Battling with Depression

​I’ve struggled with depression nearly my entire life.  For long stretches of time— days, weeks, even months, I wanted to die.  I would smile on occasion around my family, laugh with my teammates as we talked trash on the basketball court.  But mostly, I felt numb.
 
Depression is downright fucking scary. It can grab hold of you. It doesn't want to leave. It creeps through your life, invasive and malignant, taking root in everything you care about. Daily tasks become burdensome. Getting out of bed takes so much energy that the thought of getting up is exhausting.
 
Without intervention, depressive thoughts can snowball.  My first major depressive episode began when I started to get zits in eighth grade. My classmates would tease me about my pubescent acne and I internalized the criticism, allowing it to rot and fester in my brain until I created a mantra in my head: “you’re ugly, you’re gross, you’re disgusting”. I was starting to notice the girls in my class, deep down I wished I could approach them and start a conversation, but the mantra held me back.  “You’re ugly, you’re gross, you’re disgusting”.
 
After school I would go home to my bedroom and turn on my music as loud as I could to drown out the negativity in my head.  Shooting hoops in my driveway became the only way I could escape the pain I felt inside, but it always returned. “You’re ugly, you’re gross, you’re disgusting”.
 
These thoughts followed me for years, from eighth grade to my sophomore year in high school. I never told anyone what I was feeling inside.  I didn’t think I could articulate the mixture of hopelessness, rage and loneliness that haunted me every day. I began to smoke weed almost on a whim one evening before a school dance, accepting the offered joint because I wanted the approval of my peers. Before long, I discovered that I preferred being the “bad kid” version of myself who rebelled and smoked weed to being the kid that no one cared to know.  The drugs didn’t relieve my inner turmoil. I didn't care about anything except the thought that I wanted to die. I felt nothing. School sucked, life sucked, my life was over, I was over it.
 
My thirty-eight-year-old heart breaks for the helpless teenager I used to be.  I wish someone had seen through my bravado to the pain and misery I kept bottled inside and intervened.  If I had access then to the tools I use today to manage my depression, my life may have taken a different, much smoother course. 
 
I continue to battle my depression every day, but I will not let it beat me. Finding the right tools to add to my arsenal has been critical to keeping this monster at bay.  I’ve learned that my strongest ammunition is my willingness to talk about it.  Vulnerability and openness is my ally; I’m no longer afraid to discuss my struggle with mental health.  I have a counselor because I know I need one. I'm not afraid or embarrassed and neither should you be. 
 
If you are dealing with depression, social anxiety, mood or eating disorders, a gaming addiction, substance use issues, I plead with you to reach out, to seek help. Do not be afraid to talk to about it! 
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