Anyone that knows who I am and have witnessed any part of my past 19 years of navigating through life, could easily recognize that I struggle with monsters that you can't see, hear, or touch. Every day, I strap on my mental armor and go forth for battle up until I turn in for the night, which could be after several days. To others, the battles seem to be between two versions of myself. This claim is, as blatantly put as possible, wrong. For those who do not know and need clarity, I was diagnosed with major severe depression, general anxiety, and borderline personality disorder on the day Trump was inaugurated. Those are my opponents, not myself.
With transparency, I am not ashamed to say that I have suicidal thoughts every single day. Those thoughts, though, are NOT from me. I am the happiest I have ever been in my entire life. My family is absolutely supportive and incredible and I have a fiance who loves me on all of my days, good and bad. My friends remind me on a daily basis that they appreciate me and acknowledge the growth that I have endured in the recent years of my life. And even though I am biased, I am also attending the greatest University in the nation to pursue my passions... I am happy, but happy can only get you so far. Depression does not kill happiness; honestly, I am not even sure if happiness is an intended target. It does not make it so that you can never experience the moments of gut-wrenching laughter or the butterflies when he kisses you before he leaves for work in the morning. Depression is that fuzz that seems to drown everything out, during and after; depression is the one holding the sword to my throat, not me.
There is no true audience to these battles either. No one sits in the gladiator arena with popcorn and watches me take my stance to deflect the oncoming blow. Only I witness when my opponent catches me at my weak point and somehow knocks me off my feet. On some days, depression has the sword pressed against my chest and draws a small speck of blood; on those days, I am losing. However, these experiences and moments are not the ones that I allow to define me. I am not defeated. I am not weak.
When I walk into a therapist's office to talk about the battles that commence in my brain, I am not weak. When I ponder on whether or not I should consider anti-depressants, I am not weak. When I am so depressed that my fiance has to carry me to the bathtub to bathe me after being bed-ridden for three days straight, I am not weak. At those turning points of my life where I allow another hand to tighten the grip around my sword, hoist me back onto my feet, and wipe the blood smeared across my face, are the climax moments in which I am strong. Those are the moments that I allow to define myself.
I cannot tell you when these battles will stop and I can finally retire my sword. Nor can I project how much blood I will lose during this war. I can say though, that I will continue to fight these battles even if no one is watching. I know that in the moments when my armor has been penetrated that I am anything but weak.
