BY: EMILY PLEASANCE
The image of the dew droplets on the field and how the cool, crisp air felt on my face will forever be with me. If you ask me what it was about that day in high school that finally made me break I couldn’t tell you, but the air that morning was beautiful. What I do remember is thinking to myself, “I can’t do this anymore.” Tears were cascading down my cheeks as I sat in the guidance counselor’s office. The little red stress ball she gave me was disgusting. It was sticky with what I imagined to be the residue of the previous sitter’s tears. I kept squeezing it anyway. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m going to have to call in your mother.”
For years my mother and I were not close enough to share what was going on in our day-to-day lives, so having a conversation about feelings in general was something I had yet to experience. The nice lady explained to my mother that I was struggling with depression and gave her a few places she could bring me for support. She then told my mother to take me home for the day and to not return to school until I had received some help. On the drive back my mother turned on the radio, I rolled the window down, and the car was filled with white noise. I reclined my chair back and shut my eyes until we got home where I would nap the rest of the afternoon away. To this day my mother has never brought up what had happened or what was said in that office.
Before I begin, let me tell you what you are not about to read.
I am not writing to you as an emotional cry for help, nor will you find a motivational speech to help you get through your own tough times. As a woman who has struggled with it for years, I am simply showing my views and experiences with depression in a casual and conversational way – which is exactly how I think depression should be talked about.
I didn’t understand why my mother chose to forget that day, but I would imagine it is for the same reason that people don’t generally talk about depression. Don’t get me wrong; as soon as someone famous commits suicide like Robin Williams, and places like Buzzfeed or Upworthy create a viral video, no one can shut up about it. Everyone turns into some kind of highly educated asshole that knows everything about depression. They all share stories of that one person they kind of knew that killed themselves. Depression becomes sensationalized. The only other way depression is spoken about is clinically, with helplines and care centres managing to seep their way into the conversation. Here, depression is just impersonal. I wish I could drink a cup of coffee with someone and talk about my depression without having them feel awkward. Without them feeling the need to say they are “there for me.”
Before people find out that I struggle with depression, I am usually seen as someone who is bright, happy, outgoing and intelligent. (Yes, I took that opportunity to boast.) Yet, for some reason, depression takes all those traits away and instead I become ‘just the girl with depression’. When people react the way they do, a person learns not to talk about it anymore.
I wonder why people feel awkward talking about depression. Sometimes I think it’s because they are worried that not having depression themselves will leave them nothing to say and unable to relate. I can tell you right now that if you have never experienced depression for yourself, you will never be able to fathom its power, but at the end of the day it is just an experience. What is the difference of someone sharing experiences they had while skydiving compared to the experiences they had while being depressed. Both are feelings and moments the other person may never completely understand, and yet depression extinguishes conversation.
I know my life would have unraveled much differently if people weren’t so afraid to talk about depression. Maybe if I didn’t have to talk about it behind closed doors and in private rooms I wouldn’t have gone to bed every night in first year university looking at the rooftop of my building and wondering how many seconds it would take before my body hit the ground. Maybe I wouldn’t have spent nights crying in my room, missed that party, failed that exam, gained that weight, wrote that letter, lost my boyfriend, hated myself, hated my mother, or hated my life if I could just talk to someone. Maybe. Luckily, it only took me until my third year of university to understand that even though depression can be a serious disorder it’s generally just a day-to-day obstacle that some people have to deal with. Despite the consequences of enduring deep depression, I must confess, it was one of the greatest chapters of my life.
If I can say one thing to someone who is fighting with depression it would be that you should take this as a learning opportunity. There is something pure and cataclysmic that happens to your soul when you experience the lowest moment of your life. It awakens a euphoric sense of self-awareness that on a molecular level reminds you you’re alive. Losing yourself is the best way to find yourself – and I did find myself. I am one of the lucky victors who won the fight against my own mind. I am a fuck ton stronger, brighter, and happier. In my clouded mind I have managed to find the silver lining of depression to make the air cool and crisp again like that morning, so many years ago.
I did not get rid of my depression entirely; I learnt to live with it. I truly believe that regardless of one’s nurture there are parts of every human that are unchangeable – traits that are eternally engrained into their being. One trait that will always be with me is depression, and it has allowed me to ponder the question: Is suicide ever okay?
Depression is unbearable, it is relentless, and it has no mercy. It is an inescapable sadness that stripped me of my identity and took away everything that I loved. It is inhumane to expect a person to live in such an insufferable state. Taking into consideration one’s moral compass that decides what options are right for them and which are not, if a person’s efforts to manage their depression are fruitless and they are left with no alternatives, I understand why they would want to commit suicide.
My morals made the decision that any form of drug therapy was not an option for me. If I was going to manage depression it would be with my mind and body, and there would be no one but myself to thank in the end. If my mind and my body were not enough, I would not be here today.
So for anyone who has ever struggled with depression, despite everything I’ve just said, know that I have found myself on that rooftop many times; my head and heart wailing to the sky in hopes that something would finally seem clear on the horizon. Know that I was once like you, but I changed. Think about this if you ever come to a point where you need to make a decision about your life and do it wisely, for it could be the last choice you ever make.
