How Depression Has Changed Me for the Better…A Message of Hope

How Depression Has Changed Me for the Better…A Message of Hope

Remarkably, two years from its onset, I’m still alive; still fighting. By some odd twist of fate, I’m still here…still on this beautiful earth that once was forgotten in my mind. I’m still here to speak of the taboo disease that is depression…this stigma that is an incomprehensible sadness. The sole disease that many encounter, yet the sole disease that no one wants to admit to. The sole disease that is so easily swept under the rug. The sole disease that is too disgusting to talk about, so it’s kept to a whisper. The sole disease that is too embarrassing to ask for help, so one just aimlessly walks through hell alone. The sole disease that ruins relationships. The sole disease that leaves a mother questioning her child. The sole disease that makes you forget how to tie your own shoelaces. The sole disease that leaves you begging and pleading for the past. The sole disease that turns irrationality into logic. The sole disease that blows out the light at the end of the tunnel. The sole disease that leaves a once vibrant person in the dark. The sole disease that turns the life of the party into a scared, crying child. The sole disease that erases any definition of “hope”. The sole disease that makes you forget any form of happiness. The sole disease that supposedly can never be cured…the sole disease that one can overcome and learn how to conquer.
“Why the fuck am I still here!?”, I screamed hysterically into my pillow the next morning as ten empty boxes of sleeping pills lay scattered amongst my bedroom floor. How could such an easy way out fail me? How the hell am I witnessing the light of another day? And why did I leave such a short, inconsiderate note? I still ponder these questions as five months have passed. I still ask myself how, for some unknown reason, I was granted another chance…I still question why and how I was one of the fortunate ones.
Let me paint you a drastic but truthful picture: The date was January 12th, 2014 at 8:00 p.m. in the evening, and as usual I was severely depressed and secluded in my apartment. Just like the past 485 days that came before this fateful day, I was extremely confused on why I wasn’t my old funny, happy self. Why do I feel so extremely brain dead? Why am I so ungodly worthless? Why am I so petrified of my friends? Why weren’t things getting better!?!? I was overwhelmed with acute anxiety due to the lack of normalcy and lack of emotion…I was completely numb inside. I just couldn’t fathom that I lost a whole year and a half of my life because of some “unexplainable” disease, and I was terrified to lose another year and a half. As I sat in my bedroom, blankly staring out the window and wishing I could be apart of that world that was once my best friend, that world that once brought me so much excitement and joy, that world that once held such a promising future, I made the rash decision that today was going to be my final day on earth. So I slowly drug myself out of bed and put on the same clothes that I had worn for the past week. I got in my car and drove to Walmart to get “the necessary supplies”…crying the whole drive there. As I approached the cash register and placed the alarming amount of sleeping pills on the counter, the cashier looked at me confused. She asked, “Is everything okay? You look like you’ve been crying. And why do you need all these sleeping pills?”
I forced a smile and said, “Of course everything is okay. I’m just buying a lot, so I don’t have to come back to buy more.”
She reluctantly rang me up, and I was out the door. As I drove home, the realness of what was about to happen set in, but ironically I was at ease; all fear was lost. By the time I arrived back inside my apartment, I was intensely anxious to get this ‘final act’ over with, so I quickly swallowed about 100 sleeping pills and frantically wrote down my final, heartfelt words. When finished expressing my sincere apologies to all of my loved ones, I put on my favorite CD, tucked myself into bed, and closed my watery eyes…
The next morning, as I frustratingly screamed into my pillow, I all of a sudden felt true, real emotion…I felt my first glimpse of happiness in over two years; a tiny hint of happiness but happiness none the less. I was so relieved that I was still alive; so relieved that I’d be able to see my friends and family again; so relieved that I wasn’t just a meaningless statistic. I instantly realized that I was blessed. So from that day forward I became proactive on getting healthy; on getting better and back to my old happy self. I’ve taken the necessary steps to educate myself on depression and have learned that it’s not my fault, and that I have no reason to be ashamed or embarrassed of it. It’s just like any other disease out there; it happens to good people, and as unfair as it is, it’s inescapable. Today I am doing a lot better, and I am actually smiling from the heart. I owe it all to my friends, family, and my two amazing therapists, Laura and Ron. They all have closely stuck by my side and have been extremely understanding and loving. I can’t thank them enough…the truly are my saving grace.
The funny thing about depression is that it’s somewhat of a blessing in disguise…after coming out of it, it teaches you so much about yourself and others. It truly makes you a more understanding and loving person; a smarter, more open minded, creative person. And best of all, it allows you to see the world in a whole new, brighter, happier light that most people take for granted.
To anyone out there going through depression, never forget that things will get better…no matter how hopeless it can get at times. And never be ashamed or embarrassed to ask for help. Always remember that you are not alone and that you are loved.