Fighting Mental Illness: My Story
When I was in middle school, my mom was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. When she wasn’t at work, she was either in bed or in the bathtub, and when she was next to me, she felt miles away. I would talk to her and wait for a response that never came. I didn’t understand how she could be so oblivious, and I wanted her to snap out of it and be happy.
Meanwhile, my mom and my dad split up, my mom lost some of her church friends, and we all lost ourselves. Our family and our lives were forever changed.
Fast forward 35 years. I showed up at the doctor’s office as they opened one morning, so short of breath I could barely speak. My heart had raced all night, and I had lain awake with chest pain and feeling like I was being suffocated. I left that doctor with confirmation of a healthy heart and a diagnosis of generalized anxiety disorder. What I had experienced was a panic attack.
Just 6 months later, I struggled to get up for work every morning, feeling so damn tired all the time. Once again, my chest felt heavy, but in a different way. I didn’t smile much, fell asleep early each night, and let my son play video games way too much, because it didn’t require energy from me. The day I started crying at my desk at work, going to the restroom to clean myself up, then starting right back up… that was the day I recognized my mom. This is what she had dealt with back then (and still does).
An assessment with my doctor confirmed I was in the midst of “moderately severe depression.” Until I could get an appointment with a mental health provider, my primary prescribed an antidepressant because she didn’t want me to lose my job. It took a month of daily doses before I felt a difference, so I continued to hide my tears at work and tried not to worry my son, who was only 6 years old at the time.
Unfortunately, neither my depression nor my anxiety were isolated incidents. They are chronic and continue to hit me, often out of nowhere. I’ve had to build my own metaphorical first aid kit with medications, meditations, movement, and mindfulness. (I didn’t mean for that to be so alliterative, but it’s kind of nice. Let’s go with it.)
Depression and anxiety are not feelings run amok. They are mental illnesses, and they suck. When they are active, every minute of every day is so much harder. Some people don’t understand that. I certainly didn’t all those years ago when my mom’s symptoms grew beyond her control. I thought it was dumb that she chose to be so miserable. It’s not that hard to smile. Except, sometimes it really is that hard. Impossible, even.
That’s why we need to talk about it. People who experience this need to know it’s not hopeless, and it’s not just them. Their family, friends, or colleagues who roll their eyes and tell them to get over it need to understand that these are disorders, not choices. None of us woke up and decided to be sad today. None of us thought it might be interesting for our bodies to experience jump-scare level responses for hours or even days at a time.
We didn’t choose this. No one would ever choose this, so let’s approach mental health like we approach heart health. Health is holistic — mental health matters.
