Earlier this year I was admitted to the emergency room at the hospital for suicidal ideation. The next day I was transferred to a psychiatric ward upstate. In tenth grade, I had my first thought of suicide. The summer before my senior year of high school, I was officially diagnosed with depression. When I was 11, the world started to lose the vibrancy it had once contained.
The moment the world became grayer was my first step on the long and arduous path to stability. Every day was a conflict of adjusting to a world that was becoming more and more alien to me. Currently, I am on stable ground. Almost eight years later, the land at my feet has gotten smoother and skies have started clearing. I've passed deep trenches and steep mountains but now I am closer to the end of this trail. It is here that I feel almost worse than I have ever felt before.
Although the footing has gotten easier, it would be a lie to say I haven't gotten used to the roughness of previous territories. It was harsh, but it was exciting. Hitting rock bottom and falling from great heights felt numbing after a while. The highest and lowest points of my life felt almost beautiful; it was majestic.
Now they are but recent memories. The fright from them still resonate along sloped plains I tread, yet all of the enchantment has vanished and I've lost adventure in my journey. Mental stability remains difficult—not as extreme as past nights but by comparison the happiest joys of life have also diminished.
You might say I am romanticizing dangerous situations yet the fact remains: I have been in terrible places since sixth grade and finding grandeur in my danger was how I remained on this road to recovery. That was how I coped.
Now I am definitely near the end of my journey; I can almost feel it. But this is the final stretch. The world has stripped me of my weapons; I have stripped myself of my defenses. I can see the calm horizon, but this means facing unfamiliarity again. I know I want to feel normal again, but I'm used to being the hero that was targeted by her own natural world. I'm starting to become more ordinary and I both enjoy it and dread it. Steps towards the recovery are becoming slower and hesitant. I am not unsure about what I want, but I am unsure about what I'll become.
Many of us are on this road. Depression has been tough from the start, but I've always been under the impression that it would get easier as you neared the end. Yet many endings are bittersweet and even for this journey it is much so.
The day after I was discharged from the psychiatric ward, I met with the head psychologist of my college. I told her what I've felt for a long time. Today, I am starting to feel better, but it is almost sad to say goodbye to suicidal thoughts.
The road to recovery is not one I regret walking on. But I do feel that parts of me are reluctant to continue progressing. I look forward to a brighter future, but I still I remain terrified of the unknown.
