THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Friday, June 30, 1995 TAG: 9506300053
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY STEPHANIE RICCO, HIGH SCHOOL CORRESPONDENT
LENGTH: Medium: 74 lines
I NEVER SAW it coming, that demon called depression.
I was 17, a senior and had my mind set on doing well in school, graduating and going away to college. Sure, there were problems with my mom at home, but that seemed normal. Then the stress and the problems started piling up on top of me. The burden got too heavy.
It was a battle for me to just get up in the morning, to get dressed for school. I would wake up, get up, take a shower and crawl back into bed. I spent most of my time sleeping. I was mentally and physically drained. Although I slept all the time, I was always exhausted. I was becoming more and more detached from my friends, family and school. I had it set in my mind that no one understood what I was going through.
I think that it all started with the breakup with my first serious boyfriend. My life felt so empty after that. I took the separation really hard.
I started arguing with my mother all the time about my falling grades, about my responsibilities around the house, about my father and his paying child support and about how she couldn't trust me because I wasn't open about who I was dating.
My mother didn't understand how much I was hurting about the breakup with my boyfriend. She couldn't give me the support I needed and neither could my friends. Eventually, my mom and I just stopped talking.
I hated school. I was so miserable being there that I just stopped going. I didn't care about anything anymore. I was crying all the time. I stopped spending time with my friends.
The only constructive thing I did was working as a teen journalist for a community magazine that is written for and by teens. But I even started having problems there getting along with the staff.
And I started having serious thoughts of taking my own life. My mom caught me one night sitting in my room with a bottle of sleeping pills. She took them away.
I finally attempted to open up to someone by writing down my feelings. I wrote a two-page letter on notebook paper, put it in an envelope and gave it to my best friend, Daisy. She is the same age as I am, and we have been friends since we were 14. I trust her completely. In the letter, I told her what I was going through. I also mentioned that I didn't feel like living any more.
Daisy went to our school counselor in tears, explained what I was going through and showed her the letter. The counselor told Daisy to try to get me to come in to talk.
When Daisy told me what she had done and that she wanted me to talk to a counselor, I started to cry. Daisy thought I would be mad, but I wasn't. I was surprised at how much she cared for me and how much my pain was affecting her. I promised to give counseling a try.
Daisy and I went together for the first session; it helped to talk to someone who was objective. I then decided to go to a private therapist, and thanks to my mother's health insurance, I was able to.
I looked forward to talking to my therapist each week, but I believe that if it wasn't for my best friend, I wouldn't have gotten the help that I needed. My depression would have gotten worse and might have led me to the most drastic thing of all: suicide. I know now that it isn't the answer to any problem.
I was in therapy for a year. In that year I learned so much about myself. My self-esteem is now higher and I'm looking forward to the future. I'm much happier now than I was a year ago. My relationship with my mom is better. I realize that breaking up with my ex-boyfriend was for the best. I've done much better in school and plan to go on to college.
The demon has finally left. ILLUSTRATION: Color photo
STEPHANIE RICCO IS A 1995 GRADUATE OF VIRGINIA BEACH OPEN CAMPUS
HIGH SCHOOL.
by CNB