Depression 1.0

I remember my mother taking me to see a psychologist when I was 11. She wasn't great at managing her own emotions, let alone those of a pre-teen boy.

If I remember correctly, I was in sixth grade, and it was right after an incident at school where I threatened my French teacher. "Ms. Tolbert" (not my mom's name, by the way), "Brian made some pretty disturbing comments to me today that I need to make you aware of." I can't remember what the teacher said to me, but I threatened to blow up her car and set her house on fire. When I got home that night, my mom gave me a play-by-play of the call.

This was about two years before Columbine. I don't know what kind of trouble I would've been in if I'd made a threat like that after it happened.

For as long as I can remember, I've had a baseline of sadness, with a simmering rage underneath that could turn into explosive anger at any point. My mother didn't understand where it was coming from. She knew I carried a lot of sadness about not knowing my father. What she couldn't understand was why I seemed so irritable and angry all of the time.

At the time, I couldn't understand it either. In hindsight, it's so clear. I never had an outlet to process my trauma, so it showed up through the only forms of expression I knew. I guess that's what happens when you're taught that happiness and anger are the only acceptable emotions.