A Real Struggle
The more I hear about celebrities or people on the news committing suicide due to depression and/or addiction, the sadder I get that these illnesses are so stigmatized or misunderstood that people can’t get help. More awareness and acceptance are essential. Help needs to be given, not judgment. It’s not a fault in the person who suffers, they’re not “broken”. It’s just something that resides in them that needs addressing and compassion. I'm in no way comparing my life to any one else's, but in an attempt to shed what little light I have on the subject, I’m going to share my story of dealing with depression.
Depression and addiction run in my family. Luckily I only inherited mild depression and nothing more serious. I can't say the same for several other family members, who are either struggling with depression indefinitely, or have let addiction get the better of them on multiple occasions. I was generally a happy kid, serious at times because I always had a strong drive to perform and do my best, but happy. Seeing people I loved suffer from mental disorders was scary for me; I was very young and didn’t understand what was wrong.
In high school, when I was around 16, I started coming home from school and laying down in the middle of the kitchen floor, sobbing. When my mom asked what was wrong, I didn’t have an answer. I wasn’t getting bullied, I was getting good grades, I had friends. But I was terribly sad. Sure, it could have been the hormones, but it happened so regularly that I had to do something about it. This is a bit hazy, but I believe I tried therapy and, being the over-thinker I am, it didn’t really make a difference to my mood. They suggested I start taking medicine to help. I was so anti-medicine at this point; I was stubborn and wanted to “fix myself” without it. I thought I could WILL away the chemicals in my brain that were causing my breakdowns. I couldn’t. Sometimes it got so bad (not to mention dramatic) with my boyfriend, that I would threaten to harm myself (mainly for attention). I would become a sobbing mess when my lipstick wouldn’t go on correctly before a dance.
When my life felt like I was just going through the motions (in between breakdowns) and my drive to succeed in my dreams had faltered, it was time. I started taking Prozac and it turned everything around - for a while. It helped level out my moods. I could now handle the “lows” better, while still enjoying the “highs”. I was able to live my life again. There were still ups and downs, but (from what I remember) the rest of high school and the transition to college weren’t so bad.
Having been on Prozac for several years at this point, it started to lose its effect on me in college. I had gained weight, I was skipping classes, I was sleeping all day, I didn’t have many friends (if any other than my boyfriend, who was suffering from his own mental disorders which didn’t help). I had stopped pursuing my dream of acting. I gave up. I just existed. At that point, my boyfriend and I were going through a difficult time and I could see the end coming. I abruptly stopped taking the Prozac (which I don’t necessarily recommend) because I didn’t want to feel numb anymore; I wanted to feel something - even if it was sadness. Psychiatrists later told me I had become acclimated to the medicine and would have been prescribed a higher dose, had I brought this to someone’s attention.
The depression, then, turned to the break-up, which was at least something to focus on and be sad about, instead of a general sense of unhappiness. I eventually was able to pick myself up and put myself back together and make it through college mostly whole, and with a handful of friends other than my ex.
Without the medicine, my minor depression came in waves. For the most part, I was able to handle things, but it was a weird time transitioning from college to “real life”. Skipping ahead a few years, now 30 and in a relationship for several years, I was feeling the emotional heaviness creep back over me. Yes, I was in a crappy relationship at the time, which plays a huge part in this. But it was more than that. I wasn’t happy and I didn’t know why. I again couldn’t pull myself out of the ditch I felt I had fallen in. When that boyfriend and I broke up, and I desperately tried to remain friends, I cried to my friends 99% of the time. I cannot thank them enough for putting up with me, and for listening without judging.
I had tried therapy again, and again I didn’t feel like I was getting anywhere. I read self-help books, and started meditating, which helped calm me down a little, but it didn’t help with the sadness. It wasn’t enough. I still had a little residual stubbornness that I didn’t want to resort to pills, but I felt like I had no other option. I went in and got prescribed Cymbalta, a newer drug that was supposed to not have the side effects that Prozac did. Also around the same time, I moved away from my hellish situation (a shoebox-sized apartment that was way out of my pay grade), and I essentially said goodbye to my ex, even as friends.
The combination was a miracle. I felt restored and able to put the pieces of myself back together. I felt stronger. I felt like I was able to handle my business again. I felt that drive, and I felt free. This was around three years ago now, and I couldn’t be happier that I made the choice to take care of myself in that way. I haven’t stopped taking the medicine; I don’t want to go back to storm cloud over my head. I can’t say for certain if it was the medicine, or the move, or giving up my attempt at friendship with a toxic person, but I CAN say that I don’t want to chance it. I have been able to accomplish so much now that I can get out of bed and stay active and pursue the things I love. I don’t think I’d be able to do those things if my mood wasn’t stable. I’ve also been able to grieve losses and suffer through heartbreak and still come out the other side.
I’m not an expert. I’m not saying medicine is the answer for everyone. I just wanted to share my story so that if anyone reading is suffering, they know they’re not alone. Things can get better, and you don’t have to be afraid to ask for help if you need it. I think more people should be open about their experiences with mental health issues, and others should be less judgmental. I honestly don’t care if anyone thinks “less” of me because of what I dealt with and am taking, because I took care of me. I did what I needed to in order to find happiness. Life is too short and too precious to live in sadness, or to just “get by” or go through the motions. I want everyone reading to know that you deserve all the happiness in the world, and I support you in whatever it is you need to do to find it. I will listen. I will not judge. I will be there to lift you up if I can, and offer advice when asked for. Even if we don’t know each other (very well, or at all), I’m here for you and I love you. You’re not alone.
