Sometimes I wonder if I can be anything other than depressed. After all, dealing with depression is a full-time job for me. It requires putting in an absurd amount of effort in order to simply survive, to do things others find natural and simple. Being diagnosed with depression and going to therapy has improved my life drastically, but in confronting my mental illness, I seem to have made it my sole identity as well. It's a battle. Being alive is a battle. Hope is a battle. Seeking help is a battle. It's a battle I've fought and lost many times. A battle I fight everyday, but a battle is just that, a battle.
Lately, I feel like I’ve lost parts of myself that used to be essential to who I was, and this is mostly because I’m not sure if those parts of me can coexist with my depression. And that doesn’t just extend to my personality but to my beliefs as well. I’ve been especially challenged in my faith. I’ve always thought of myself as Christian; there have been times where I’ve been unsure, but when it comes down to it, that’s what I believe. I love so many parts of the Christian faith, but others can be isolating. Sometimes I feel my faith doesn’t seem to take into account those with mental illness.
Earlier this summer, I was at a retreat with a church. I was listening to the speaker when suddenly the topic of depression came up. The way he saw it, depression was a lack of faith. He felt it was a consequence of a choice that I had made not to trust. Later that day, someone challenged him; he then took it back, saying that there are certain cases where that may not be true. It didn’t matter though. Not to me, at least. I could feel the guilt and shame eating away at me constantly for the next few days. It was my fault that I was depressed. I was selfish. I didn’t have faith. I was a bad person.
That wasn’t the first or last time I’ve heard mental illness categorized as a wrongdoing or sin. I don’t think Christians, or any other group of religious people, come up with these things to hurt or shame people, but they do. Instead of encouraging me to have faith, it causes me to doubt my identity and myself. Am I not allowed to be a faithful Christian and struggle with depression? Am I somehow a bad Christian for allowing my anxiety to influence some of my choices?
This is just one example of how I felt I lost a part of myself after being diagnosed with depression. Some parts that slipped away were like my faith, where I wasn’t sure how to be both depressed and something else. But I’ve come to realize that no matter what anyone else says about depression and ideals, I can make the choice for myself of who I want to be. And I can make the choice to be the same person I was before being diagnosed and face my depression at the same time.
I will not allow myself to be trapped by my diagnosis. It’s about knowing that yes, I am depressed, but that’s only a small part of who I am. I am more than just depression. I am a student, a Christian, a friend, a sister, a daughter, a confidante, and a fighter. I am talented, crafter, compassionate, sassy, empathetic, and strong.
I don’t want to continue making the mistake of allowing myself to believe that I can’t be anything other than depressed. Because if I do that, if I continue treating myself like the only thing I’m good at is being depressed, it’s highly possible that one day that’ll actually be true. And I refuse to let that happen. I haven't lost the war, but I do feel like I've lost a lot of myself, and I hope that I gain those parts back one day. But for now, I am more than my depression. And so are you.
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Learning to share....
“I suffer from…” are three words I never wanted to say. I didn’t feel comfortable finishing that sentence. I felt I would be admitting that something was indeed wrong with me, and that meant I couldn’t hide it or push it away anymore. My entire life I’ve tried to run away from myself. I’d think of what was wrong, and I’d come to the conclusion that it was all of me. Nothing felt right or in place. I had these unwritten labels on me: learning disordered, depressed, socially awkward, and more. For so long those labels defined me. More importantly, I let them define me. I was terrified everyone else would see the real me, so I built walls around me to keep others out.
I developed selective mutism & learning disorder long before I developed depression. I started feeling depressed in my latter elementary/early middle school years, in part because I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my best friend anymore, but also because I was finally in those quintessential years of growth. My best friend wasn’t a good influence on me, and I know that now, but she was the only friend I had at the time; losing her meant my cover was gone. There was nowhere left to hide, no one left to run to for safety. I used her friendship to mask the fact that my learning disorder was behind my lack of developed social and communication skills. Now my disguise was gone.
