I put on a very good show at times for people who don't really know me. The people that know me best, however, have seen my pain first hand. They had to watch as I spiraled, unable to help me until I wanted to help myself. They are my heroes. The ones who have stuck by me through this. I owe them my life and so much more. My wife has been very patient and supportive. She has pushed me when I needed to be pushed and given me space when I needed it. She has been instrumental in my getting help, pushing me to not back down from seeking the help I desperately needed. Depression doesn't just effect the person with it, but it takes a heavy toll on those who care about that person.
My recent bout with depression began with fleeting thoughts. How worthless I was. How nothing I did was right. How I was undeserving of the people around me who loved me and cared about me. These thoughts over time can take you to a very dark place, a place where in your mind there is no way out.
Compounding with those thoughts were the other contributing factors, also known as symptoms. Not only do you have these thoughts, but you begin seeing things, as if those thoughts were reality. I'm not talking about hallucinations, but skewed perspective on how things actually happen. Everyday interactions, even the best of them, become in your mind, worse. Everything around you hates you. Everything you encounter, you just know, is looking down on you. Because after all, in your mind, you aren't worth it. Not worthy of love, of friends, of family, and at times, of using air to breathe. You pull away from everyone. What used to be conversation, is now one word answers. What used to be socialization, is now isolation. What used to be happy, is now maddening sadness.
It is hard to explain how your brain becomes so mad at you. You try to think positive thoughts, but it comes back full force. For years, on top of years, you took everything and pushed it down to a place no one could see, even you for the most part weren't allowed to open it up. Then all of a sudden it reaches capacity. Every hurtful comment from a classmate as a kid, every snide remark about your appearance, every jab anyone ever took at you comes flooding out. All that pent up rage and frustration pours out of your brain like an erupting volcano sending rivers of burning hot memories flowing over the inside of your closed eyelids.
Closing your eyes is no solace from depression. For a while I was sleeping maybe 2 hours a night. My brain wouldn't shut off in it's rage of self-loathing. Time would tick by. You find yourself becoming sleep deprived, which only makes you more angry, and more irritable. You begin to fear what you might do or say to someone you care about. So you pull away even more. If I do not talk to them, if I do not get too close, I can't get upset. I won't explode on them in a misplaced and misguided fit. So who do you take it out on? Bingo. Yourself.
There are symptoms of depression I never really knew about. Like the pain. Back pain, leg pain, headaches, stomach pain. So now, you have self-hatred, can't sleep, in pain, and a ticking time bomb of irritability and anger. The thoughts begin. You are a terrible person, you are a drain on everyone who knows you, you are inconsequential. You are quickly becomes you aren't. As in, you aren't worth it. People would be better off if you weren't there anymore. Lives would be better, if you ceased to live.
Then it began, and it wouldn't leave. Thoughts of harming myself. Thoughts of ending myself. Numbers rolled through my head. Five of them to be exact. To most it would just be a odd string of numbers. To me, it was the combination to the safe that contained a way out of life. I battled these thoughts, and this is about the time I knew I needed help. This is when I reached out. When I had a plan. I didn't want this for my life. I wanted to be me again, not a broken down shell of what I once was.
I went to the psychiatrist, and he gave me pills. Pills to help, or so I thought. The pills made me foggy. I was slow, couldn't concentrate on things and was left to my own thoughts, which were still in a bad place. How do you escape from yourself? Normal distractions didn't work. I no longer enjoyed anything. If I smiled or laughed it was because it was expected at that time, but I didn't feel levity, just pain. So I remembered what worked one time. I was in class, Human Development to be exact, and we were talking about death and suicide. The only thing I really learned from that entire class was that I wasn't normal. I was devolved. But, during this class I couldn't take it, but couldn't leave either. I dug my ring into my cheekbone. Pain. I could feel that, and it took my mind off of things. I went home with a dent in my cheek and a bruise from digging the metal in.
Pain could take some of the thoughts away. So I cut myself. Over and over again. Places hidden from the world as to not let others see. Some of the scars still remain, and are a reminder of where I have been, and the journey I am on. I am sure they will fade with time as most things do.
This was my life. My life before treatment began to work. Treatment took quite some time to really take hold. It took months. Months of medications and pitfalls. Victories and defeats. It all came to a tipping point on a sunny, warm September day...
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