My Depression Story: Happy, Yet Sad

“You’re just dramatic. Get over it.”

“Stop being so sensitive, it’s not a big deal.”

“Happiness is a choice; choose it.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve uttered these words on social media and to myself. Depression has made me feel like a weak nothing for most of my life. Why was I, Easy Life Emilie, so sad? I can pinpoint my depression really manifesting itself at age fifteen, and the counselor I saw two times chalked it up to me being insecure and feeling ugly, like a ‘typical teenage girl.’ The thing is – I was too sad to be insecure. I didn’t care enough about anything to care about the way I looked. All I knew was that I was in a fog and my brain was like a slippery blob that my education just wouldn’t stick to.

Depression isn’t just a sad person, annoying you with their “lazy” attitude and meaningless anxiety. It is a true illness of the mind. It took me a long time to accept this, but once I did – self love found its way back to me.

I remember how my grades went from A’s to C’s. I remember going to my room every day after school and laying on my floor, staring at my ceiling and doing nothing else for hours.

After winning the “Most likely to smile and say hi” award in my biology class, I showed it to my brother and he scoffed. “But you’re the angriest person I know. Save all your nice for your classmates, then come home to your family?” Oh, how much worse that made me feel. I knew there was a problem, but if it was really a big deal, wouldn’t somebody notice? I convinced myself that if I mattered, then someone would care. This sort of thinking is illogical. Most people are busy with their own lives and problems, but that doesn’t mean they won’t take the time to listen and help. If you are struggling – tell someone.

My dad was deployed in Iraq at the time, leaving my mother to care for four children alone. Unfortunately, our church family could have been more helpful, but I think my mother’s display of strength left them thinking we were fine. My mom was worried about one brother passing high school – looking back, expecting her to notice my sadness at a time like this when she was worried about my dad in Iraq and my brother, is a little unreasonable. You can’t expect the world to stop and notice when you are experiencing a depressive episode.

I scrolled through Tumblr a lot during my days of loneliness – my only friends were the anonymous quotes posted by internet strangers. While reflecting on my blog one evening, I noticed most of my posts were re-posted from an account called depression-kills. I was terrified. Could I, happy, nice, bubbly Emilie really be struggling with something so scary? I took the test on the blog out of curiosity and ended up with manic-depressive disorder. This meant that I experienced extreme lows for weeks followed by extreme highs for a short period of time. These highs were what convinced me my sadness was only in my head.

At the end of field hockey season my junior year, I was awarded the “Team Spirit” award because everyone loved how happy I was. My teammates commented on my positivity often. I smiled that maybe in my heart I was sad, but at least I was lifting others up. I chose to live my life this way; even if I was faking it, happiness was contagious. It was a domino effect. I might not make myself happy, but I could influence others to smile more. Being around my teammates made me feel brighter anyway. I loved feeding off their energy.

While a valiant effort, pretending to be happy doesn’t always last, especially if your brain is dealing with an uncontrollable chemical imbalance. I left for college and experienced a low, followed by a high, followed by a low, and told myself that it was just seasonal. That final “low” lasted a year and a half.

I called my parents often during that low, in tears, anxious that I wouldn’t pass my classes because I never got out of bed. My roommates would come home from their classes and start homework, and I pretended like I’d gone and come back. I was humiliated by my lack of ambition and waste of an education.

I started college as a sophomore because I attended a program which allowed me to take community college courses while in high school. I should have graduated a year and a half before my peers; instead I graduated a year and a half after they did. Watching all of my friends post on social media in their caps and gowns broke my heart. If I hadn’t felt like a failure before, I definitely did then.

Throughout my college experience, I sometimes tried to make my mind healthy again. I signed up for free counseling through my university, but that lasted two sessions. I decided that I was fine. I didn’t need counseling. It was fine, and I could handle it. I went to Mental Health Services on campus, but there was a miscommunication issue with my therapist and I just never went back. Accepting you have a mental illness is hard enough; telling others you are struggling and need help feels like a cry for attention.

I looked into medication, but I was still struggling with admitting to my depression, in part because my parents weren’t completely supportive of that solution just yet.

My parents are amazing, and they are integral parts of my journey to self-help. But it did take one of my therapists explaining to them the rocks I was constantly carrying around on my back in a scientific manner for them to really begin to understand. We are all learning and growing, and mental health has stigmas that effect even the most loving and giving of people. If you have a loved one who is showing signs of mental health issues, validate them.

As I came closer to graduating, I finally began to feel like myself again. For three years, a once State Qualification Speech and Debate Champion turned pale and shaky when asked to speak in class. If you ask anyone in my Price of Gender course my final semester of college who was the most annoying, I would gladly accept that title – because I was speaking up in class again!

What helped me? Well, it’ll take more time and work to cover it all. But on a basic level: medication, therapy, support and positivity. Yes – you can still have depression and remain positive. Positivity is somewhat of a choice. As my therapist says, though, sometimes the tools to combat depression are necessary in seeing the bright side. Positivity is both a tool and sign of a healthy life.

Do I still have down days? Oh, yeah. I have an affectionate and talkative cat as well as a needy dog who have no qualms with snuggling me all day when this happens. Down days are just a symptom of my illness, and I accept that. Do I still get anxious? Unfortunately, and I have let my loved ones know the signs of anxiety in order for them to better aid me when I have anxiety attacks or depressive episodes.

Am I living my best life? I’m really trying to. Some days are harder than others, and I sometimes wonder where I would be if this wasn’t one of my lots in life. I can tell you now that I might not be as down to earth, thoughtful or intuitive. I might be more self-centered, or less compassionate. I may have more experiences to boast about but less experiences that drew me nearer to others.

You are not alone. You are not weak, or a bother, or useless. You have a mental health issue and you are living with it. I’m proud of you, and you are stronger than you know.

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