Today I am doing something that scares me...

Today I am doing something that scares me.  Something I don’t really want to do, but also something that I know needs to be done.  Today I admit that I struggle with depression, and I do this in hopes that I can raise even just a little bit of awareness for mental illness, and in some small way, fight the stigma that has plagued it for years.  This is my story…

For as long as I can remember I’ve been a high-achiever, a Type A personality, and a self-proclaimed pessimist.  In some ways these attributes have benefited me; I graduated high school in the top three percent of my class, got a full-ride scholarship to a prestigious private school, and graduate with Honors and my Bachelor’s degree in Nursing at 22.  But in a lot of ways, those traits were what were eating away at me on the inside.

Though I graduated near the top of my class in high school, I would beat myself up for any grade less than an “A,” even if that grade was an “A-.”  I’d tell myself I was stupid, or that I wasn’t good enough.  This continued through college (though my standard did go down a bit and an “A-“ became acceptable).  I would berate myself for not achieving my idea of excellence, and every little word I said to myself or nasty thought I had about myself slowly began to erode at my already fragile mental state.  But I was in denial, at least subconsciously.

All throughout high school and college I coped fairly well with my negative thoughts, maybe it’s simply because I was so preoccupied with life and all my demands pulling me in different directions that I was able to bury them somewhere deeper.  I had more pressing concerns at the time.  But then I graduated from college, commissioned in the Army, and moved to Germany.

The dream, right?  I mean, who wouldn’t want to live in Germany for a few years?  Even I thought I wanted to initially.  But life for me in Germany wasn’t what I imagined it would be.  Yes, it had its moments, I had some awesome opportunities to take care of our wounded soldiers, and I met the amor de mi vida (that may be incorrect Spanish, but I thought I’d try), and these things I wouldn’t change for the world.  Things were overall manageable, and I adjusted decently well.

But then, when I started experiencing back pain in January of 2013 that later progressed to a chronic, seemingly untreatable condition, I began to fall apart.   I was operated on in February of 2014 after multiple failed attempts at alternative pain management for my back.  I was so optimistic that I would be relieved of my pain after the surgery; I truly believe I had myself convinced that it was going to change everything, and for a short time, it did.  But with very limited time off work and jumping straight into full-time nursing shortly after surgery, my back pain returned, and I was forced to accept that this would possibly be something I would have to live with forever.  For me, this was devastating.  I felt defeated, heart-broken, and mentally and physically exhausted.  I was drained emotionally and couldn’t cope with even the smallest of issues.

All of my symptoms of depression were further exacerbated when I began having a slew of other health problems and the Army denied curtailment for my husband to come back to the States with me when I PCSd (AKA moved).

I became a person I never want to be again.  I became miserable, short-tempered, and angry.  I knew I needed help.  So I started seeing Behavioral Health, a HUGE, but necessary step towards recovery.  I met with both a social worker and a psychiatrist.  I remember talking with the psychiatrist, and he looked at me and said, “Don’t feel bad.  You’re sick, and it’s not your fault.  Just like someone else can’t help having cancer, you can’t help being depressed.”  Hearing that was a relief!  I already knew what he was telling me, but I needed it to be reinforced.  Mental illness, like anything else, often has a genetic component, and is more often than not an imbalance of neurotransmitters.  Would we fault someone for having low thyroid levels or a high white blood cell count?  Surely most would answer no to that.  Yet we criticize and think down on those suffering from mental illness.

Having lived through depression and come out on top, I can say from personal experience that mental illness is debilitating.  It has the power to kill.  It’s awful and no one would ask to have it.

So for those struggling with depression or mental illness of any kind, don’t be too proud to ask for help.  Yes, admitting you need help is scary, and it makes you feel vulnerable, but I promise you that the rewards at the end make it all worth it.

And for close friends and family members of those hurting and struggling, please know that it’s not you causing the problem.  We want nothing more than to be happy with you, and we’ll get there with a little patience, a lot of love, and the professional help we need.

 So let’s make a change.  Instead of degrading those with mental illness, let’s support them.  Let’s tell them how much they’re loved and that what they’re experiencing is okay.  Mental illness is just that, an illness, it’s not a disease, and it’s time to stop treating it that way.