Note + TW: This newsletter is a foray into something that’s consumed me for much of my adult life: depression. In full transparency, I’m nervous to share this and resent that the environment we live in forces people who are suffering to feel fear and shame. But for that stigma to go away, we need to be honest and vulnerable about our mental health. *deep breath* So here’s my first attempt at that. If you, or someone you love, needs help, please call the national lifeline via phone at 988 or online.
“Are you sure?”
“Really? You do?”
“I would have never guessed, you’re so smiley!”
“You must have high-functioning depression.”
“But you’re so happy, surely you can’t be depressed?”
Those are all things people have said to me when I have the strength to share that I have depression.
Just the phrase “I have depression” irks me, because it often feels like depression has me. It has a tight grip on me, it has me under its weighted blanket, it is the pilot and I’m just a ride-along.
I feel bad about my bad feelings. I feel guilty about being depressed; I’m ashamed that my brain betrays me when I’m able-bodied and have a beautiful little life. This weighs on me, compounded by the heaviness of the world around us, along with society’s many misunderstandings about mental health.
When people express their surprise or confusion in response to my condition, it’s usually grounded in their perception of me versus my own lived experience. They see me as ‘happy’, confident, and poised, but those aren’t the words I’d use to describe myself. It’s limiting to assume how someone might show up in the world is a direct reflection of someone’s inner self, when it’s often an inverse relationship. People who have endured hardships tend to be kinder and more compassionate as a result. I have a standard response to this line of questioning: “Since it’s this hard inside my own brain, I never want to make things harder in someone else’s.”
I can’t tell you exactly when, how, or why my depression began. It’s as if a haze rolled into my mind one day and slowly but surely began taking up space, making a home within me. Eventually, it created a cozy nest of its own: a dark womb where negative thoughts are conceived, gestating and growing until they reach their full potential, taking up more and more brain space as time passes.
In my first appointment with a psychiatrist, I prepared a hand-written list with all my fears and reservations about medication as a treatment path. I voiced all my concerns, ranging from not wanting to medicine to change my personality to not wanting to be reliant on it to not wanting to take something for the rest of my life. The Doctor replied to my laundry list with one searing question.
“But what if medication was transformative?”
That question and sentiment still lingers with me. As someone who is constantly preparing for the worst case scenario, I’ve rarely allowed myself to consider the possibility that something good could happen. Last year I finally worked up the courage to try medication, and it was… transformative. It is one of the best decisions I have ever made. It felt like I was wearing the wrong glasses prescription for the past two decades of my life until now. I’m sad that I waited this long to make this important choice.
The haze is still there but it’s less strong; I feel better equipped to deal with it. The weight is there but my shoulders are stronger. I can control the volume and intensity of the noise in my brain. I adore my psychiatrist, who has been so supportive on this journey for me and is also an incredibly cool human. She has changed my life for the better.
I love life. I love living. I love every moment I have to take a deep breath and feel gratitude and awe to be alive. I love people, I love the mundane everyday moments of our days and the big extraordinary ones. Most days, I feel like Dave Grohl belting out the lyrics to “Walk”:
“I’m dancing on my grave
I’m running through the fire
Forever, whenever
I never wanna die
I never wanna leave”
I have so many dreams and hopes for my future I get overwhelmed with where to begin, which path of possibility to pursue. I have always felt this way regardless of the state of my brain. Depression gets in the way like an obstacle in my path, a resistance that’s sometimes too strong for me to fight — but I’ll always keep trying to push past it. I’ll embrace it because feeling something is better than nothing at all. It means I’m still alive.
I put off writing about this topic until I couldn’t take it anymore. I hope this resonates with some of you. If you’ve ever felt like you’re alone in this, I promise that you aren’t. There are so many paths and ways forward to get the help you deserve (and I’m here for you!). These words poured out of me on my travels, inspired by the verdant greens, citrus, and flowers I’ve seen across Japan in winter. Even in the coldest, darkest season, against all odds and expectations, you can still bloom.
If you’ve made it this far — thank you. ❤️ Here’s a small token of my appreciation: thirty seconds of calming sound from the Katsura River in Kyoto where I finished writing this piece.