Manic Depression

11 Pages 2656 Words

I tried to ignore the large sign. It was black with bold white letters that said “Family Mental Health Services.” I took my anxiety out on the door and pushed past it with unnecessary force. I walked to the front desk and was greeted by a secretary whose smile seemed to know my discomfort all too well.
“Good morning,” I muttered under my breath, trying not to look her directly in the eyes. I felt she would look into me and formulate a diagnosis even before I spoke. I smiled weakly and sat down in an uncomfortable waiting room chair, trying to avoid her as much as the small room would allow. My stomach clenched as I sat down in the uncomfortable waiting room chair. I looked around me at the others, waiting. The number of children there surprised me. I looked them over, one by one, and found myself attempting to name their dysfunctions, just as I thought the secretary would. I wondered if she made a guessing game out of it. After all, she had the ability to check the files to see if she was correct.
“Do I really need to be here?” I asked myself, almost audibly. Then I thought back to the beginning of it all, the beginning of my depression.

It was eighth grade and I sat in my mother’s small apartment, thinking about the formal dance that was to be held that night. I was nervous; I had no talent for dancing back then, nor had I ever been to a dance. I glanced at my beautiful dress and my stomach tightened. It seemed to be mocking me. I was overwhelmed by a sense of hesitation. I didn’t have to go; I could just sit there and watch TV by myself all night. No one would miss me. But I had to go; I wasn’t a coward.
Suddenly a thought crossed my mind. Mom takes pills for her depression. I could take them, and then I would feel fine! It would all be okay; I could have fun at the dance and not worry. I waited for my mother to go outside for a cigarette, and I went to the medicine cabinet. I looked through the bottles...