I don't even know where to begin. Depression, that's where it begins. I've been depressed for as long as I can remember. I really do mean that. I'm not exaggerating. Back to when I was in my mothers stomach. After my father, 12 years older than her, left her. It was only because he found out I was in her stomach. She was only 16 at the time. No, it wasn't rape. She went along with it. I wish she hadn't. She thought about abortion. But she couldn't go through with it. I wish she could. She left me in her stomach, an odd, antisocial, unloving girl. I'm pretty sure I was depressed then. Four, when my step father tried daily to kill me. He always tried to make it look like an accident. He beat me, he bruised me, he scarred me. He tried drowning, he tried suffocation, he tried poisoning. It didn't work. I almost wish it did. He beat me more when none of it worked. He tased me, he burned me, he threw me. Eventually, he gave up on me. He went for my mother instead. He was obsessed with her. Absolutely obsessed. He had this perfect little life with her. I wasn't in it, of course. Soon, he realized she wasn't behaving like in his dream. He didn't like it. He beat her, often. I couldn't tell anyone. I was paralyzed with fear. She had his child. I had a little sister. Though her mind wasn't all there, thanks to his beatings. Took a while for anyone to find out. 2 years, in fact. The bastard was a good actor. It was about 14 years ago. I remember it like it was yesterday. I still have all the scars. I still have all the stories. I still have the trauma. None of these will ever go away. I was depressed then. Six, when my mother, my little sister and I had to go through the pain of being homeless. It's not what you might think. It's not too bad. Never being able to settle down in one place was the real pain. Switching schools every few months or so, meeting new people, making new friends, and instantly losing those friends. I had no one. No one but my mother and my sister. I was depressed then. Seven, after we had finally settled down in a nice little neighborhood. He came back. My stepfather, I mean. He didn't touch me, because now everyone knew what he did to me. My mother couldn't get him to leave. She tried. He stayed. He hurt her. A lot. Again, I couldn't tell anyone. I'm sorry, mom. I'm so sorry. I should have said something. I was depressed then. Eight, when the beatings stopped. When he left. Finally. But someone new came to fill his spot. Depression. Not for me, of course. We were always good friends. But depression wanted to meet my mother. It did. So long to my loving, caring, beautiful mother. She had to become a stripper to support us. I don't mind. But when she wasn't sleeping, she was high on pot. I don't mind that either. But I missed the constant love I used to get from her. I missed being with her. I missed the quality time. I had to take care of my little sister most of the time. She was five years younger than I, but she bullied me. She called me names, cursed at me, hurt me physically. There was nothing I could do. If I did anything, I got in trouble. My sister needed special care, my sister needed special treatment. She was special. In the head, I mean. A depressed child taking care of a special child. I was depressed then. Ten, when my grandmother discovered our living conditions. When my grandmother took me and my sister away from my mother. When she gained legal custody of us. She was trying to do the right thing, but I missed my mother. I saw her very little. I missed her so much. Then my step father took his daughter from my grandmother. He gained legal custody of her easily, despite the history of domestic and child abuse. I didn't have anyone to talk to. I was alone. I was depressed then. Twelve, when the one friend I trusted betrayed me. He turned into my bully. He was popular. I wasn't. It was easy for him to turn our entire class on me. When the entire class turned on me, our entire academy turned on me. Hundreds of kids I had never spoken to, never looked at, never met, bullied me. What did I do? I did nothing. I couldn't tell anyone. Teachers noticed. They didn't tell anyone either. What was I to do? Nothing. There was nothing I could do. I was alone. I was depressed then. Now. Seventeen, when my school guidance counselor is the first to discover my depression. Clever woman, even though she hates me. I can see it in her eyes. I can hear it in the way she speaks to me. I can hear it in the way she speaks to others about me. I can hear it in the lies she tells others about me. What did I do to her? Nothing. I've barely talked to her. But she noticed. She made me see the social worker in the school. It didn't help. At all. It made it all worse. So much worse. I won't do my school work anymore. I ignore it on purpose. Why? I don't know. I'm smart enough to do it. I understand all the work. I can't push myself to do it. I have no motivation. I might not graduate this year. It should be embarrassing. I don't care. I couldn't care if I tried. I'm depressed now. Outside my grandmother, the guidance counselor, and the social worker, no one knows. Not my friends. Not my teachers. No one. It's not hard pretending to be happy. Acting isn't hard. I've been doing it all my life. Despite not being able to care about anything, I have anxiety attacks. Major panic attacks. Bad. I faint often. I don't know why. Doctors don't know why either. I'm supposed to see a neurologist, I don't know when. I'm supposed to see a cardiologist. I don't know when. I have suicidal thoughts almost daily. I'll never go through with them, I can't. I'm a coward. I've tried cutting, multiple times. Even just two days ago, in fact. Alas, I'm too much of a coward. Besides, it doesn't offer me the relief it does for others. They're lucky, those cutters. At least they have an escape. I'm depressed now. I have large breasts, a large butt, a pretty well developed body. An attractive face. Long, beautiful, flowing hair. I'm complimented on all these things daily. I hate all these things. They make guys follow me home. They make guys say disgusting things to me. They make guys touch me. They force me to carry pepper spray to school. I hate my body. I hate my face. I hate everything about me. I hate me. Nobody knows. No one. I'm depressed now. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know where I'm going. Not to college, I won't let myself. I don't know why. I sort of wanted to try beauty school, my grandmother won't let me. I'm thinking of being a stripper. I hear it pays well. I don't mind the constant threat of rape. I don't mind being surrounded by drugs. I don't mind a thing. I don't care. I couldn't care. There's no solution. There's no way out of this deep, dark hole. I'm depressed now. I'm traumatized. I have trust issues. I have daddy issues. I have self esteem issues. I have much too many issues. I don't trust anyone. I can't. I don't love anyone. Not my family, not my friends. I can't. I want to kill myself. I can't. I want to hurt myself. I can't. I want to ask for help, I can't. I want to tell someone all of this, I can't. I can only tell you people, you strangers. I can't do anything. I want to be able to love. I want to be able to care. I want to be able to smile, without faking it. I want to be able. I am depressed. I have always been depressed. I am depressed. I will always be depressed.