03 April 2014: A Depression Experience

Something else I came across, this time on my Twitter feed from Cosmo magazine:

No One Knew Depression Was Killing Me Inside

 

I was always drinking to the point of oblivion. It was impossible for me to go out and socially drink without getting hammered. It got really bad at school, but I would tell myself that I was 21, that this is what people do in college, that self-medicating this way was OK. But in the back of my mind, I knew it wasn’t. Once you realize you’re not drinking socially, and that you’re drinking to make your problems go away, it hits you. I realized over time I would do anything to be happy and that’s what did it. I was totally willing to go through life drunk, honestly. And I was willing to do it forever if it meant that I didn’t have to tell anyone that I was unhappy.
My secret was just that. I was so unhappy, and I didn’t know where to turn. For years, I hid everything from my parents. Nothing was ever wrong, per se, but the unhappiness got worse and worse. I smiled when I was supposed to and functioned like I was supposed to, but I just wasn’t happy. My parents didn’t want to believe that there was something wrong, because I assured them I was repeatedly that I was fine. But they absolutely suspected problems.
I’ve always been close to my parents, but I stopped coming home [from school] just because I didn’t want to admit something was wrong. I was afraid of their reactions. They’ve given me an incredible life! They are wonderful parents, but I was just dissatisfied so I shut them out. All my relationships faltered at that point in my life. I shut out friends, too, who knew something was up with me. I surrounded myself with people who faced mental health issues, too, and had not yet come to terms with it, either. I knew that none of it was OK and it made me sick.
Eventually, it broke me. I was on medication for awhile and never filled my prescription when I was supposed to. I would tell myself always, "I’ll do it tomorrow..." But I just kept having bad weeks and never refilled it. The withdrawals from medication that configures your brain chemistry are brutal. I went to my doctor knowing I’d have to start the medication again.
When you go in, they make you fill out basic intake questions. “On a scale of 1-10, how many days do you feel like a failure?” etc. I was relatively honest, but nothing really resonated with me. When I was called in, a doctor I didn’t normally have asked me if I ever felt suicidal before. It was then that I broke. Honestly, I don’t even think I said anything. Right then and there I collapsed to the ground. It was such a blur to me, it happened so fast. It’s hard for me to relive, I guess. I don’t know if I would have committed suicide — that [question] was something that pushed me over the edge because that’s never something you just shouldn’t know. It was a question I thought a lot about, but I always brushed it away as a selfish thought. That was the breakdown that led to my hospitalization.
Until this point, I didn’t receive help in college even though I knew there was something wrong with the way I handled situations and life in general. My partying got a little out of control, but drinking when I was sad to forget my problems was happening all the time. It was an absolutely unhealthy escape. I was under the impression that it would be selfish to get help. Honestly, I was plagued by the stigma that I now aim to end. It scares me to know that there are so many people our age who are in same boat as me. That’s why I knew I had to become so vocal about it.
When I came home after my hospitalization, it took me a long time to tell people. I deleted my Twitter account and deactivated my Facebook. I was so upset and still felt selfish. Within the next few days, though, some of my closer friends and family encouraged me. They helped me understand that this was not something I should be ashamed of.
I slowly got back into social media and let people know what happened to me. Once I started talking about it, the feedback I got was quite surreal. People just email me and say, “I know exactly what you went through,” and “I just need to get this off my chest.” That’s when I started talking about the good and the bad. My followers aren’t looking for advice, necessarily, but I think sometimes they just need someone who can listen or someone who can relate. I realized awhile ago that one of the healthier ways I would self-medicate was by writing. I also realized that when I would tweet anonymously and get this incredible feedback, it was easier to handle. My handle is more of a pen name than anything else.
The worst thing is when someone who is beautiful, successful, and smart decides to end his or her life and people say, “Oh, what a shame. She was so pretty. Why would she do that?” People need to know that depression is not always situational. Sometimes you are born with a biological condition and you cannot help yourself.
I remind people that I am not a counselor. I have no medical or professional experience, but I am merely speaking from my own experiences. I encourage people to get help. It is not as scary as it seems. It takes time to find the right medication and therapist. It definitely took months for me to feel something, to feel happy, but it was worth all the hard work to get there.