Depression isn't all it's cracked up to be

Since I can remember I have always harboured thoughts that I am useless, fat, disgusting and many other things. Where did these thoughts come from? I am guessing they stem from me hearing other people's opinions of me. Some family members were never particularly nice to me growing up. My parents were always the ones who tried to protect me and love me, and they did love me for who I was, who I am and what I looked like. They only ever tried their best for me. But sadly there were occasions when they didn't hear the other people say these demeaning things to me. No matter how much my parents told me I was loved, lovely and worthy of anything, the other voices were stronger.
Then it started to get worse, more people joined in the tiresome noises in my head - my peers, doctors, people who I did not know and who did not know me, Of course there were the normal "it's such a shame, you would be so much prettier if you lost the weight" to the "you are fat - you can't join in with us", which over the years as I grew and went onto high school, college, the work place only got worse, as did my weight. The louder the voices in my head became, the more I would try to eat and push back those noises, and the worse things got. Back then I was a teenager, and obesity and bullying were not as talked about as they are now.
It wasn't until I was in my early 20's that a doctor finally asked the big question - "How are YOU?" those 3 little words were something I had never been asked before. But they unleashed a tsunami of feelings that food had always repressed. She decided to put me on antidepressants and suggested I see a counsellor. To be honest, I'd have given anything to rid myself of these voices.
So that was the first of many conversations I'd have with people over the years on how to deal with my demons.
Over the past 15 years I have seen many different people who have tried to help me, but none of it has really stuck. I have tried many techniques from meditation, mindfulness and Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. But none of it has ever really helped.
No matter what questions I asked I could not get the answers I think I needed, I couldn't put these voices and painful memories into a compartment into my mind.
I know I should be stronger than these things, but I am not. Eating is still my comfort and still the thing that helps dull the pain. But still the real voices are there, they are my daily reminder that some people are cruel. I cannot even sit in a silent room - no matter what I am doing I always have the radio, the television or some kind of other voice, even to get to sleep.
I still take antidepressants and remain hopeful that one day I can find a way to learn to like myself.