“My Battles with Major Depression”

This post is being edited to be published by the oc87 recovery diaries: http://www.oc87recoverydiaries.org

Depression is brutal. Depression can be deadly. Depression and anxiety complement each other like baking soda and peroxide. They have fallen kings, celebrities, icons, and a multitude of everyday people. The stigma behind depression drives a wedge between its victims and the help they need to tragic ends.

My experience with depression is long, and my triumphs and defeats have taught me many things about how to maneuver it’s mine field. I am nevertheless humbled by it’s capacity to distort one’s perception of reality. It has nearly killed me on several occasions, and robbed me of happiness and contentment for decades of my life.

Nevertheless I remain a survivor, and against rather daunting odds. The genetics and prevalence of mental illness in my family are staggering. My grandfather and uncle on my father’s side both ended their lives prematurely. This was before I was born, and I never met them. Both sides of my family have mental illness, with some glaring examples very close to me. At one point I had a nervous breakdown in my early twenties.

I was a teenager when my depression first presented itself with any severity. Fifteen was the start of a dark and long road ahead that would seriously test my resilience. Numerous factors came into play including a move to a new town, which was compounded by the brain changes which take place with puberty.

At first I was utterly unaware of what was going on. The crippling despair that I felt was foreign and overwhelming. I had no prior knowledge of what depression was or the nature of the black kaleidoscope it presents to one who suffers. I found myself hanging with the wrong crowd and seeking and finding counterproductive means of self-medication.

I would also encounter the unfair judgment of family and acquaintances, further spiraling me into despair. The depression crippled my ability to focus and do my homework. Likewise my association with derelicts led to my being branded as a problem-child by my family. Nobody offered me any genuine insight as to what was happening, and the social stigma against therapy and medication derailed my seeking it out.

My situation became critical when I was twenty two. I descended into a full-blown nervous breakdown that would spiral into three suicide attempts. With no genuine support and a toxic home-life, I felt as though I was out of options. It took all of the willpower I could muster to soldier through this period, and I remain on a cocktail of psychiatric medication to this day.

Unable to work, I enrolled part-time at the local university in the hopes of finding some method of coping. I excelled far better than I thought I would, but my depression and social difficulties left me unable to attain a degree. To this day I struggle battling both my depressive symptoms and the cycle of poverty and dysfunction that have plagued me the whole of my life.

The worst of the challenges I faced were the judgments of my peers throughout all of these challenges. The depressed are often seen as lazy because the burden they carry is invisible, despite its crippling weight. Difficulties with focus and attention are often coupled with high-functioning characteristics. This leads to the judgment from outsiders that one is talented but “not applying himself” in spite of the talent they present as having.

The combination of my depression and my gifts with writing left further conflict in my healing due to the tendency to deny positive aspects of myself. My depression eroded my self-esteem to abysmal degrees while my intelligence demanded a certain amount of growth and stimulation that regularly went unmet.

Self-medicating opens the door to problems with addiction and poor social counterparts. I was labeled as some sort of delinquent in spite of only minor scrapes with the law. My peers during the darker portions of my journey were far more criminal, and guilt by association was rampant.

Therapy was a crucial component in my coping strategies, although finding a good fit was challenging, and took an ample amount of trial and error to accomplish. I have had two excellent therapists over the course of my journey, one male and one female. I likewise earned my stripes with regards to getting my therapy candidates to see if they were of the caliber desired to meet my goals. I have encountered some sadly poor examples of care, specifically when I was a struggling teenager. One therapist failed to see any of the factors of my toxic home-life, and simply labeled me as a “bad” kid who was acting out, out of selfishness.

In spite of the challenges I have faced, I took to heart one of my therapist’s addages when she mentioned that one thing that does come with experience is that you “learn to live” with depression. Over time as I learned the nature of the illness, along with numerous coping strategies, I was no longer overwhelmed by my affliction. Educating myself was incredibly important to my present-day survival.

My experience in higher education led to me majoring in psychology, and ample knowledge came from this decision. The understanding that the disease stems from biological, chemical, and environmental influences allowed me to cope with a multi-pronged approach. Taking care of my physical health, avoiding unhealthy people, and finding the right medications began to make my illness manageable. Managing stressors, knowing my limits, and listening to my symptoms when I needed to adjust things was also critical.

Nowadays I find comfort in writing, both poetry and freelancing, as well as a good chess game. High-functioning traits, such as make for good chess, when neglected, are often a large contributor to depression as well.

Over time I gained practice and experience which left me with a sort of depression “black belt” of sorts. I am grateful today for a newfound knack at giving other people sound advice in dealing with this illness. I am now an excellent sounding board for people with similar difficulties. I am likewise able to give non-judgmental perspective to others who are otherwise being swamped with unhelpful feedback. This does have its limits as I am often struggling with my own difficulties, and I don’t earn any income for my expertise. Being a confessional of sorts for others can likewise be taxing when I have my own responsibilities to attend to, but I wouldn’t give up the sense of fulfillment I get from helping others.

In closing I emphasize to others suffering from major depression to seek help and resist stigma’s power to stop you. I recommend educating yourself on the numerous methods, both psychiatric and homeopathic, approaches to combating the disease. Moreso I recommend being understanding towards yourself, and not fueling the disease through self-judgments and self-defeating behaviors. Once a knowledge of depression’s attributes and the ways it can be combatted have been attained, one can learn to live with it and find ample windows of release and relief. My hope is that this article illustrates the nature of my condition and draws parallels to other’s with the diagnosis. My story is not terribly unique, and I am clearly not alone as a bearer of the diagnosis. There is hope for major depression, even though the disease masks it.