Deborah,

You sound like you are writing the story of my life, with the exception that I wasn't diagnosed until I was 33 and my parents didn't have any clues there was anything wrong.

While medication and therapy have helped at various times, the thing that really has helped me is attending Recovery International support groups.  The groups have helped me to think more positively and have also given me numerous other tools to help with depression and anxiety.  The web site for Recovery International is www.recovery-inc.org. 

It's nice that your parents recognized something was wrong.  Mine thought something was wrong with me in that I shouldn't be depressed, because nothing was wrong.  SO MUCH was wrong.

I was a child during the '60s and '70s when depression wasn't generallly recognized in children.  I also had parents who didn't believe in psychiatry, no matter what the illness.  I grew up in an extremely dysfunctional home, where my mother and sister were the main culprits.  My Dad went to work at 7:30am and returned at about 8pm or 9pm, missing everything, and my mom didn't do, or allow any screaming and yelling, etc. from my sister as soon as my dad got home.  My sister started hating me at about age 6 or 7 (my age; she is 3 years older), and the criticisms, hitting, berating, etc. started in full force about then.  She had been awful with my Mom for a while before that, but I'm not sure why, it being so long ago, and not remembering much from that age and younger.  In 7th grade, my mom found out that I had held hands with a boy and that commenced the tirades about how I was a slut, etc.  I would fight back, telling her I didn't do anything but hold hands, etc., but to no avail.  She kept up this name calling and the general yelling, sometimes with my sister joined in, until I left 2 weeks before my 18th birthday.  Around age 16, I called the Police because of her behavior.  Back then, it wasn't known / accepted that parents exacted horrible abuses on their children.  The Police did a bit to help, but didn't really know what to do with an A-student who also held a steady job, and had never been in trouble.  They had me talk with the guy who dealt with juviniles in gangs, and he was somewhat helpful, but obviously wasn't nearly a fit for who I was and my situation.  He talked to my parents also, who were more pissed off at me than realizing my mom had huge problems.  I took myself to the psychologist that the gang-guy recommended, but could only do so because I had a car, and my job had insurance that covered his fees.  My parents were totally against it, naturally, defensively saying none of it was their fault.  They never understood why I have had major depression all of these years -- I just turned 48.  I tried numerous times, more than I can begin to count, to find out what was going on with my mom to make her treat a child she supposedly loved this way.  She repeatedly said she couldn't remember the incidences I brought up, and got to the point of just saying "I know I wasn't a good mother," as a general response.  If I had been that awful, I don't know if I'd want to remember my deeds, but if I had children who I professed to love as much as she, I would have tried to do what I could to make it better, if just giving her understanding, later on.  My mother wasn't one for self-reflection or examination, being more preoccupied with her Baptist religion, and thinking that prayer made everything ok.  Denial made everything ok for her, not prayer.  I just asked my sister a couple of days ago what made her so critical, hit me so much, and berate me and others constantly.  She said she -- get ready for it -- didn't remember.  Do most domestic perpetrators forget what they've done?  I can see how they might need to to live with themselves, but what others need is also important.  Atoning for what they've done is extremely important.  One thing my sister said was "I had friends.  Why would I have had friends if I was like that?"  Well, she didn't behave so horribly to anyone but the family.  Typical.  She thought it had all been resolved after I left a note under her door about 15 years ago asking why she hated me so much, and why she always had.  I told her I wanted something like a sit-down that a crime victim has with the criminal, where the victim gets to ask why it happened, etc.  She said to me, in a very intimidating tone of voice, "You better stop comparing me to criminals."  This was a woman who, after finding out what "choking out" meant (something Police, Sheriff's depts. used to do on a regular basis), would say she was going to choke you out if you did or said something she didn't like -- including telling her to stop criticizing, berating, and hitting you.  She threatened my mom as well.  Somewhere at about age 17, she took me by the shoulders and banged my head against the wall repeatedly, not choking me out, but head injuries were as far as I could go with her.  I moved out as soon as I had enough money and the prospect of a job in the next state.  Oh, and my mother's solution to her having banged my head against the wall was that if my sister was home, but my mom had to go somewhere, hence leaving me alone with my sister again, I should go with my mom.  She never said a word to my sister.  My sister berates her husband to this day, criticizing something as trivial and basic as the shape of his nostrils.  She went on and on about this, unprovoked, in my mother's hospital room a week before my mom died.  He husband occasionally sets her straight, but mostly puts up with hit.  He just looked up at her while she was standing there criticizing his nostrils, not saying a thing.

My mom died just over 2 years ago, and my dad just died a week ago.  He turned out to be as mean as my mom and sister, but wasn't around to express it until he retired.  I finally feel free in a certain way, but the fact that no one would admit, therefore apologize, still bothers me.  I have tried to put this behind me all of my life, but it seems near impossible.  Maybe now that the imminent threats are gone, I don't have to see my sister that much, I'll start feeling more stable in this area.  I have PTSD as a result of the atmosphere I grew up in, and have tried and tried to find someone who knows how to treat PTSD in someone who is not, for instance, a rape victim, or has it from the military to no avail.  I have been on disability for major depression since the mid '90s.  It's almost impossible to find people who understand PTSD and major depression, and who want to be around me.  I don't want to be around me, so I get it, but it's still hard.  I have tried NAMI, but the leader of the group only went on and on about how god had "cured" him, and others should try the same thing.  I reported him, so fine there, but not fine for finding others to relate to.  I'm too tired to look for another therapist -- the last one laughed when I told her how my sister made fun of my brother-in-law's nostrils, my having told her in advance that it was a mild example of how she would pull something out of thin air to start berating.  I walked out after giving her a chance to expalin her laughter, which she couldn't.  I am near the end of my rope, having lived with this for so long.  I have tried so many medications, most that didn't work, and the one that sort-of worked of late causing a couple of bad side-effects.

Please don't write back, anyone, saying to not give up.  It's not the point.  My point is just to share what happened to me.  Maybe others have had the same experience.  Just as with unrelenting physical pain, mental pain can wear one down to not being able to do anything else.  And I don't have anyone around me who is willing to help.