Why I'm Thankful For My Depression
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Health and Wellness

Why I'm Thankful For My Depression

My mental health does not define me as a person, but it has only helped me grow as a person.

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Why I'm Thankful For My Depression
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The biggest advocate of your mental health and overall well being has to be yourself. By telling my story, I hope to inspire someone else who is considering therapy. Stay strong.

Often, when we begin to talk or express any thoughts on mental health, people shy away from the conversation. Part of that is due to society imposing this stigma where whomever confesses they are struggling is often portrayed as crazy, especially those who go above and beyond to seek professional treatment.

When I was younger, I always had this understanding that those who went to therapy were always placed in a straitjacket and in a room just covered in white walls with some sort of padding to protect them. I never saw that someone like myself would ever need therapy. Someone who is considered as normal.

However, that is not obviously the case. The struggle with my mental health can be traced all the way back to my childhood years.

For a majority of my childhood, I always knew I was different. I was never the type of girl who liked playing "house" with a male classmate where we had a lovely family. When I was about six years old, I asked my grandmother to make me a dinosaur costume rather than a princess or a bride, like my cousin wanted.

I went to Hot Topic for the first time around this time too because I remember taking car rides with my dad, who would play classics from the Ramones and KISS, and I wanted a band shirt and black nail polish so badly. I also hated the concept of cheerleading as I rather be out there playing than cheering for someone else, so I often got along with the guys during my elementary school years because literally the rest of the girls had cheer practice or meetings during lunch, so it was just me and the guys.

Overall issues with my mental health also began at this time. For elementary school, I went to a Catholic school that stressed the importance of treating one another the way they want to be treated and such. When I first started attending school here in the first grade, I got picked on for being the new kid Around this time, my dad also got deployed overseas to Afghanistan, so as you can imagine, it was hard adjusting to a new school and life with my dad away.

Of course, kids at my school noticed especially with one girl who rode the school bus with me. I remember before she got off, she turned to look at me and said, "you know, your dad is going to die." Her small comment sent me into a spiral of depression and panic any time I heard on the news of a soldier dying, just because I could not pick up the phone and call him to be reassured.

This was not the first instance with this girl either. For the next five years, I would get little backhanded comments from here which I managed to overlook by getting involved in my town's swim team and taking martial arts lessons.I found a way to distract myself from this just mean girl at school.

However, fifth grade was the worst year. I noticed from the beginning of that year, the girls in my grade had gotten into a cliche that I was not allowed to be involved just for the fact I was not a cheerleader. They even got my best friend, at the time, to get involved so she could be considered normal. I was excluded from sleepovers or play dates since I talked to the boys, playing music with them or listening to Green Day.

They then went a step farther and intervened with my friendships but convincing one of the boys from my class to slap me. He referred to me as Meg from Family Guy and that I needed to learn my worth, which was essentially nothing. On top of that, when we would go out for gym class, I got rocks kicked at me and dodgeballs always aimed for my face. I was called the "little piggy" and told I was not worth anything except for bacon. I was miserable.

My parents went to talk to the principal, who could not understand why this girl would bully me because she seemed nice and called me a liar. It was just a mess, and I ended up getting homeschooled.

I guess all their words, despite being taken out of the situation, had followed me up until seventh grade. Being on the swim team, I started comparing my body to my teammates and hating myself. I was a long distance swimmer while the girls in my age group were all sprinters. I always thought that this was because of my body shape.

I had hit puberty a bit sooner than the rest, so I already had a slight figure by the age of twelve. I always had breakdowns at swim meets just because I would see everyone breaking their personal bests and sprinting. Somehow, all of this translated that it was because of my weight. This is really where I remember feeling depressed for the first time.

So, in February 2012, I started seeing a therapist after confessing that I felt depressed at a doctor's office. Like anyone, for the first couple of months, I wanted nothing to do with her. I had to have my parents sit in during my sessions because they forced me to talk and confess my feelings.

I hated it. I hated my parents. I hated my therapist. I felt like I was crazy and my parents were punishing me for feeling this way, even though I admitted I wasn't feeling okay.

Of course, that was all a phase. I honestly do not believe that I would be the same person I am today without it. For instance, I began going to public school in the eighth grade, which had its kinks I had to work through. I was in an mentally abusive relationship in eighth grade since my ex boyfriend was depressed, he hated the fact that I was feeling starting this path of self recovery.

I had never cut myself despite having thoughts of it. Knowing this, my ex boyfriend broke a piece of glass and gave it to me, encouraging me to act upon my thoughts because that would only make me happy and truly feel better. He manipulated into believing I needed to self harm, which I did for about three months. I did eventually end things with this boy when I came to realize how toxic it was, but I don't believe I would have come this realization without being in therapy. However, I don't think I ever told my therapist about all this when I probably should have.

Freshman year, I relapsed. Hard. It was the beginning of the school year and I just felt that miserable feeling again due to adjusting to high school. I always believed it was would this way and felt like I was just getting in everyone's way.

While my father was working on spreadsheets for work and my mother was at the grocery store, I snuck those gummy multi-vitamins back to my room and just ate the whole bottle. In some sick and twisted sense, I thought that since these tasted good rather than taking flavorless pills, that was the way to go. Luckily, I only got really sick and did not have to be rushed to the emergency room. However, I don't think I took how serious I needed help and needed to be honest with my therapist.

From that moment on, I began being honest with myself and my mother when I was facing times of crisis. I realized that my emotions were nothing to ignore. The way I began to look at therapy was I was building life skills to better myself and be successful when I would go out on my own.

I came to realize my limitations I face sometimes as a person, what I needed in people, and my own strengths. For the next six years, up until the week I moved to college, I continued to see my therapist, who I am still very thankful for. She listened to me talk and witnessed this progression I made as a person just for giving my advice and listening to me.

So where am I going with basically opening myself up to the world? Like mentioned, I do not think I would be who I am today without my therapist. I probably should have gone into therapy soon, and part of that is my own fault not telling my parents sooner. As a kid, I understand my hesitation of not wanting to go.

I even fought all night with my parents when they made the appointment that I didn't need it. However, I think that is all due to the way we portray mental health. There is nothing wrong with admitting something is wrong. If you broke your arm, you wouldn't hide from anyone until it healed by itself. Same thing applies to therapy. Even if you go once, i think people can just benefit of talking to someone on a professional level for whatever they might be facing. Let's admit, life is rough and we all just need to talk it out.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.
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