A Depressing Road to Happiness

Today’s GUEST BLOGGER entry comes from a lady who’s fairly new to the world of blogging and who goes by the name of Charlotte Callard. For many years Charlotte has been fighting a very private battle with depression. Recently Charlotte has decided to take the plunge and has bravely written her first article on what it’s like to live with depression and has also given a candid and frank account of her own personal story. Click on the link after reading the intro to check out Charlotte’s blog and to continue reading her amazing post! Enjoy…

depressing road to happiness

After years of nagging, I’m finally writing just like you always wanted. Nan, this one is for you.

This blog post will be the hardest one I will ever write, but talking about mental illness not only helps the person suffering, but the loved ones or people around you who don’t understand what you’re truly going through. I hope this post gives a little insight into how depression and anxiety takes hold, but please note: this is just my story and how my illness affects me. Everyone’s depression or anxiety is different to the person it affects and I’m not trying to sit here and generalise at all.

So lets start from the beginning. I was a very happy little girl and I loved everyone and everything around me. I loved going to school and spending all day with my friends, and then to go home and spend time with my grandmother and my little sister while my parents worked their bums off to make sure we had a secure upbringing. I had everything I could have ever wanted. However, one thing that jaded my happiness was my grandad being ill in a nursing home. He had been ill ever since I could remember. We would visit him weekly and laugh and joke with him for a few hours. Those few hours were nice, because we forgot that he was really ill, and its like we had our grandad back. Then we left, and it was heartbreaking because we would say our goodbyes and I would tell him I loved him so very much,  he would reply with “I love you too” and by the time we returned a week later, he had forgotten who we were.

Click here to read on


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