The first time I was medicated because of my depression, I didn’t take it seriously. I didn’t want the medication and I hated the doctor for not being able to help me – giving me medication felt like giving up on me. I didn’t understand that giving me the medication was indeed helping me.
Now, the first happy pills I got definitely didn’t make me happy. I had every single side-effect on the list and then some. My mother wrote them down for reference. It was hell. It truly was.
Depression was something I needed to understand before I could take it seriously and give it the attention it deserves. I didn’t understand that depression made me see the world with a filter – sort of like falling in love. When you fall in love, those first months of infatuation, you see the world through rose coloured glass as Édith Piaf so beautifully described it. Depression, it’s different, it is more like it makes you see the world through grey coloured glass. Everything loses its vibrancy. Nothing sparkles anymore.
It’s not being sad, in case that’s what you thought. It’s more like all the energy is drained from your body and you become this empty shell – only you think that empty shell is who you really are. You don’t realise you’ve just forgotten that who you are is still there, underneath the grey coloured glass. At least, that’s the best way I can describe how it has been for me.
I have had some pretty dark periods in my life. I’ve wanted to die most of my life, but never had the strength to follow through in the end. I always hoped someone else would do it for me, so that my mother would not blame herself or something. No one successfully took my life, so I’m still here and now, I am grateful that I am.
When I was in my twenties, I finally got a form of medication that helped. I was on that medication for years. I stopped taking them once in while, but I would relapse every time.
In the end, I accepted that I had to be on those pills for the rest of my life. Oddly enough, today I no longer take them. I am not against taking it again should I ever need to, and that gives me comfort and it helps me every time it gets worse again.
You see, I think I will struggle with depression the rest of my life.
It is my constant follower and I never know when I will fall under its will again or how bad it will be.
I respect my depression, in a way. I know it is an unbeatable opponent, so I chose never to fight it again.
I live with it. I have accepted it in my life – almost like one would a companion.
Now, I have learned to read the signs of my body. I know that I need to exercise, eat healthy food and drink lots of water, just like I need to get enough sleep. My body is my first line of defence, as long as it is healthy and strong my depression simply follows without creating too much trouble. Once my body falters, that’s when depression can sneak in and take control of my mind.
Again, I can’t win a direct fight with it, but I can live with it in this way.
Before meeting my ex, I had never had up close and personal experience with anyone else struggling with depression. Because I had learned to live with my own depression, I thought I could help him by being there for him while he learned to live with his.
It didn’t work. His depression only got worse and because of our problems, and my grandmother passing away and the shoulder operation with less than ideal consequences, I started struggling with my own depression one more time. I was in pain all the time, both physical and mental, and I knew that if we were to get through it we both had to support each other and be forgiving and compassionate.
I got my depression under control, but it is like a constant shadow that I need to guard myself against.
My ex, I don’t understand why, but he became increasingly unkind and mean to me. He was obviously in pain, so I couldn’t be angry with him, but I also couldn’t live under that kind of pressure. In the end, I felt I became a therapist instead of a partner because there wasn’t room for love or compassion or anything else.
All that could exist was pain and fear.
It taught me a lot though. I never knew what it was like to be on the other end of depression and I can’t help wonder if I was anything like my ex. When one is depressed there is room for no one else – there is only room for one’s own pain and suffering. I knew that from myself, but I had never truly felt it or understood it before.
To me, when I had my depressed periods early in my life, that pain was almost comforting, because it was something real inside my empty shell. It was so dark I could see that it wasn’t just the same grey as everything else was.
Of course, it wasn’t real. Now that I am not depressed, I can tell that it wasn’t real. It was me, I made it feel real because I thought I needed it.
Medication was the only thing that ever really made me break free of depression for long enough to actually understand what depression is – what it did to me. Depression isn’t who I am, it’s something I live with. I am aware of my depression, but it will never take control away from me for long these days. However, if it does, then I know what medication to take and I know that it will help me. I am not afraid of it.
I was something that used to terrify me. My good periods were never really good or happy, because I was always worried when my next bad period would be.
How long would I have this time?
Would I ever be okay?
Was this fear all I would ever have?
I thought I had to accept depression and that I would have to be in pain for the rest of my life. That wasn’t true. In the end, it was a change of perspective that saved me more than anything else.
My depression isn’t less strong now, but it’s easier to deal with. I think, what I couldn’t live with wasn’t the depression, but the constant fear that came with it. Getting medication gave me the opportunity to get a different perspective.
I have bad days, days when I don’t want to exercise or days I don’t want to eat, but I force myself to do it as often as I can, because I know I need it to have more good days than bad. I know what I have to do to feel better and I do my best to do it.
Depression is a disease that takes your mind, so to live with it we have to do whatever makes us feel better even if it sucks sometimes – like going running in the winter, when it’s cold, or in the rain, when you get wet. Of course, I happen to love rain, so that’s not my reason for not going running – I just don’t like running.
Sometimes, there are things that we do to take attention away from our depression – something that helps us forget.
Forgetting is bad, though. At least, for me it is. When I forget and then remember, it always feels a bit worse. So, every time I forget and remember again it always gets a little bit worse.
It’s a tool I can use sometimes, because it’s okay to forget once in a while. We all need the occasional break. It just can’t be all we do. Sometimes, it’s vital that we remember even though we would rather not.
We have to remember, so that we can do what we need to support and take care of ourselves. We need to protect ourselves from ourselves sometimes. Trust me, it’s worth it in the end.
What is really important to understand, I think, is that being happy is indeed a choice, but it is a choice I must make every single day – sometimes several times every day. It’s not something that everyone can just be without making an effort. Even if I hadn’t struggled with depression, it would not mean that I was happy.
Sometimes, we simple exist somewhere in between. We are not happy, not sad, not depressed, not anything. We don’t feel frustrated with our life, but not very excited about it either.
Therefore, I think, perhaps, that choosing happiness might not be something only those of us who struggle with depression would benefit from. Maybe all of us need to make that choice sometimes.
It’s really the only thing we can control. We can’t control what happens to us or what life we end up having, the only thing we can control is how we chose to react to everything in our life; we make our own choices.
Every moment we chose how we react and every time I choose happiness, I feel better than if I hadn’t. Even though I chose happiness, it doesn’t always make me happy, but that’s okay. It’s still worth it, because I know I made that choice; I chose happiness. When I fail, when I can’t make myself choose to be happy because the pain and sadness is too heavy, it doesn’t last forever. When I feel a little better, I don’t blame myself for failing to choose to be happy, I forgive myself and try even harder to choose happiness next time and do you know what I discovered?
I get stronger every time.
I know my symptoms, I know how my body reacts when depression is close by, I understand my depression and, in spite of everything, I get stronger every time and feel a little better every time.
To me, acceptance and learning to co-exist with depression was, in the end, what made depression lose its power. I am not free of it, but I am free of its control.
I am happy and sad at the same time. Maybe one day I get to leave behind the sadness and simply enjoy being happy.
