I took a psychology class last summer. We talked about a lot of interesting things, including fears, behaviors, and mental illnesses. As I sat in on the class devoted to depression, I looked around for faces emulating mine. Faces that bit their tongue, and listened to what others had to say. Faces that were embarrassed, as they realized they had felt every symptom our professor had listed. Faces that were scared, on the people who were depressed. I listened to classmates say they didn’t understand depression, one person even asked, “Well, how come they don’t just snap out of it?” I shuddered at the phrase, angry that people perceive depression as something you can simply “snap out of.” We left class, and everyone silently went their own ways.
Some days, I’m on top of the world. I’m motivated, I’m excited, and I’m ready to take it all on. Those days are my favorites. I can pretend things are normal, and I can act like everything is OK. Maybe this is the end? I begin to convince myself that this is going to be my new normal, and that I’m finally going to be happy. I have a good life, with everything I could ever need. I should be happy. But… I’m not.
I’ll wake up the next morning, and refuse to get out of bed. Nothing interests me; things I love don’t have their normal appeal. I don’t want to talk to anyone. I don’t want to be around anyone, I want to sit by myself and drown in my thoughts. I hate myself. I hate this. I hate that. Nothing helps, until at the end of the day I pop the tiny white pill into my mouth, and hope for the best.
I used to be embarrassed about using an anti-depressant. I used to be embarrassed to admit that I have struggled with depression. I simply would shrug off the thought that there was something wrong with me. I would excuse my bad days, because on some days I would be so happy that I never thought it’d be bad ever again. And then I’d fall back down, deep into myself, screaming to get out but unable to open my mouth.
Depression is real. It can’t be healed if you ignore it. You’re not crazy, and you aren’t broken. I’ve been there. Some days, I still feel broken. To everyone who tells someone to simply “snap out of” a mental illness, don’t you think we would if we could? Do you think this is fun? Stop telling me my life isn’t bad, and that I have no reason to be depressed. Luckily, my life is amazing, but depression is an illness. Just because you’re comfortable doesn’t mean you won’t get the flu, just because you’re loved doesn’t mean you won’t catch a cold. Just because you’re happy, doesn’t mean you won’t become depressed.