After that, I kept everything inside. It was better to be what everyone wanted of me. It seemed easier despite the exhaustion I faced. I spent long nights awake and days on the brink of a breakdown. I was a mess, and I knew no one would want to deal with the chaos. Eventually life became too much to handle. I didn’t know what to do anymore, so I let a few people in my life; I’m not even quite sure why. I let my walls down to a friend who, until then, was someone I kept on the outside. She was the closest person to me, but he knew nothing at the time. We were both in our own versions of darkness. I had my mind, and he had the barrier between us.
One day we walked toward the river near our college campus. We spent many a time sitting on fallen trees and talking about life. This time was different. I finally said that something was wrong. I told her how I felt. The response was different than I expected. She didn’t run. She didn’t leave.
Everything changed that day. I was ready to build back the walls from the rubble, but I left them down. I learned that I didn’t have to live with the darkness I felt. I didn’t have to live in that pain. My story was mine, and mine alone, but I didn’t have to go through life alone. I was not the only character on this journey. In order to live my life I needed to include other people in it. Not everything was as black-and-white as I had made it out to be. I now understand that we are not alone in these dark places. We do not suffer alone. And in that regard, we do not rejoice alone. We have no reason to hide.
Ask yourself when was the last time you gave an honest, true answer to, “How are you?” I know it took a long time for me to answer truthfully or even believe that those who asked wanted a real answer other than “fine” or “good.” These days I try to be honest, not only with others but also with myself. This is my story I’m living, but these are our lives we’re sharing. I don’t shut others away anymore. I reach out for help when I find myself falling backward again. I’m not ashamed of my story anymore, and I’ve learned the importance in sharing and continuing it. While I’m still growing, I hope one day we all find such clarity. I hope you let other people listen and listen to others. I hope you tell other people how you feel and what you’re going through. I hope you believe things will be okay even when you are unsure.
I developed selective mutism & learning disorder long before I developed depression. I started feeling depressed in my latter elementary/early middle school years, in part because I wasn’t allowed to hang out with my best friend anymore, but also because I was finally in those quintessential years of growth. My best friend wasn’t a good influence on me, and I know that now, but she was the only friend I had at the time; losing her meant my cover was gone. There was nowhere left to hide, no one left to run to for safety. I used her friendship to mask the fact that my learning disorder was behind my lack of developed social and communication skills. Now my disguise was gone.
After that, I kept everything inside. It was better to be what everyone wanted of me. It seemed easier despite the exhaustion I faced. I spent long nights awake and days on the brink of a breakdown. I was a mess, and I knew no one would want to deal with the chaos. Eventually life became too much to handle. I didn’t know what to do anymore, so I let a few people in my life; I’m not even quite sure why. I let my walls down to a friend who, until then, was someone I kept on the outside. She was the closest person to me, but he knew nothing at the time. We were both in our own versions of darkness. I had my mind, and he had the barrier between us.
One day we walked toward the river near our college campus. We spent many a time sitting on fallen trees and talking about life. This time was different. I finally said that something was wrong. I told her how I felt. The response was different than I expected. She didn’t run. She didn’t leave.
Everything changed that day. I was ready to build back the walls from the rubble, but I left them down. I learned that I didn’t have to live with the darkness I felt. I didn’t have to live in that pain. My story was mine, and mine alone, but I didn’t have to go through life alone. I was not the only character on this journey. In order to live my life I needed to include other people in it. Not everything was as black-and-white as I had made it out to be. I now understand that we are not alone in these dark places. We do not suffer alone. And in that regard, we do not rejoice alone. We have no reason to hide.
Ask yourself when was the last time you gave an honest, true answer to, “How are you?” I know it took a long time for me to answer truthfully or even believe that those who asked wanted a real answer other than “fine” or “good.” These days I try to be honest, not only with others but also with myself. This is my story I’m living, but these are our lives we’re sharing. I don’t shut others away anymore. I reach out for help when I find myself falling backward again. I’m not ashamed of my story anymore, and I’ve learned the importance in sharing and continuing it. While I’m still growing, I hope one day we all find such clarity. I hope you let other people listen and listen to others. I hope you tell other people how you feel and what you’re going through. I hope you believe things will be okay even when you are unsure.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)