To give you some background about me, I tend to be a very bubbly, social, kind, positive, and smiling human being. I was extremely involved in student groups, worked on campus, went to the gym, and had a pretty good social life. I have struggled with anxiety since high school, but it really took a toll on my life when I came to college. I decided to try out some medication with the help of my doctor to help ease the anxiety as I made the college transition. For about a year and a half this made me feel like myself again and I could conquer life's challenges without feeling like they might be the end of the world. This began the mental health journey that I will be on for the rest of my life.
The first time I had a depressive episode was the fall semester of my junior year of college. I started to feel the anxiety creep back in, but this time it had a friend along for the ride. The symptoms did not appear all at once. At first, I thought I was just letting the winter time get the best of me by skipping the gym and my favorite exercise classes, but it started to snowball. I started to dread going to work which was so uncharacteristic of me since I loved my job. I stopped going to the events and meetings for my student organizations. I wouldn't leave the house unless it was for class or work and sometimes, I didn't even make it to those. On the inside, I felt like everyone could tell I was in a dark place and wasn't myself, but to them nothing had really changed. I may have been missing a few things here and there, but what college student doesn't get overwhelmed from time to time? I was still smiling and bringing my positivity to work and class, but it was so much harder to do it, and as soon as I was back in my apartment I would retreat to my bed. As I got deeper and deeper, I stopped answering text messages from friends or would give short answers, I made excuses for why I had to miss any and every social function. The minute I would wake up all I could think about was when can I climb back in my bed. I tried to reach out for help from a friend, but they did not understand why I was acting or feeling the way I was. They told me to just "think positively" or "go to the gym" because it would make me feel better. These things can help, but it does not magically cure it all. Luckily, I had a great support system in my family and they urged me to see my doctor. That appointment would bring my second antidepressant into my life. After a few weeks of adjustment I started to feel like myself again little by little. My motivation and interests began to return and I felt like I was reuniting with an old friend.
I did not experience a full blown episode again until a year later. It began slow just like before, but once it started it gained momentum quickly. I was living in a brand new environment with brand new people so asking for help was that much harder. It was easier to mask it this time since most people I was coming across didn't know me very well. They weren't noticing that I was laughing less or smiling less. They didn't know I was keeping to myself because I was hurting. The hardest thing for me to understand during it all was how it had happened again. I had so much going for me: a new fun job, new amazing friends, an awesome new place to live, and endless opportunities to start the rest of my life post-grad. So why did I feel so sad, guilty, and empty inside? With a push from my mom, I decided to see a psychiatrist, but I was unable to get in for about two months after I initially made the decision. Those two months ended up being the darkest ones of my life. I was having adverse side effects from the medication I was currently on, but stopping suddenly would make it even worse. I found this out the hard way. I just didn't care anymore about anything. I started calling sick into work, ignoring calls from friends and family, and just became numb. The scariest thing about this episode was for about two to three weeks I think about death a lot. Not necessarily planning to kill myself, but what it would be like to not exist. I was scared of where my mind could take me. I would think about car accidents when I was driving to work, or how many pills it would take to not wake up. When I finally got into the psychiatrist I was diagnosed with moderate depression and anxiety. I was taken off the medication that was giving me side effects and put on a new one. These types of medications don't work right away so the transition period is often the worst.
For the people around me in both cases, some noticed the signs, but most did not. Some of my friends even told me later on that they thought I was cutting them off or just didn't want to be friends anymore. After finding out how I was feeling some just didn't know how to help, so they gave me my space. As for work, I often felt shame or unsure if I could tell my bosses that I was depressed. When I needed to miss because I just could not get out of bed, I often found another more "credible" excuse. I was so embarrassed to tell anyone how I was really feeling because it was so hard to explain and understand myself. It felt like I was a shell of a person, existing but not really functioning. When I was that deep, invites to hang out got more and more slim because I would never say yes. I so badly wanted to be around people, but also did not want to feel like I was being a burden. I didn't want to load my problems and sadness onto someone else.