The Face of Depression
Precisely 3 months ago today, I stepped outside without a nurse or nurse’s assistant by my side for the first time in a week. The prior days were spent abiding by a timely schedule, being shuffled to and fro in a maze of a building fraught with locked doors, and following a dress code that spoke of disallowing hoodies, belts, and shoestrings. I found myself in a land where your safety is prioritized over your freedom out of necessity, not out of desire for control. And thus, for 7 days, staff at a psychiatric hospital focused on a girl who arrived with a severe episode of Major Depression with suicidal ideation, and who was trying to fight for any shred of hope amidst overwhelming tears and terrifying, uncontrollable racing thoughts.
And yes, that girl was me.
Now, the previous words scribbled above have probably already made several of you pouring over the bluntly honest words shuffle in your seat out of discomfort or disturbance. Wondering whether or not you should, or could, continue reading a post about such a bleak and arduous topic as mental illness and its facets. (Or perhaps some view mental illness as an imaginative falsehood people employ to excuse their shortcomings. Which I will say right now, I wholeheartedly disagree with, and I will speak to that in the coming phrases.)
But let me assure you, I am not devising this post as a means of promoting dismally destructive ideations, but of putting forth hope and love for all individuals, suffering from mental illness or not. So, please, keep reading.
And surely there are also those reading who are already mourning over my “reputation” that will now seemingly be tarnished by the admission of struggling with my mind at times. People who say:
“You don’t want others thinking differently of you, do you?.....”
“Now that you’ve posted this, surely future employers will see this and know that you’ve struggled with depression and take that into consideration.....”
“Men don’t want women who struggle with anxiety and depression because it’s too overbearing, so go ahead and get used to the idea of living your life as a single woman forever.....”.
And yes, all of these are “points” people share with those who struggle with mental health, believe it or not. People, uncomfortable or dismissive of the topic, try to shove mental health back into the shadows using rejection as the key motivator. Because if we don’t address destructive monsters and stick our heads in the sand, recklessly ignoring crucial elements of life, then “the monsters won’t exist,” and we can continue to bask in our flawless reputations, right?
To all of this, let me be clear: We cannot ignore mental health. It is VERY REAL and must not be ignored, but must be addressed with vulnerability and sincerity, aiming at figuring out how to better help those struggling with it, and how to better equip individuals on assisting those who are in need.
And, as far as my “reputation” is concerned, I do not give a flying rip if others view me differently as a result.
Because this topic needs to be addressed.
And stereotypes need to be challenged.
Because, guess what? People suffer from mental illness silently every day, afraid to speak up out of crippling fear that others will indeed view them differently, or view them as “damaged goods”, or that they will be told that “it’s made up in their mind because depression isn’t real” or that someone will tell them that “they just aren’t trusting God enough”.
In my nearly 27 years, I’ve always been described as relentlessly bold in one way or another. Whether it be my outlandish sense of style, vehemently standing by subjects I deem of paramount importance, reiterating optimism despite a dismal outlook, or being decisively upfront in letting others know that I truly care about them despite the entire possibility (or probability) of rejection.
I am not motivated by the reputation tattooed on me by man.
I am motivated by the honesty, boldness, and passion God has placed within me. And I do not intend to let it lay to waste in any facet. And not when it comes to something as critical as mental health. I will not let my experience go unused. And thus, I continue.....
One of the things about mental health is that, often, there is a stereotype associated with those who suffer. Those who are overwhelmed by these illnesses are :
“The loners”.....
”Those who spend their days huddled in their bed with the lights off and blinds drawn, watching emotionally destabilizing movies until their tears could water a garden”.....
“The goth who dresses in all black and creates dark art”.....
“Those who are wasting away with drugs”.....
“Those covered with tattoos head to toe and who have multiple piercings”.....
The list goes on and on.
But hardly ever would you hear anyone say the one suffering is notably:
“The individual known for astonishingly optimistic speech”.....
“The one who is smiling at nearly all times”.....
“The one who wears whimsical and happy ensembles”.....
“The one who spends their time engulfed in social interaction”.....
“The one who has unequivocal energy and seeks opportunity”.....
“The one who believes that God has a reason for everything”.....
“The one who thrives on making others smile”..... and so on.
You just don’t hear that.
Because, subconsciously, many don’t believe that those people could *truly* be suffering internally if we cannot easily identify their struggle from the sidelines.
