I Wanted to Scream

Hear me scream!

This is me after a long peaceful quiet walk on a beautiful midwestern fall day. The weather could not have been more perfect. The sky was clear, the air was fresh and crisp, the temperature was cool, the sun was warm, the colors were vibrant. It was a "perfect" fall day by most people's standards.

And yet I was crippled in depression. I wanted to scream, but I couldn't.

For as long as I can remember my recurring nightmare is not being able to scream when I'm in a predicament where I need to get someone's attention to help me. It's not always the same nightmare, but it's always the same outcome. I'm in a dangerous situation and there is a threat on my safety or life. No matter how hard I try to scream for help, I can't. I try and try to but only a faint sound comes out. No one ever hears me.

I never know what ends up happening to me in my nightmare. It ends with me trying to be heard and feeling terrified that no one can hear me. It will wake me up. I hear myself attempting to scream, and only a barely audible sound comes out.

Standing alone in this beautiful meadow I was taken to tears with the memory of being a child whose cries for help were never heard. There I stood, crying again, and still there was no one was there to hear me.

That was my childhood.

Screaming without a voice.

I grew up alone in a family of ten. I am the youngest, with four years separating me from the next youngest. I was left on my own to grow up. I had to learn for myself the things my parents or siblings should've been teaching me. I had to make decisions that I didn't know how to make.

My family referred to me as "the baby" and treated me as such. I wasn't given the opportunity to be heard because others either spoke for me or over me or against me. I let others be my voice while I remained silent.

I was painfully shy, or maybe I was just shy because of the pain. Emotional neglect and family disconnect has wreaked havoc on my relationships and my ability to speak for myself. We weren't supposed to be sad. We weren't supposed to cry.

But I was sad and I needed to cry.

I lost my voice.

I wanted to scream.

I went to the meadow that day because I was grieving the loss of a friendship. I drove a man away. I thought he was a good friend. Or so I told myself. He told me to get out of his life. He did so by email. He ignored my replies. He blocked me. He wouldn't talk to me. He wouldn't listen to me. Again, I had no voice. Except the one in my head. Which no one could hear.

I wanted to scream.

My silence is what you can't hear. My voice has always been there, talking inside my head. I didn't ever lose it. I just never used it.

And so, here I am.

I'm screaming.

My voice is silent, but my words are coming out and people can now hear me. The screams are still quiet, but now you can read them. Now my words have an ear and I can scream all I want.

Finding my voice in whatever form it takes has been a lifelong goal.

Following a divorce 5 years ago I dove into the abyss of a severe depression. After months of self-pity, self-loathing, and listening to the voices inside my screaming at me, I decided to share my words with friends and strangers on a blog. I had never made myself so vulnerable as I did writing about my depression, anxiety, and the craziness I felt during that period of my life.

It was more healing than my anti-depressant, my therapist, and any form of exercise was doing for me at the time. Writing saved my life, or at least my sanity.

Here I am again, in the grips of a depression I am mindfully working to overcome and writing. With every word I write my story is told and the voices in my head can be heard.

No more screaming.

Writing.