Apparently Mondays in January are the most depressing of all days in the year - it's proven here. That, accompanied by my company's partnership with Bell for the annual "Let's Talk" day has led me here - to write down and share the story of my bout with depression.
There wasn't a single moment that it started - there were no "symptoms", no signs to tell me I should seek out some help, or at least see my doctor. It just was.
I wasn't used to getting a bad grade, and it confused me the first time I did. It wasn't because I wasn't smart, or because I didn't understand the material - it was probably because I hadn't been to class in 2 weeks - any of them. I hadn't "lost it", I knew that the smart thing was to go; sometimes I'd get as far as packing my bag and putting my shoes on, before sitting in my parents' front hall talking myself out of leaving the house. It was a slippery slope, one that had a lot of negative impact on my school life. (More on this later...)
"Hey man, you wanna hang out tonight? You can come to my place and we can play some PS3 and have a couple beers", asked Elie. "Sorry man, I have to help my mom with a few things" or "I already have plans"; meanwhile my mom was out of town and I'd told everyone else the same thing. I wasn't trying to ignore my friends, I mean - if you know me, you know that my friends are my support system. The anxiety I got however, when trying to make plans, or do things that were so usually "normal" to me, made it impossible for those things to continue. Friendships suffered, and it made me sad - but I still had no motivation to change.
I still maintained I was fine - it was just a "rut".
"Everything okay Der?"
I suppose it was starting to show - but with so much on everyone's plates - I didn't want anyone to worry or spend their time feeling like they needed to "help". So I put on the best "happy face" I could.
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| This was in the middle of it all, I don't look depressed right? |
Behind closed doors though, I stayed up as late as I could at night, so I'd have to face less of the day. When anyone asked, it was because I was "a night person", not because "I didn't want to be faced with having to make plans".
Little did I realize that pretending to be okay was just closing me off even more; I was becoming more and more of a recluse. I started to hit lows that I wasn't even understanding; laying in bed for weekends at a time, feeling helpless. To make people think I was okay, I would leave the house in my car and go sit parked down the street - just to be sure I was alone.
I'm comfortable enough now to tell you that I would cry, simply because I felt like I had nothing to be happy about. I don't know if that's considered "rock bottom", but it's the worst part that I remember.
The problem had taken over, I wasn't myself anymore - I was a completely different person.
I'll be the first to admit that before I went through it, I thought depression was an "excuse" for people going through a rough time; people who couldn't accept that they needed to change and be stronger. I'll also be the first to tell you that I was wrong. It's not like catching a cold, because you don't even know it's there.
So what did I do?
There's no "cure" - depression is highly personal; you might never know what brought it on and therefore what to change. What the single most important thing for me (and I believe for everyone else) however, was finally feeling like I could open up and talk to someone about it.
I love my mother, but the first couple times I opened up and said anything about how I felt, she (like I suspect most people would) downplayed the whole thing - that it was just a rut, and I'd snap out of it. It wasn't the wrong thing to say, it's the type of society we live in - I'd have probably said the same. It just sucks because it makes you feel even more like you're overreacting and should keep it to yourself'.
After overcoming the fear of another brush-off I brought my feelings to two more people - one was my dad, and the other (who I won't name, I'll call him Mr. S) was the parent of someone I knew. It was like watching a light bulb go on - talking to someone who's been through something similar in their life. They don't look at you with a smile and tell you to cheer up, they talk at you remorsefully; seriously.
It's weird, but knowing that other people felt as terrible felt comforting - it gives you a new support group, people that have cried themselves through weekends themselves don't think you're such a wuss when you tell them you did it too. It's not about them telling you how they got through it, or tips on how to cope; it's the simple act of talking openly without judgment or reservations. It was acceptance - acceptance that sometimes the chemicals in your body can be a bitch.
Almost immediately my life felt different - I knew what was happening was serious, so I had more confidence when telling people. My mom finally understood why I couldn't "snap out of it", and people started treating me more like I was sick than crazy.
It was about time I did the same - and so, I visited my family physician.
My doctor was always a bit of a 'manly man', and I half-expected him to tell me to cheer up too. When I told him, the appointment turned into one of those "lets close the door" kind of appointments. He reiterated what I'd already learned in that I'd already gotten over the first hurdle of "talking about it".
He told me how important it was for me to get back into a routine - to make a schedule for my days and to stick to them until it became normal again.
He told me that I should regularly exercise - because the endorphins in your body might give you that extra kick you need to get out of bed and do the next thing.
He told me that he didn't want to send me anywhere just yet to get any medication, and the way he described it was that medication is like the turbo in a car - it might give you a boost, but you have to be able to maintain control (like I said...a manly man).
It was a great start, and I never did need any medication.
I started by going to class regularly again, and walking to and from school every day (you know, for the exercise). Before I knew it, I was hanging out with my friends again, making amends with old ones too - I was feeling even better than before.
Whether it was the support and acceptance of the people close to me, or the suggestions of my doctor - I don't know, but I was on my way.
Now, it wasn't an easy road from that point to where I am now, but the people around me helped more than they probably know - they just needed to know how serious it was. It's weird, once you accept that it's serious, you know how to take it lightly again. My dad took me on a 'shopping spree' if you will - his logic was "hey, we both know it won't fix everything, but everyone feels happy shopping" - and come on, it's true.
It's 2013 now - and those 6 months seem like such a blur to me. Sometimes I think about it like it was a dream, because I can't even imagine myself being anything other than happy and outgoing. It was real though - and despite everything - I'm happy to have gone through it. I'm more aware, and more understanding when I see, or talk about the signs.
Until now, I haven't talked about a lot of the details - I always see people's eyes roll when I say I've gone through depression, an haven't wanted to deal with it. That needs to change. If you notice a loved one isn't themselves, and you notice any of the signs I mentioned - maybe you should reaffirm that you're there to talk - that's all they might want. "Turn that frown upside down" only goes so far.
So, speak up, and talk - it helped me more than any of you who did it for me, know.
If you're interested in learning more, and spreading awareness, check out Bell's "Let's Talk" Day - that my company, Morneau Shepell has partnered alongside to continue our promotion of mental health awareness.
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| Goto letstalk.bell.ca for more |
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