As I delve into this topic, I can’t shake the feeling of being an imposter. My personal battle with depression is something I’ve rarely shared, and saying the word itself feels strange. I’ve often thought that I don’t fit the mold of what depression typically looks like, which is precisely why I feel the need to speak out. I suspect there are others who, like me, recognize that something is amiss but struggle to articulate it due to their ability to “fake it.” I always believed that depression meant being bedridden, overwhelmed with sorrow, and unable to perform even basic tasks.
However, depression can manifest in many ways. It is possible to be functioning while feeling deeply troubled internally. You can carry out daily responsibilities, albeit sometimes with less precision and attention, and to the outside world, you may appear just fine. Yet inside, you might feel like a formless void.
For me, the onset started shortly before the tragic loss of Robin Williams. I have always been prone to anxiety, but a particular event triggered an overwhelming response last year. My nerves were frayed, and my thoughts spiraled uncontrollably. Instead of discussing my feelings, I retreated inward, hoping my struggles would fade away as suddenly as they had appeared.
That was when the lies began. “Depression lies.” You may have heard this phrase before. It didn’t take long for my thoughts to plunge into the depths of this deception: “I am annoying.” “I am unlovable.” “I am unattractive.” “I am incompetent.” “I am unworthy.” “People who seem to care are only pretending.” “I despise myself.”
Even amidst these troubling thoughts, a part of me recognized their irrationality. This duality only intensified my internal conflict, reinforcing the notion that something was indeed wrong. Over time, a new, more insidious lie took root: “Life will always be like this.”
This thought was particularly frightening. To the outside world, I didn’t appear to be struggling. I continued to fulfill my responsibilities—waking up each day, caring for my family, cooking, and maintaining my commitments. I was adept at masking my struggles, moving through life like a marionette controlled by strings. Yet, beneath the surface, I felt like a zombie, trapped in a facade.
There were subtle signs that others might have noticed. My family may remember when I gradually stopped reaching out. Friends might reflect on how our social interactions dwindled. My partner likely recalls moments when he expressed concern about my well-being, noting I seemed distant.
During that tumultuous year, I occasionally found myself fixated on a kitchen knife while preparing meals. The thought of using it to escape my pain was momentarily alluring, but I was rational enough to understand the consequences of such actions.
Although I have never contemplated suicide or been incapacitated by my condition, I often dismissed my feelings as not qualifying as “depression.” This denial only added to my confusion and despair. Still, I empathize with those who reach a point of hopelessness.
A few months ago, a friend candidly shared her struggles with depression in a Facebook group. The support she received was overwhelming, and it made me take note. Soon after, I encountered an article detailing the symptoms of depression, and I found myself identifying with nearly every point listed.
In a private online group, I finally admitted, “I have forgotten how to be happy.” Before I could erase my comment, a fellow member urged me to seek help immediately. It took time, but I eventually sought assistance. I am still navigating this journey of understanding my anxiety, triggers, and past experiences. Slowly, I am starting to feel a sense of hope again, and it is invigorating. Working with a therapist has been transformative. Yet, even as I share my experiences, I grapple with feelings of fraudulence, questioning my right to label my condition as depression.
The impact of Robin Williams’s passing deeply resonated with me. I understand how someone might spiral to the point of believing that life will perpetually remain bleak. However, that is a fallacy. If you find any truth in my words, know that those negative thoughts are lies. I urge you to reach out for help. Life will not always be this way. There is help and hope available, but you must be willing to take the step to seek it.
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In summary, acknowledging and addressing depression can be daunting but is essential for healing. By reaching out and seeking support, you can rediscover hope and pave the way to a brighter future.