Depression seems to be a bad word in modern society. The truth about depression is that even talking about it makes people uncomfortable. If that is true for you, I'd suggest you discontinue reading now.
Depression has been something I've struggled with since I was in middle school. I don't have any degrees in psychology, nor am I interested in pursuing a job in that field, but I do have an intimate understand of how this disease takes hold and can change a person's entire world view.
When I was in ninth grade, we were required to write a lengthy research paper. A lot of people chose historical events to write about. I chose antidepressants. I knew that I wasn't feeling 100% like myself and wanted to know if antidepressants would help get me back to the me I knew and liked. I didn't know anything about how they worked, aside conversations with a family member who I knew took them. That family member, having no degrees in psychology nor a history, either vocationally or educationally, in medicine was basically repeating what their psychiatrist told them about the drugs they were taking. The antidepressants, or as this family member jokingly referred to them as "happy pills," didn't make you feel happy all the time. Instead they raised the valley floors when you were at your lowest.
That research paper was my first cry for help. I remember writing and discussing it with many people in my family. I'm not sure if they knew I was struggling with depression and were too uncomfortable to broach the subject with me or if they were just unaware to my mental anguish, but I knew something was off.
Depression in teenagers, at least in my experience, can often be brushed off as simple teen angst. I remember when my mother's boyfriend came to visit, I didn't interact with him much. Instead, I came home from school and just hung out in my room. This was my sophomore year of high school; my hardest year of high school emotionally. The last thing I wanted to do was go make small talk with a man who I didn't know very well and with whom I had had even less in common after spending all day at school pretending to be someone I wasn't and still having to deal with the, albeit small, group of people who would still spread rumors and/or make fun of me for being different.
I remember starting talk therapy my junior year. I met with three psychologists before I settled on one. I wasn't a fan of any of them. Talk therapy just made me delve deeper into my head when I was alone. It made me realize that I had thoughts that scared me. I realized that I was suicidal.
That same year I remember having a physical. When the doctor asked me about my mental health, I was truthful. I said I was depressed. The doctor pressed further. Did I have any suicidal thoughts? I said I didn't know, but maybe. She said that anyone who had suicidal thoughts had a plan. I realized I did. I remember thinking how easy it would be to go to the garage, lock the door behind me and turn on the car. Simple. Painless. Easy. That's when I realized that I was in a bad place.
Looking back on it, I'm not exactly sure what jolted me out of that particular valley. I think it was probably the summer I spent abroad in France. It forced me to open my eyes to a world beyond myself. I was able to explore a completely new culture and see things from a completely different perspective. I made friends from all over the world that summer. I got to do incredible things. I remembered how happy a person could actually be.
Thought college, my depression came and went. I have always been fortunate enough to surround myself with incredible people. A vast majority of the people are the kind to lift you up for no other reason than to see you soar. I have to credit that as a major reason why I made it through my college career relatively free from any major bouts of depression. There were a few bouts here and there. I actually decided that I would try my hands at going on antidepressants. I met with a physician at student health and he put me on my own "happy pills." It would take about two weeks for them to kick in. Being a millennial, if it wasn't instant gratification, I wasn't interested. I don't think I took them long enough to really feel any of the positive side effects. I do remember, though, dark thoughts occurring more often. They went away when I got off the meds.
When I moved to Washington, D.C. I was lucky enough to move with one of my best friends. We had lived together senior year of college, and he was as excited to move to DC as I was. We had an awesome two bedroom apartment in Georgetown where we lived for four years together. It was awesome. But despite his friendship, I felt the loneliness creeping in. After my relationship with S ended, it really hit me hard. I felt incredibly isolated and alone. It was the height of winter, it was freezing, it was dark, and I felt completely alone. This was the winter of 2014.
There was one night in February of 2014 I will never forget. I'm not sure exactly what brought on the thoughts, but they were there and they weren't going away. I was in one of the deepest valleys I had ever ventured into. I needed help but wasn't sure about how to get it. The tears came. They were a combination of sadness and fear. I wasn't sure how the night was going to end for me. There were plenty of pills in my bathroom that I could take to make the hurt in my soul stop. But the thought of leaving my family filled me with guilt. I couldn't do this to them. But I didn't feel like I had the strength to keep on surviving. I called two friends that night and told them they needed to check in with me the next day.
Obviously that night ended and I lived through it. But the threat that the next valley can be so deep I can't climb out is real. I have managed to find productive ways to release my stresses and anxieties. I joke with my grandmother that my voice lessons are my therapy. But it isn't much of a joke. For sixty minutes a week I get to do nothing but make music. I get to sing about emotions I am too afraid or ashamed to admit I have. I can express them by taking on a character and letting that character feel them for me. More often than not I come out of my voice lessons feeling happier than I had in a long time.
I write this post not to shock the world or ask for pity from anyone. I write this and share my story with anyone who happens across this blog because depression is real. It can affect anyone. I am well liked and have so much to be grateful for. But when this mental illness takes hold, it strips your ability to see those things away from you. It isn't that you're ungrateful. It's that you're incapable of recognizing the good. And for me, that compounds the problem. I feel even worse that I feel bad because I know I have no real excuse to feel down. But I have learned to let myself feel my feelings. And to rely on those around me be my ladder out of those dark valleys.
