It’s a question that hangs over my head like fog whenever the first symptoms start to emerge.
Am I depressed again?
In this post, I talk about the what ifs that surround me when it comes to a potential cancer diagnosis. I monitor symptoms, research every possible cause, and panic at the inevitable truth—I have cancer.
But that hasn’t come true, and I’m thankful for that.
But what does seem to arise every few months is a bout of depression. I monitor symptoms, research methods of coping and regaining energy, and then succumb to the inevitable—I’m depressed.
Every person’s journey with mental health is unique. Each story deserves to be heard and each person needs to be loved. And as I tell you a bit of where I’m at with my mental health, I ask for that love and grace to be shown to me and everyone in the comments.
My first sign of a depressive episode is always isolating myself from friends and family. That study session at the coffee shop? Sorry, I’m busy. Want to go for a walk tonight? Can’t, I’m not feeling well. No matter the event, I find a way to stay home, buried in my blankets and senseless entertainment. Then comes the sadness that I can’t process—where did this come from? I wasn’t sad last week. The sadness turns to anger, and the anger tries to find an outlet. And finally, I put the pieces together: I’m depressed.
But now what?
I first recognized my depression while living on campus during university. It was there that I began going to therapy on a weekly basis and working through my struggles. I still see my therapist on a monthly basis, five years later. And while she’s given me many tools to manage my mental health, I have to resign myself to the reality that, to some extent, I will always have mental health challenges.
But over time, the way my struggles manifest has changed.
I still isolate. I still get sad and angry and hide within myself. But if this past week has shown me anything, it’s that as I change, my symptoms do, too.
Tonight, I was on the phone with my fiancé when I asked out of nowhere: “Is something wrong with me?”
Bless him for knowing what I meant, because that question is as vague as they come. I was referring to my headaches, my nausea, my inability to sleep through the night, and my preference for laying on the couch watching Netflix. I was talking about the lethargy, the realization that I don’t want to do those things that I find fulfilling, and how all I want to do is cry. My voice never got above a loud whisper as even talking took more energy than usual.
“I don’t know, honey,” he said. “Maybe you’re depressed.”
“I don’t want to be depressed,” I said, almost in tears.
I don’t. No one does. Being depressed is awful; if the symptoms we experience aren’t hard enough, add to it the societal stigma associated with mental illness which makes it difficult for many to reach out for help, and our depression is just compounded.
But it may be happening again. And as much as I may fight it, I may be in the early grips of a depressive episode.
I do have the tools to work through it. I have my therapist, my support network, and my antidepressant medication which helps to keep me stable. But nothing is foolproof, and even with all those measures in place, I still struggle.
And I’m scared. I’ve been here before and it’s a scary place to be.
But as I stare down the barrel of yet another depressive episode, I’m trying to remember three things:
- It won’t last forever.
- It’s okay to feel what I feel.
- I have my God and my people to walk alongside me, no matter what comes.
So sorry that it’s here again. I know you hate it more than any of us do, on your behalf. I’m here. I hear you. Your people are here.