I Believe In Recovery Essay

I believe in recovery. My grandmother told me once, “God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers.” After all I’ve been through I’m proud to say that I’m still standing, I’m still strong. Although depression is something I live with everyday, I don’t let it control me anymore. There are good days, and there are bad days but no matter what I’m grateful for the live that I have.
Globally, an estimated 350 million people suffer from depression, and I am one of them. My depression is the center of my life. I am never without it, well this and my crippling anxiety. Throughout my entire life, all I can remember is being: afraid, nervous, and sad. I attended church, bible study, and even joined a youth group. But all the Jesus in the world couldn’t help what was going on with me. I remember the times when I would sit and cry, because I thought maybe if I prayed just a little bit harder it would all go away. I knew I couldn’t go to my family with these problems because all I would hear is, “Depression is for white girls”, or “What you got to be depressed for? You have a roof over your head, food on the table and clothes on your back.” So, I hid. On the outside I was perfect. Grades? Perfect. Appearance? Perfect. My cover was
so perfect I almost believed it myself. Almost. I thought keeping to myself would help, but in a way it made me a target.
Kids at school, my siblings, adults, and cousins all had a dagger pointed right at me. My skin. If you have eyes you can clearly see that I am dark skin. As a kid I just thought I was me, I never really payed any attention to skin tones, but as I grew older I realized that the people around me did. My skin wasn’t the only problem: my lips, my body, my hair, my teeth, my clothes, and get this my voice. Out of all the things I was picked on for, my voice has to be the most foolish one. Growing up I attended a predominantly black school. Shockingly it was weird and “white” of me to fully pronounce my words, speak in complete sentences, and be grammatically
correct. High School. Boys, football games, parties, and all the other joys of being a teen. It was supposed to be fun, but instead it’s where I finally cracked. Grades? Bad. Appearance? Terrible. I just didn’t care anymore; I stopped doing my homework, I skipped school, and I stopped caring for myself. I never thought counseling would actually work, but it actually saved my life. It gave me the will to continue. I realized that no matter what, I was put on this earth for a purpose, and I wasn’t leaving until that purpose was served. I believe in recovery because no matter what’s happened, the best things come to those who believe.