Trigger warning: This column mentions suicide and self-harm.
For the last five years, I have been in a tug-of-war with depression with some days being better than others. I didn’t really think about my experience until my friend asked me how I knew I was depressed. I couldn’t really tell her then.
I couldn’t really tell you now either, but my experience with depression looks a little bit like this:
As I lie in my bed, staring at the ceiling, I try to think about everything that makes me sad. If that doesn’t work, I watch sad videos, read sad stories and listen to sad music. Everything in the atmosphere around me is sad. But while I stare, trying to encourage the sadness to make me feel something, it doesn’t work. I can’t cry. I can’t feel the gut-wrenching relief of sobbing, the exorcism of my negative emotions trapped inside of me. Nothing I do helps.
It wasn’t always like this, though. It started with a numbness that spread slowly. At first, I would weep about my insecurities and how much I hated myself. I could cry about my loneliness, my traumas; I was able to cry.
But as my depression progressed, crying all the time turned into my inability to cry at all. I’d go months on end without shedding a tear until something trivial like a difficult math problem broke me. And when I started crying, I wouldn’t be able to stop.
That experience drained my hope for this miserable cycle of life to be over. Eventually, my emotional regulation was no longer in my control. Instead of relieving my misery through my sporadic crying sessions, I found a controlled way to relieve it: through physical pain.
To this day, I still suffer from my choice of cutting. Physically, I have scars that don’t leave. But the worst drawback is my urges — to this day, the addictive relief of self-harm still reminds me of what I could do for a second of respite.
But the point of this month’s column isn’t to rant; it’s to remind you that healing isn’t linear. Although I still have urges and depressive episodes that leave me unmotivated and glued to my bed, I’m better.
Talking through my feelings in therapy has been one of the best ways I could heal not only my present self, but my inner child and trauma. Visiting my doctor was another one of the best things I could have done, as I got the medication I desperately needed to get my emotions stable.
Being unable to take charge of your feelings is not normal; it’s a sign that there’s a larger problem inhibiting your daily life.
Depression isn’t abrupt. Instead, it’s a slow-spreading wound that festers gradually over time. It’s hard to catch, but just remember that it’s a wound that can heal and will heal with enough care.
As always, remember to take care of yourself.
Sara <3
