Carrie’s Reflections

Now a 21-year-old adult, the memories of foster care don’t come with the pang of anger and resentment that it used to have.

Feelings of loneliness are replaced with the confident desire to make friends and be included. Guilt flourished into acceptance and the ability to move on rather than constantly striving and failing to change the past.

However, one thing that left more of deep wound was the constant feeling of melancholy engraved in everything I did, that soon became the black hole that is depression. Being shunned by the family who had promised to accept me left me in an all-consuming, self-medicating cycle of self-harm, withdrawal and anger which often led to feelings of worthlessness and isolation.

I have always felt my mental health led me into a false sense of security. Unable to get out of bed and face the day, despite how hard it was, was comforting. Knowing that I could bury myself under the covers and wrap myself up in my own sadness made me feel safe. I couldn’t be seen as fragile and a burden if I isolated myself from everyone and kept myself hidden.

My reluctance to open up to any one close to me closed me off further from the world and continued to warp my sense of reality. I became someone simply occupying a body. I couldn’t experience or relish anything; things I loved became excuses and the mere everyday tasks like showering and putting on make-up became a tiresome mission. Friends became people I used to know and family became strangers, as my depression pushed me further and further into myself, where everything felt numb.

Day to day, I hold down a full time job. But my eyes are glazed and everything feels heavy and hazy. Everything is heightened. My skin feels more sensitive to the touch and noises become loud echoes. The only way I can describe depression in a sentence is that it is as if the TV is on in the background but it’s quiet. Despite this it’s constantly on and buzzing and the inconvenience of it never fades. No matter how happy, I cannot forget the moment where all of life’s struggles become real. It’ll always be there.

I’ve lived with depression for a few years now, and now I’m 21 and able to articulate my feelings and make clearer sense of them, I realise the importance of speaking up.

There will always be someone to listen no matter how much of a burden you think you are. I personally struggle to realise and accept this, but hopefully, with time and being able to maintain and strengthen relationships, I can open up and let myself be vulnerable.

Vulnerable doesn’t mean weak. There’s strength and courage in letting people see that side of you. The world wouldn’t be the same without you and it’s important you always remember this.

Words by Carrie Duggan.