When we hear the word depression, we often associate it with a mental disorder that mainly affects only a certain demographic in our society. Depression is often believed to be associated mainly with older people. The truth is, that is not entirely truth. This article is very important to me because I will be opening one aspect of my life that I have been guarding for a very long time. For the most part, only family members or very close friends know about my personal experience with such a disorder. While many may find this to be shocking, I have to accept that I have experienced depression from up-close, and I can guarantee you, that is not a disorder that should be judged or underestimated.
Many of you may be wondering If I was the one who suffered depression, but the truth is that I did not. It was my father who struggled with depression for eighteen years. At first, I couldn't really decode and understand the magnitude of this issue. I would think my father was constantly overreacting to issues we had at home. I vividly remember him at home crying, aggravated, and in most cases, really upset. I didn’t understand what was going on and honestly, i didn’t really pay any mind to the issue. Time progressed, and I started to realize the magnitude of the problem. I realized that things were not changing for the better; instead, things were getting worse and worse. It got to the point where my dad lost his job and my mother had to get a job to make ends meet. I noticed that many of my family members began to construct their own opinions and hypotheses of what was going on with my dad. In many cases, their opinions were very cruel. Many said my dad was crazy and that my mother should just leave him. Others said my father was an unstable man. I have to admit that these comments hurt me and my mother profoundly, but it never crossed our minds that leaving was an option. My mother always reassured me that we were a family and as a family, we were going to find a way to get through this, and that we were also going to find a way to help my dad. It wasn’t easy. Many nights, I would wake up in the middle of the night to hear my dad weeping and whispering that he didn’t know what to do anymore and that he didn’t want to live like that anymore.
For years, my dad was judged by a lot of people who believed that my father was becoming a burden to me and my mother, and that he was choosing to feel this way and using it as an excuse to stay at home. One day, I came home from school to see my mother at the door with my father by her side; they told me my father had decided to enter psychiatric care to improve his condition. My father remained in the psychiatric facility close to a month. He was able to fully understand his condition and understand that it was not his fault. He was surrounded by patients that, like him, were going through the same agony. He learned ways to remain in control of his emotions and to this day, my father is constantly attending meeting with his psychologist. My father since has not have a relapse, and life has changed dramatically.
My relationship with my father has strengthened from it and I can honestly say we are a happy family. This is not something I usually like talking about to other people, but I thought it was important to share my family’s experience with depression. Depression is not something to be ashamed of. Instead, it is something that should be able to be discussed. Remember that calling a person crazy for something they can’t control is just not right. You never know if you will also suffer from it one day.
