I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety when I was 14 years old. At the time, my primary doctor didn’t believe in medication. He told me that I needed therapy and a good hug. A good hug. Because clearly, the answer to all my problems was a good hug, like I hadn’t tried that already. So I hid my depression and anxiety behind the many walls I built around me, fell in love with an amazing boy whom I was with long enough to watch grow into a man, and then I went to college.
My freshman year of college is when I realized that the walls I was hiding behind so long were not as strong as I had thought. I was growing up; my life was changing in so many ways. The walls that I had built were crumbling, and they were crumbling fast and hard. I had no good friends at college to go to, I had too much pride to admit that I wasn’t alright, and if my medical doctor only years earlier told me all I need was a good hug, then what else was there to possibly to do help me? I was lost and alone, and I was sinking in an ocean that I had jumped into.
I ended up leaving college my second semester of freshman year because I was what society calls “broken.” I called my mom and told her I was done, I couldn’t do it, I needed out. Three days later I was out. Three long days later I was in the car, on my way home, no walls left. I was defeated. I never told anyone the truth. I never wanted to admit that I had a mental health issue. I never wanted people to know that my happiness was fake.
There are a million faces to depression and anxiety. There are a million ways in which people express their depression and anxiety. You need to understand that. You need to know that just because I’m happy one day, doesn’t mean that my anxiety isn’t real. You need to know that just because I take medication to help me cope with this illness means I am lesser than you. You need to know that just because there are days that I can’t get out of bed means I don’t want to be at your party. You need to know that the smallest thing you say can easily trigger me and that I won’t be able to explain what happened. You need to know that I am strong, that I am a fighter, that I determined to overcome the hand that I have been dealt. You need to know that I can’t “relax.” You need to know that I can’t just “be happy.” You need to know that depression and anxiety are real, they are powerful, and they can be deadly.
Depression and anxiety are the skeletons hanging in my closet, but they shouldn’t be. These topics should no longer be taboo. They should no longer be shamed and ridiculed. They should no longer be stereotyped and frowned upon. They are real, they are a health issue. These are topics that I was once ashamed of, once afraid to admit that I faced. But not anymore.
I suffer from depression and anxiety, I am a survivor.
