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I Have Depression

I Have Depression

Depression.

In my opinion, the ugliest word in the English dictionary. Defined as “a mental condition characterized by feelings of severe despondency and dejection, typically also with feelings of inadequacy and guilt, often accompanied by lack of energy and disturbance of appetite and sleep.”

Sorry, Meriam Webster, but that doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface. 

In an effort to better understand this mental illness, I made it a priority of mine to become an expert on all things related to depression. I’ve spent hours researching causes, effects, contributors and testimonies of those who have suffered. I came to one conclusion from all of this research: most people haven’t got a flippin’ clue as to what it’s like to deal with depression.  

Movies and TV shows make people with depression out to be total freaks. Psychos. The kind of freaks and psychos you’d see on American Horror Story. As if every person who experiences depression needs to be immediately locked up in a psych ward. Or treated as if they are going to explode like Mount Vesuvius at any moment.

I began to feel such frustration because I knew that depression was so much more than what it’s been made out to be. If people are ever going to take mental health seriously, someone’s got to tell the truth.

I came across an article from The Huffington Post, titled 50 Sufferers Describe Depression for People Who’ve Never Been Depressed. Have I finally hit the jackpot?! Here are some of the statements I read:

“Depression is a dark, inescapable place. It’s like being locked in a room with no light, windows or door. It’s so dark you can’t even see your hands in front of your face, let alone find a way out.”

“Like the death eaters in Harry Potter have caught you and sucked all the goodness from you.”

“Like mourning the death of someone you once loved – you. When you look in the mirror and see only dead eyes. There is no spark. No joy. No hope. You wonder how you will manage to exist another day.” 

Jackpot. A perfect description of this disease that is truly debilitating. A beautiful picture of what it feels like to constantly be a slave to your own life.

By this point, I’m sure you’re probably wondering why I have chosen to create this blog and appoint myself as an advocate for mental health awareness. I don’t want to keep you guessing any longer, because at this point you’ve done me enough of a service by reading this far. So, here goes…

In September of 2015 I was diagnosed with clinical depression. I kind of expected this diagnosis for a big part of my life, because there is a lot of mental illness in my family genetics. I always knew there was something different about me, but I never wanted to accept that I had this disease.

When I was diagnosed I was going through an extremely difficult season of life. I had just graduated high school, had my heart broken and was weary of the college I had chosen. I felt so unbelievably lost and unfamiliar with myself. I had no idea what to do, where to go or who to be.

I won’t bore you with my several-year struggle with depression. My intent in writing this was to first, shed light on what much of society is too uncomfortable to discuss, and two, share my story in the hope that someone else might relate and hold on to the hope that depression does not define a person.

It’s hard to put into words what it feels like to have this illness. My depression has become an absolute monster that I’ve had to wrestle with every minute of every day; a dark fog that constantly finds its way into my life without my knowledge or consent. Depression is a cancer of the mind and soul. It’s like thrashing around in the ocean, drowning, and screaming for help, but realizing there’s no one on the beach with a life preserver. Depression is being locked in a pitch black room and frantically searching for a window or a flashlight, only to find that the light is unreachable. It is a total loss of control; an identity crisis that distorts the image in the mirror. It’s like standing in the middle of a crowded intersection, watching life go on around you, while you are stuck in quicksand with no way out.

I’ve spent a lot of time figuring out just how I wanted to display this to the world. There have been many occasions with my life where my depression has come between me and other people.

“Why are you so emotional?”

“Just get over it.”

“You have no reason to be sad. You have such a good life and so many blessings.”

“Stop being so dramatic.”

“It’s hard to be around you when you cry so much.”

“No wonder you’re so screwed up.”

“You overthink everything.”

All of those things, and many more, have been said to me at some point in my life. Things I have never, ever forgotten. The problem is not what these people have said to me. Of course, people are jerks sometimes, but that is probably due to the fact that they are so incredibly ill-informed of what it looks like to live with depression. But my intent in writing this is not to point fingers at the people who have made me feel less. I’d actually like to thank all of you. Because of your insensitivity and blatant disregard for human emotion, I have finally figured out the answer I’ve been desperately searching for for years. 