Depression has been something I've struggled with since I was in middle school. I don't have any degrees in psychology, nor am I interested in pursuing a job in that field, but I do have an intimate understand of how this disease takes hold and can change a person's entire world view.
When I was in ninth grade, we were required to write a lengthy research paper. A lot of people chose historical events to write about. I chose antidepressants. I knew that I wasn't feeling 100% like myself and wanted to know if antidepressants would help get me back to the me I knew and liked. I didn't know anything about how they worked, aside conversations with a family member who I knew took them. That family member, having no degrees in psychology nor a history, either vocationally or educationally, in medicine was basically repeating what their psychiatrist told them about the drugs they were taking. The antidepressants, or as this family member jokingly referred to them as "happy pills," didn't make you feel happy all the time. Instead they raised the valley floors when you were at your lowest.
That research paper was my first cry for help. I remember writing and discussing it with many people in my family. I'm not sure if they knew I was struggling with depression and were too uncomfortable to broach the subject with me or if they were just unaware to my mental anguish, but I knew something was off.
Depression in teenagers, at least in my experience, can often be brushed off as simple teen angst. I remember when my mother's boyfriend came to visit, I didn't interact with him much. Instead, I came home from school and just hung out in my room. This was my sophomore year of high school; my hardest year of high school emotionally. The last thing I wanted to do was go make small talk with a man who I didn't know very well and with whom I had had even less in common after spending all day at school pretending to be someone I wasn't and still having to deal with the, albeit small, group of people who would still spread rumors and/or make fun of me for being different.
I remember starting talk therapy my junior year. I met with three psychologists before I settled on one. I wasn't a fan of any of them. Talk therapy just made me delve deeper into my head when I was alone. It made me realize that I had thoughts that scared me. I realized that I was suicidal.
That same year I remember having a physical. When the doctor asked me about my mental health, I was truthful. I said I was depressed. The doctor pressed further. Did I have any suicidal thoughts? I said I didn't know, but maybe. She said that anyone who had suicidal thoughts had a plan. I realized I did. I remember thinking how easy it would be to go to the garage, lock the door behind me and turn on the car. Simple. Painless. Easy. That's when I realized that I was in a bad place.
Looking back on it, I'm not exactly sure what jolted me out of that particular valley. I think it was probably the summer I spent abroad in France. It forced me to open my eyes to a world beyond myself. I was able to explore a completely new culture and see things from a completely different perspective. I made friends from all over the world that summer. I got to do incredible things. I remembered how happy a person could actually be.
Thought college, my depression came and went. I have always been fortunate enough to surround myself with incredible people. A vast majority of the people are the kind to lift you up for no other reason than to see you soar. I have to credit that as a major reason why I made it through my college career relatively free from any major bouts of depression. There were a few bouts here and there. I actually decided that I would try my hands at going on antidepressants. I met with a physician at student health and he put me on my own "happy pills." It would take about two weeks for them to kick in. Being a millennial, if it wasn't instant gratification, I wasn't interested. I don't think I took them long enough to really feel any of the positive side effects. I do remember, though, dark thoughts occurring more often. They went away when I got off the meds.
When I moved to Washington, D.C. I was lucky enough to move with one of my best friends. We had lived together senior year of college, and he was as excited to move to DC as I was. We had an awesome two bedroom apartment in Georgetown where we lived for four years together. It was awesome. But despite his friendship, I felt the loneliness creeping in. After my relationship with S ended, it really hit me hard. I felt incredibly isolated and alone. It was the height of winter, it was freezing, it was dark, and I felt completely alone. This was the winter of 2014.
There was one night in February of 2014 I will never forget. I'm not sure exactly what brought on the thoughts, but they were there and they weren't going away. I was in one of the deepest valleys I had ever ventured into. I needed help but wasn't sure about how to get it. The tears came. They were a combination of sadness and fear. I wasn't sure how the night was going to end for me. There were plenty of pills in my bathroom that I could take to make the hurt in my soul stop. But the thought of leaving my family filled me with guilt. I couldn't do this to them. But I didn't feel like I had the strength to keep on surviving. I called two friends that night and told them they needed to check in with me the next day.
Obviously that night ended and I lived through it. But the threat that the next valley can be so deep I can't climb out is real. I have managed to find productive ways to release my stresses and anxieties. I joke with my grandmother that my voice lessons are my therapy. But it isn't much of a joke. For sixty minutes a week I get to do nothing but make music. I get to sing about emotions I am too afraid or ashamed to admit I have. I can express them by taking on a character and letting that character feel them for me. More often than not I come out of my voice lessons feeling happier than I had in a long time.
I write this post not to shock the world or ask for pity from anyone. I write this and share my story with anyone who happens across this blog because depression is real. It can affect anyone. I am well liked and have so much to be grateful for. But when this mental illness takes hold, it strips your ability to see those things away from you. It isn't that you're ungrateful. It's that you're incapable of recognizing the good. And for me, that compounds the problem. I feel even worse that I feel bad because I know I have no real excuse to feel down. But I have learned to let myself feel my feelings. And to rely on those around me be my ladder out of those dark valleys.
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