Written by Isabelle Agnew
“Mom, what if I’m depressed?”
I remember this moment clearly: My mom and I were sitting in her bed, watching TV together. It was one of those rare moments where it was just the two of us and we were just able to sit back and relax instead of worrying about work or school. We had been discussing my lack of social skills and how little I had been eating recently, and, for the first, it occurred to me that maybe what I was feeling was depression.
“To be honest with you,” she said to me, “I’m not really sure what the symptoms of depression are.” So we looked them up:
-Feelings of helplessness and hopelessness
-Loss of interest in daily activities
-Appetite or weight changes
-Sleep changes
-Anger or irritability
-Loss of energy
-Self-loathing
Check, check, and check. I had been experiencing every single depression symptom for close to a year, so how had I missed this?
My mom suggested we make an appointment with my family doctor to see what he thought about it, so a few days later I was sitting in a cold, sterile office. The doctor asked me a bunch of questions, and first considered that I might be Agoraphobic, but he eventually determined that I was, in fact, suffering from Major Depressive Disorder. He prescribed me Fluoxetine (AKA Prozac), referred me to a psychologist, and gave my mom and I the usual warnings that come along with a depressed teenager, mainly to be mindful of suicidal thoughts and to reach out to someone if that happens.
I think, at this point, I thought this was it; this was going to be the cure to all my problems. I thought that, just like a physical illness, the medication would kick-in in a few days time and I’d be better – I’d be me again.
Of course, I was wrong, because it ended up taking upwards of 6 months to start feeling better.
It took me several months of suffering further to finally come to accept the illness, and it was only after I had embraced it I was truly able to overcome it.
For a long time, I lived in shame of this new label that I held. On the one hand, it was great to finally have a name for what I was experiencing; I wasn’t just being a lazy teenager, and what I was going through was a legitimate illness. But, on the other hand, this new diagnosis made me feel worse about myself; how was I supposed to explain my depression to my friends and family when mental illness was such a taboo topic?
In fact, it took me several weeks to even open up to my dad about the depression. I remember my heart pounding as I finally talked to him about my diagnosis. But his reaction wasn’t one of misunderstanding or anger, like I had expected. Instead, he reassured me that he knew what I was going through and that he was there if I needed him.
So I began to tell friends. I told my closest friends, and felt just as nervous about it. But every single one of them was supportive. I think this new label actually helped a lot of people, including myself, understand why I had been acting the way I had. Suddenly all of the absences from school made sense, and the fact that I never had the energy to hang out with friends was explained.
What I quickly realized was that the fact that I was depressed wasn’t nearly as big of a deal as I had anticipated. Nobody cared that I was mentally ill; they all just wanted to support me on my journey to mental health, much like how I would expect them to react if I revealed that I had cancer.
It was in this realization that I decided to really take a leap and step out of my comfort zone entirely. At the time, I was writing a weekly column in the teen section of the Moncton Times & Transcript, and I decided to open up about my depression in an article.
This was a huge deal for me. While my friends and family had been overwhelmingly supportive, I had absolutely no idea how the general public was going to react to my admission given the stigma surrounding mental illness at the time. But I wrote the article anyway, and, let me tell you, that was quite possibly one of the best decisions I’ve ever made.
Finally coming 100% clean about my depression to absolutely everyone in my life through my column was the breath of fresh air that I needed to help get me out of the hazy fog.
Not long after the article was published, I had teachers coming to me before, during, and after class to ask if I needed anything from them. They told me they wanted to help me in anyway necessary. I had other students telling me that they thought I was brave, and that my honesty about my depression had truly helped them.
It seemed like, for the first time in over a year, I had done something right. While my depression had been insistent on making me feel worthless for so long, finally opening up about my experience made me feel like I had won a battle – like maybe it was possible to be happy.
And, from there, it got better – I got better. I remained open with everyone around me and answered as many questions as I could. If I missed a class I was no longer afraid to admit that it was because I didn’t have the energy to get out of bed, instead of coming up with some dumb, unbelievable excuse. If I wasn’t interested in hanging out with friends I wasn’t afraid of explaining myself.
I’m not going to lie, those 18 months were definitely some of the darkest of my life. I spent a lot of time in bed, and even more time crying for no good reason. Every single morning the first thought it my head was “how can I get out of school/work/etc. today,” and I lost so much weight that year that I was considered underweight for my height. I was all around an unhealthy person, and that’s painful to think about.
But the moral of my story is that it got better – I got better! With hard work, determination, and open-mindedness, I was able to overcome my depression. Just when I thought I was hitting rock bottom, I decided to break the barrier and open up about my experiences. I overcame the societal stigma as well as my personal stigma, and, because of that, I’m a healthy individual.
We all need to be open and honest about what we’re facing, whether it’s a physical problem or a mental problem. Either way, our experiences are valid and should be treated that way,
If you’re suffering with depression, or any other mental illness, please don’t be afraid to reach out to someone. I know it seems scary to tell someone about your illness at first, but, trust me, your friends and family want to help. They love you, and, chances are, they’re willing to do what they can to help you through this dark time. If, for whatever reason, you don’t feel comfortable opening up to someone you know, then please find a hotline in your area (http://suicideprevention.ca/thinking-about-suicide/find-a-crisis-centre/). I promise that someone loves you, someone cares about you, and you can be happy again!
Art Therapy piece by Alycia Lucie Dort