I have severe clinical depression. I take two medications every day and visit a therapist regularly to try and fight against this darkness. I am a really emotional person. I always have been. I’m sensitive and I sometimes get worked up over small things. I cry a lot because I feel a lot. When I love someone, romantically or platonically, I love deep. I’m full of passion and run full speed after the things my heart burns for. I am complex, intricate and complicated. I have always hated being the emotional one. Sadness is a normal and healthy human emotion. But I always resented the fact that sadness was never “normal” for me. It was amplified by a million. And I’ve spent so much time apologizing for who I am. I’ve tried desperately to ignore and suppress this illness in hopes that people won’t give up on me. I’ve had to learn that that’s impossible. I had to come to the realization that I have depression, and yes, most of the time it totally sucks, but it is also part of who I am. I’ve decided to love the things I used to hate about myself. I’ve decided that I’d rather care too much than not at all. I always wanted to be the cool, popular girl that seems to have it all together all the time. I wanted to be perfect. I’ve spent too much of my life trying to cover up who I really am and fit the mold that I thought everyone else wanted me to be. 

I watched a movie called It’s Kind of a Funny Story, about a young man with depression who attempts to end his life but instead finds it after spending a week in a mental hospital. This movie is what inspired me to write this blog. Unfortunately, I have to kind of spoil the ending of the movie to get the point across … oh well.

Okay, I know you're thinking, "What is this? Kid spends a few days in the hospital and all his problems are cured?" But I'm not. I know I'm not. I can tell this is just the beginning. I still need to face my homework, my school, my friends. My dad. But the difference between today and last Saturday is that for the first time in a while, I can look forward to the things I want to do in my life. Bike, eat, drink, talk. Ride the subway, read, read maps. Make maps, make art. Finish the Gates application. Tell my dad not to stress about it. Hug my mom. Kiss my little sister. Kiss my dad. Make out with Noelle. Make out with her more. Take her on a picnic. See a movie with her. See a movie with Aaron. Heck, see a movie with Nia. Have a party. Tell people my story. Volunteer at 3 North. Help people like Bobby. Like Muqtada. Like me. Draw more. Draw a person. Draw a naked person. Draw Noelle naked. Run, travel, swim, skip. Yeah, I know it's lame, but, whatever. Skip anyway. Breathe... Live.

My struggle with depression has completely plagued my life to the point where I too have laid in a hospital bed after deciding I no longer wanted my life to continue. I have felt so consumed by darkness that I genuinely felt there was no hope left in the world, that all happiness was out of reach. But those times of darkness and despair have led me to where I am now: on my feet. Living. Breathing. Continuing even when I never thought I could.

I am not my mental illness. I am not a slave to my depression. I am a person that just happened to be born with a chemical imbalance in my brain that allows me to feel deeper than the average person. I’m thankful for my depression. Because instead of being the popular girl that had her life together, I was the little girl who noticed someone sitting alone at lunch and felt so horrible for them to the point of tears. I was the girl in kindergarten who sat with the lonely person, and played with the boy with no friends at recess, even when the popular girls made fun of me. I am the person that cares too much and feels too deeply, and because of that, I am unique. I have something to offer that other people don’t. I’ve decided to view my depression as a quality rather than a crutch. I’ve decided to accept that there will be bad days, but those days will only make me appreciate the sunny ones more. I’ve decided to stop being so insecure about the person God hand stitched me to be. For so long I’ve wondered, “What is God’s purpose for me? How could this horrible mental illness possibly bring any positivity?” By the grace of God, I’ve finally figured it out. God puts us through trials so that we will learn to rely on Him instead of ourselves. Instead of apologizing for who God made me to be, I’m embracing it. I’m taking advantage of this disease to help other people understand, cope and grow. I’m using it to bring glory to all of God’s wisdom, comfort and healing. Because I am broken I am beautiful. It’s time that I got up off the floor, wiped my tears and contributed something good to the world. I’m not ashamed to say that I’m not perfect, and I have struggled through some very difficult things. I never thought I would come out alive after some of the battles I’ve fought. But God remained faithful and carried me when I could not walk. I’ve learned that I cannot control the things that happen to me, but I can control my reaction to them. I will climb this mountain and I will succeed. Though I will be covered in mud, cut my knees on sharp rocks and lose my footing more than once, I will continue to climb. I will eventually reach the top and overcome what I have let paralyze me for so long. Because I am weak, I am strong. 

I have depression. And I’m still living.

The Darkness

The Darkness