Depression is a hard topic to discuss, especially because as a society rapidly grows, depression and suicide is shown more and more often in media. It's never a laughing matter, and nowadays depression can be labeled as a mental illness and treated most often negatively as such. And as a person who just survived depression, I wanted to write my own perspective. And by doing so, I hope to help others. But it's ok if I don't. It's okay.
First thing I realised: depression isn't a way of life, and it shouldn't be normal either. Suicide shouldn't be a regular occurrence in the news, and in a perfect world shouldn't be in the news at all. Suicide shouldn't be beautiful, as some teens portray it as. Depression is not the way out of this crazy life we live in. Unfortunately, you can't just not have depression, and you can't just attempt to erase suicide forever. It will always be there.
Getting out of depression is one of the hardest things in life, and one of the biggest and longest struggles. Each person has their own problems, and each have to be dealt with indiviually. When attempting to help my dangerously depressed friends I found that people never listened to me, that they kept on this insane path of self-destruction because their problem was a feeling of worthlessness. I don't matter, they'd say. I don't matter in this big world. And I could never say anything to convince them otherwise. Because how would I know the workings of the universe? Perhaps we really don't matter.
Depression, it seemed to me, was untreatable and impossible to escape. Like an unbreakable metal box buried beneath layers and layers of rock and dirt. You read suicides of people on the news, and you wonder how people even get by these days because of depression.
But here's the miraculous part: It is possible to get out of depression. I survived. I climbed out of the box and came out alive. Scarred? Yes. But alive. And let me tell you, it is a weird feeling.
Some of you reading this would scoff. From an outside perspective, depression isn't portrayed as a big deal so much as a teenager problem in the media. I understand. It seems like a petty accomplishment compared to the huge scale of this world we live in. And many people, when told of someone's depression, simply brush it off and say "Just be happy. You're just complaining."
It is true, that our lives have gotten easier and more convenient as technology and science grows. But it means a faster lifestyle, a pressure to do great in a society filled with competitors. We are expected as people to fight with one another for the top position in society. To be famous. To be successful. To be rich. And the faster our lives get, the less we think of our lives as important. How could it, in this overwhelming world? How could our lives make an impact amoung politics, amoung business, amoung even our own peers?
I have always been a self-conscious and self-critical person. And it meant my depression was like hell. I used to stare at myself in the mirror and notice every little error in my body. Too skinny. Not curvy. A pimply face. I used to go to school everyday thinking I wasn't being heard. That no one cared if I was sad or happy. That no one believed I had a voice.
And the more I thought all this, the more I believed it. I am nothing, I would say to myself, and I can't do anything. I read the news, about the horrors outside of my life and think I could never do anything about it. Which, if you think about it, is quite true. As an outsider, I can't do much to improve or influence this world. But in my depression I was convinced that my inability to help was proof of my worthlessness. I kept a happy demeanour, and for the most part it was a temporary solution to an almost permanent problem. My happiness soon turned to fake joy, and my smiles slowly turned into robotic smirks. Pain and sadness soon began to pollute my psyche, and even my physical being. It was like a plague slowly eating me from the inside out, making me feel empty and soulless.
The thing is, depression is different for everyone. Depression has several modes, several degrees, and not all depressed people have reasons. And that, for some, is hard to understand.
At first, I had reasons. My self-consciousness meant I also had trouble with anxiety. I have social anxiety disorder, a mental illness I was naturally not proud of. My frequent panic attacks meant presenting in class and talking to strangers was, and sometimes still is, a daily struggle for me. And I thought I could never get better. That my anxiety was a mistake, a reason, a piece of evidence, that I was nothing. I wanted to fit in, but my anxiety set me apart, made me feel isolated.
But as my depression went on, I didn't need reasons. I woke up every morning wanting to go back to bed and never wake up. I walked on the street thinking of the many ways I could die at that moment. I dragged my feet, I became lazy, I became slow. And every night I would weep to sleep. Not cry. Not sob. Tears just poured silently out without having a reason. I wanted to end it all. I wanted everything to stop all at once. I thought about suicide. I thought about death. I thought about how I could commit suicide. I even gathered the necessary things for my planned suicide.
A misconception of depression is that depression can be cured overnight, and that you choose to be unhappy. Even I believed that. But it's not true. It will never be true. Depression can't be cured so quickly, and I definitely didn't choose to be unhappy. I just was. I couldn't help it, I couldn't stop.
So what ended it all? What saved me? Three words: my best friends.
Solutions to depression are different for everyone. For me? I needed reassurance. I needed the confirmation that I was more than I believed I was. I wanted people to see me as more than the shell I thought myself as, and I wanted proof. I just needed to be heard, to have a voice, to fill my empty shell with laughter and love again.
You see, depressed people can have friends. Often there is a misconception that people who have suicidal thoughts can't have friends, and can't have best friends either. It's because depression is misinterpreted as being lonely with no one to talk to.
I did have friends. I had people in my life, most of whom were distractions for me to cope with my depressed state. But it's worse, actually. When you have friends that make you feel lonelier. That make you feel small. I was surrounded by people far more wittier and smarter than I could ever be, and that made me shrink. I felt like nothing.
But I learned something. In order for me to overcome such a struggle, I realised that just having friends wasn't enough. I needed the right friends.
And that's where my best friends come in. Three, if you want to know how many best friends I have. Instead of telling me to just "be happy" and forget it, they cared for me. Told me I had a voice. Showed me how important I was to them by listening. They gave me a chance to hide if I wanted to. They gave me encouragement. It was like they were leading me towards a path I wasn't certain was good but I believed in them anyways.
And I learned that I had actually done good for one of my best friends. That, as I had learned, I had helped her through her own bout of depression. That, just like her, I had reached out and listened. Had sat with her and let her cry. Had walked her through happiness again. And she gave me credit I didn't realise I deserved.
The difference between my best friends and my other friends was the way they treated my depression. Some of my other friends just simply told me of their own experiences, and then told me that life sucks. Some of them just told me to be happy. But my best friends sat through and said: "I'm here for you no matter what, so keep going and don't give up."
And so I come back to my previous statement. When I began this essay, it was because I wanted to share something that I know many people have experienced. And hopefully help as well. I may not be therapist, and I may not be a professional. But to me, experience is the best way to learn and to help others. So to all of you who have depression: It's hard. It's so very hard to lift yourself up, and get up everyday. But I tell you now: there are people who will listen to you, who will let you have a voice, who will support you no matter what. And just know: You are not alone. It is a miracle that you depressed people are able to even get out of bed and grimace through life. If you can just do that, if you can have the strength to struggle through, then I believe you can overcome it. You can punch depression in the face and come out strong.
Of course it'll be a struggle. You'll fight with yourself, with friends, with family. But don't give up. You are a miracle waiting to happen.
Trust me, the struggle is worth it. I have never felt more alive. And it's strange now, as I can't imagine how I could've been so depressed when life is so beautiful. You become an outsider, watching and observing. It feels like I just woke up from a long and dreary nightmare, and to be honest it's a weird feeling. It's like I shedded my own skin and became new somehow.
And I hope one day you will get there. And I hope one day you can wake up and smile. I hope you all can look up and love the skin you were born in, and love the world no matter how stupid or crazy it is.
Please. We are all here in this wacky world. Let's make sure we all get through it together. No matter how hard the struggle.
Don't give up. Keep fighting.
We are all here. And no matter how your lives go, there are people who will listen. Including me. Including the suicide hotlines.
So just remember: the box can be broken. And it will.
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