We unknowingly become regulators and referees of the internal emotional lives of others, sometimes making horrendous calls due to the inability to see the play with clarity.
As a culture, we are often taught that you can tell everything you need to know about a person from the outer shell, or that you can easily identify whether or not someone is “doing okay”. But that is simply not always the case.
Many of those suffering, including myself, don’t fit the “profile of the troubled”. I have had numerous people speak to me since briefly opening up about my mental health, and many of them had said variations on the following:
“You were always the optimistic, smiley one. I never even considered that you might battle with depression.”
“You look healthy, though.”
“You have so much going for you, though.”
“You are the energetic, nice one.”
“You looked so put together, though.”
“You are so laid back and easy to talk to, though. You’ve always been carefree.”
“You’re the most free-spirited person I know.”
Now, I know that each and every person who spoke those words to me are very well-meaning individuals and who in no way were discounting my experiences. And I love each and every one of those people dearly. They were merely speaking to the idea that I am trying to portray to you right know. Which is that depression and mental illness don’t follow our “guidelines”.
Unbeknownst to me, my reputation had apparently decided for me that I was not eligible to apply for a diagnosis of depression with suicidal ideation, anxiety, or panic disorder. And that is something I want to bring to people’s attention.
I am one of the many faces of depression.
Depression and mental illness does NOT have a “look”.
It does NOT follow stereotypes.
It does NOT care if you smile or frown.
It does NOT care if you are social or a hermit.
If does NOT care if you’re rich or poor.
It does NOT care if you believe in God or not.
It does NOT care if your life looks good from the outside.
It simply does NOT CARE.
Everyone is vulnerable to mental illness. Sure, there are individuals who may be more susceptible to it due to a family history, such as me, but that does not mean that everyone else will remain untouched.
Life is difficult. We may endure stress, trauma, physical abuse, emotional abuse, verbal abuse, PTSD, destabilizing life changes, and the like.
The smiling, optimistic individual is not invincible, just as the “stereotypically disturbed” person is not invincible.
Keep this in mind.
It is NOT up to us to decide if someone is hurting or not. If they confide in you that they are hurting, BELIEVE THEM. Even if they do not radiate the stereotypical signs. And even if what is hurting them would not have hurt you to that degree. We do not get to decide for someone else.
Do not be afraid to ask questions and dig deep with people in emotional vulnerability. And don’t be afraid to ask the challenging questions should you find that someone is indeed hurting. There is nothing more loving that you could do in that instance. I would rather someone ask a personal question, and everything be okay, than have someone assume someone is doing well, and find out that they were wrong, too late.
Don’t be afraid to ask them if they’ve considered hurting themselves. Don’t be afraid to ask them if they have a plan. Don’t be afraid to ask them if they’ve considered suicide.
Many people feel as though asking these questions may instill those ideas in that person’s mind, but that goes against findings in the mental health field. If those ideas are going to be in someone’s mind, they’re already in their mind when you ask.
My sister, a counselor, asked me the hard questions through what was quite honestly, the most overwhelmingly unwelcome and distressing mental anguish I’ve ever experienced, and it is perhaps one of the reasons why I am still here today.
Diving deeper into the hearts of those around you, suffering or not, is one of the most crucial things you could do to show your love and support, and that it is not superficial, but it is unwavering even in the face of difficulty.
Because suffering does not just happen externally, with broken bones and broken flesh, but it happens internally with broken hearts and chemical imbalances in the brain.
One of the reasons many people don’t consider mental illness or depression to be a “true medical issue” is the fact that it cannot be seen externally, with an X-ray, or a blood test. However, the lack of these distinctive exams does not indicate that mental illness or depression is a figment of the imagination. Rather, depression is caused by an imbalance of chemicals in the brain that creates mental AND physical reactions.
Yes, there is the mental misery (which can be unbearable), but there are also physical consequences that can occur such as:
Elevated heart rate
Increased blood pressure
Tingling of limbs and / or other body parts such as the face
Shaking, trembling
Decreased / increased appetite
Lethargy
Crying spells
Insomnia or hypersomnia
Panic attacks (which often also boast of difficulty breathing and chest pain, and honestly feel like you will legitimately bite the dust in a matter of moments),
and so forth.
Mental illness and depression impact people more than just emotionally and psychologically. It is also physical.
Depression is not a choice, as some people say.
Nobody would ever choose to endure this debilitating illness. To have their mind turn against them....to have their body rebelling. I promise you, nobody would choose that pain, given the option.
