Trigger warning: this article contains language about depression and suicide.
Depression was the worst and best thing to happen to me.
Depression almost took my life on multiple occasions.
Depression is a battle that I am still fighting.
My depression changes forms and comes to visit me on occasion, and sometimes I have no choice but to accept its selfish and relentless company. Only now, I am stronger and I know myself better. I have the willingness to be able to use constructive coping mechanisms and the confidence to know that I am more than my depression.
I remember the day that I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and Generalized Anxiety Disorder by my psychiatrist. I was 15 and a sophomore in high school. At first, I was in denial and did not want to acknowledge that something could be “wrong” with me. However, it was not so much of a shock as much as it confirmed that what I was going through was not as abnormal and unheard of as I had once thought. I was not alone. In fact, my doctor told me that depressive disorders affect nearly 19 million American adults every year and account for over 40% of diagnosed mental illness.
Throughout my depression, I remember feeling so isolated, so alone, and in overwhelming pain. It was worse than any physical pain I have ever experienced. I wondered to myself if any of it would ever end. At times I tried to fake being happy, but I was exhausted. I simply did not want to think about it anymore. I was done trying different therapies and medications. I just wanted to be authentically happy but had to face the reality that I was utterly miserable. I did not think that happiness was a reasonable goal to attain at that point in my life. I had nothing to look forward to.
There was a point in which my depression felt insurmountable. Every day felt like a never-ending carousel of routine. Wake up (maybe), go to school, come home, overthink every detail of my day, cry, study, stay up, struggle to get a few hours of sleep, repeat. I felt like I was just floating in a nightmare, stuck in the part when I am about to be killed only to wake up breathless. My mind was clouded by pessimism. I wanted so badly to be able to press pause on my life and racing thoughts. Every negative thought threw me deeper and deeper into cycles of severe self-loathing and overall disinterest in life itself.
Yet, somehow the horrid side effects of depression were strangely comforting to me. I felt sad, but safe at the same time. I used my misery as a safety blanket and as a shield to avoid all social interaction. But I had to wake up, and soon, because I was sure as hell not safe with my constant suicidal thoughts. It was only after I attempted suicide for the second time and was hospitalized, that I realized I could not live my life that way. Being in the hospital ended my monotonous routine and eventually allowed me to see that I was focusing on all of the wrong things. But it is so ridiculously hard to see that from the inside—almost like one cannot see clear skies when in the eye of the storm. But gradually, I found my clarity.
The problem was that I was living a life that was solely based on what other people thought was best for me. I grew up with the mentality that my worth was based solely on others’ opinions of me. Things like my appearance, my intelligence, and my capabilities, were all based on friends, family, and even strangers. This led to a negative never-ending cycle of harsh self-criticism because I was never good enough and I could never please anyone. My perfectionist, type-A personality sure did not help with this. It only perpetuated the mindset that if one thing went wrong, I was a failure. I felt like I had absolutely no control over my life or my happiness. I turned to self-harm in the form of cutting and fell into unhealthy patterns of eating and sleeping. It took a lot of time, treatments, support, perseverance and self-discovery, but now, I finally realize that I am the only person who should be making judgment calls about my own worth.
I am fortunate enough that I was able to get the help I needed when I needed it most. But not everyone is that lucky. I have lost so many people I have cared about to mental illness. Too many people are losing their will to live far too young, and I think a big part of the problem is the stigma. It took me two years to be able to fully open up about my own experiences, simply out of fear of being judged. I was afraid that people would view me as weak, overly sensitive, incapable, or less-than. But I know what I am, and I am resilient. I have made it through hell and back and been through experiences I would not wish upon anyone.
Although it is unfortunate that I have wasted so much of my precious life on things that I did not care about, and people who did not better me in the slightest, my past is something that I have to accept in order to move on. My past is not who I am, but it taught me a lot about my values and my ambitions in life. Today, I am the strongest and most grateful for simply existing than I have ever been before. I can truly say that this would not have happened without my experiences with depression—and for that, I am eternally grateful.
If you think you or someone you know might be experiencing symptoms of depression, know that you are not alone. Please reach out and get the help that you need. You are worthy in more ways than you know.
National Suicide Hotline: +18002738255
Crisis Text Line: 741-741
