of me saying "Oh, it's only my cat playing to rough." But honestly that only works to a point.
By the next time I go in I say the same thing. And again. And again. And yet again. But eventually I can't trick the guidance counselors anymore. Eventually they make me take this quiz to determine if I have depression or not. I never understood how a piece of paper with questions like if I’m feeling sad all the time or if I randomly get upset over small things could label me for the rest of my life. It was a one sided piece of paper, the type of paper underneath checks. It felt like fabric the entire time I was writing on it. The paper smelt really bad too; old and musty. I didn’t even get the results right away I had to wait till the next day. Sitting there and waiting a day may not seem long, but when it’s to determine if you have depression or not it feels like years. The next day I go into the guidance office to see what the test has to say. I sit down in the scratchy chairs they have in their offices. The time it took him to explain my test results was entirely too long winded.

He could’ve told me I had Major Depression. Simple as that. I don’t understand how people feel the need to dance around a subject such as Depression. I mean I alone hate the word Depression. I feel that I hate it only because it’s a label. A label I have become stuck with, maybe forever maybe not. The guidance counselor then told me I should tell my parents. In the entire three years that I felt depressed not once did I think about telling my parents because I knew that they wouldn’t understand. And I was right, they didn’t. When I told them they told me it was because I was a teenager and that everybody gets sad randomly. Yes, I know that other people can get sad randomly, but for me it is all the time. Every day. Over the tiniest thing. I went maybe a month or two before my parents sent me to therapy. I got three maybe four sessions. And then that was it. Now I am going without help.

This year I’ve tried everything to get help. I went to guidance again and my parents came in, we all talked. They said they would send me to therapy, but sadly it was a lie. I feel like they don’t care. It’s getting to the point where I know they don’t care. They don’t take it seriously at all, and it frustrates me so much to not be heard when I’m practically screaming at the top of my lungs for someone, anyone to listen to me. But I am never heard. I don’t think I ever will be. My monster will always be there torturing me. Whispering in my ear things like “You’ll never be good enough”, “No one cares about you”, “You’re all alone.” I try and try to push him out but he is so persistent to stay and to make my life a living hell. But I know I need to be strong enough to get past this. I have to be. Because my monster can’t and won’t ever beat me anymore. I feel that having this monster sit here screaming at me for four years without having any help to back me up, has made me so much stronger than I ever would be if I was on meds. Maybe I’ll beat this monster one day, maybe I won’t. It really isn’t up to me at this point. But I’m actually ok with that fact. Because one day I will get the help I need for myself.