I did NOT choose those destructive thoughts racing through my mind.
I did NOT want to be afraid that I would hurt myself.
I couldn’t explain to you how, the day after my panic attacks began and my depression entirely unleashed itself, I saw pictures of myself and my friends on my bedroom wall and my mind whispered that those would be the only pictures I’d ever have together with those I love, that they would be displayed at my memorial, and how I wept uncontrollably as a result of that lie.
I can’t explain to you how precisely the mind wields its sword of destruction, causing torment.
But I know that mental health and mental agony is REAL and it can be vicious and unrelenting.
That is not to scare you. But it is to promote awareness in ourselves and others.
The images and thoughts were not my choice.
My mind was looking for a way out of the legitimate pain I was experiencing, and that is precisely why I sought help.
So I would still be alive today.
Trust me when I say that I would never have willingly chosen that pain. Nobody would have. Although I do believe that God must have a purpose in me having walked through it.
Whether it is that I have learned more about myself, or that I could help even one person through sharing my experience.
My week in the psychiatric hospital, was, in total transparency, a blessing.
Yes, you read that right. A BLESSING.
It allowed me to separate myself from the immediate stressors that were slowly drowning me.
It allowed me to be placed on a medication to assist in correcting the chemical imbalance in my brain.
It was a refuge of safety in a time where I was trying so hard to reject satan’s lies and trying to fight for myself and a future.
It was a time of bonding with those around me, in solidarity, reiterating that EVERYONE IS IMPORTANT.
I sat with other women who shared their stories.
Stories of attempted suicide. When their saving grace was that they hadn’t yet pulled the trigger when they passed out from the meds.
Stories of relapsing in addiction and wanting to break free from its hold on their life.
Stories of losing their family members while using drugs and how they regret not being there in their loved one’s last moments.
Stories of hurting themselves, but having no recollection of it happening.
Stories of living with a physical disability after an accident and struggling with the will to live, and struggling with feeling as though they were worth it despite their handicaps.
It was a zone of vulnerability and realness that I hadn’t experienced before.
These women were REAL about their struggles.
They were HONEST about their emotional state.
And that is something that I have rarely crossed paths with in the outside world, but I’ve always hoped I would encounter.
I am so thankful to know now that it’s possible to speak openly and have others embrace it and then reciprocate unabashedly.
Ultimately, the location in which I met these women is insignificant, although society would often label them (us) regardless. These women were there to get help, which ultimately signifies the bravery it takes in the admission of struggling.
I learned an abundance from them.
You know, we are all exactly the same.
No matter where we find ourselves.
We are all worthy of love.
(There may be someone out there thinking “Well, maybe I could have sympathy on everyone except those who have an addiction, because doing those drugs was clearly their choice.” To you, I will say: Yes, using illegal substances is a choice, but who in this life has not chosen to do something that would cause them harm in some form or another? We have ALL made self-destructive choices, whether it be through lying, sexual immorality, pride, manipulation, drugs, etc. But that does not mean that we cease to love, and love wholly. That does not mean that we cease to encourage healing.)
I loved these women who were raw and encouraging.
Who comforted me when I began bawling and shaking at the start of the first day.
Who told me it gets better.
Who told me that I was worth it.
Who spurred me on to face this monster head on.
We were all admittedly “broken”, but used our scraps to make a beautiful work of art anyway.
Being a human is hard enough without the rift that mental illness can create in a conversation.
Without the stereotyping and labeling that ensues.
Without the judgment that others may rain down upon us in an attempt to drown out cries for help.
Please, be open.
Be honest.
Ask questions.
Listen.
Be vulnerable.
Reach out.
We do not need anything else to separate us.
We don’t need mental health to continue to be a taboo topic, letting our friends and family believe that they should hide their pain out of sight, or disguise it so as to pass for normalcy.
We truly are all the same.
Sometimes we need to be hugged.
Sometimes we need a listening ear.
Sometimes we need to hear “I love you.”
Sometimes we need to hear “You are worth it.”
Sometimes we need to hear “Me too. You’re not alone.”
In the face of good times.
And in the face of bad times.
And in the face of depression.
Love goes further than we could ever comprehend. Truly.
So, I don’t mind talking about it.
If you have questions or want to discuss mental health or my experiences, I would love to talk to you about it.
And please just know,
whoever you are reading this:
I love you.
Just the way you are.