Depression is not something people usually like to talk about. It can be an extremely uncomfortable and touchy subject, so it’s sometimes easier to sweep it under the rug and pretend it doesn’t exist.
I did this for years. I was afraid to say out loud what I was thinking. I was afraid that if I told someone I was having these thoughts, that they would be afraid of me, look at me differently, put me in a mental hospital. I was afraid that if I admitted to what I was feeling, it would be real.
Looking at me and looking at my life, you would never guess that I have depression. I was happy, I had friends, no one close to me had died in my lifetime, and yet I was inexplicably depressed. As I said, I hid it for a long time. It wasn’t until my second year of high school that I finally admitted it to a friend, and then to my mother. When I was first told what this was, that I had depression, that there was a reason behind my feelings, I didn’t understand. I couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that this was my life. Since then, I’ve had a few years of therapy, I’ve tried a few different anti-depressants, and was also diagnosed with anxiety.
Over the years I’ve learned to cope with it though. And now, nearly six years later, I’m doing better than ever. I’m heading into my junior year of college, I’m writing again, I continue to run, and when I need it, I go to therapy.
It was not always like this though. At first, things got worse. I was dealing with everyone else coming to terms with my depression while I was trying to process it myself. And the road to ‘recovery’ is most definitely not a straight line. Six months after I started therapy, I met a guy who would turn out to be my high school sweetheart. He helped me see that I was beautiful in my own way, that my personality was fun to be around, that I was worthy of being loved. Through his love for me I learned to love myself. And when we broke up, even though he left, that love did not. People say that you can’t love someone until you love yourself, but I disagree. I think it’s OK to need help. I think it’s OK if, in learning to love yourself, someone else loves you first. I will never thank him enough for showing me how much I am worth.
Starting college was a major twist. I had to learn to balance schoolwork, a social life, and my mental health all at once. One of the first things I did was get in touch with the counselor on campus. We set up appointments every other week, and I transitioned into college.
Now going into my junior year of college, I go see the school counselor only occasionally, when things get really bad. I stopped hiding my depression from people. I don’t really broadcast it either, but I’ve learned that I would rather someone ask me in order to understand what’s happening than try to assume. I have an amazing group of friends who support me when times get tough, and my family is never more than a phone call away.
I know I’m lucky. My depression is manageable, usually without medicine. I learned how to cope and I learned how to recognize when I can’t do it on my own. I learned how to ask for help, and I learned that it’s OK. I also learned that recovery doesn't mean what most people think. I'm managing now, and I have a happy life, but my depression will never go away. I recognized that I will live with it forever, and I came to terms with that fact.
I’m not scared of my depression. It has taught me a lot about the world and, more importantly, a lot about myself. Without my depression I wouldn’t be who I am today. My empathy, sympathy, and understanding wouldn’t run so deep and be so strong. Depression has taught me how to be a better friend, a better sister, and a better daughter.
I still struggle sometimes; I’m nowhere close to perfect, but I’m handling it. Most importantly, I know that if I ever can’t handle it, I have people who are willing to listen and lend a hand.
