What Blue Monday Means to Me

Blue Monday is the term coined for the most depressing day of the year. It’s the day in the first month half-way from New Years and half-way to Valentine’s Day.

Statically, it’s the day when most suicides are committed.

For someone just recently diagnosed with anxiety, this day can feel strangely familiar. Like something I’ve never known was mine. There’s a strange comfort in knowing that something is acknowledging the way you feel. But can a day really make you want to end it all?

For years, I thought I was just sad. For years, I probably was. But it wasn’t until college that I knew something inside me was wrong. My junior year I had my first anxiety attack. I had no idea what was happening, and I counted the bumps on my ceiling until it passed. From then to this day, these attacks grip me a couple of times a month. I didn’t think that was a big deal until my therapist told me it was. Everyone this day in age has something right?

I would walk through my days numb. Not sad, not happy. Just numb. I would go through the motion of taking notes, interacting with people so that I could slip by. I wasn’t upset by anything, I was dull. It escalated, and some days I would calmly think about the ramifications of jumping in front of the train that ran through my college town.

By the time I graduated, I knew that something had to be done. I lived alone for the past two years and became a glorified hermit. I was accepted to graduate school far away from home, and for the first time I wouldn’t be a car ride away from my family.

I knew that being on my own in a new city would be rough. Grad school would be a whole new ball game, and while I was excited, I was terrified. So I started looking for professional help. It was ironically stressful, but I knew that I was going to need something to deal with all the change that was coming.

It took months, but I attended my first session in December. I sobbed within thirty-minutes, and it was only a preliminary meeting. I bottled up so much fear and worry that any scrape on the surface of it made me a mess. I’m still a bit of a mess. I think accepting that my mind isn’t always on my side gives into something. I don’t know what that something is, but I have someone to talk to about it, and for now that is enough.

Blue Monday for me means that though some of us give up, there are so many who don’t. So many who are kind and wonderful. So many who don’t understand what’s happening to them. I am thankful that I am one of the lucky ones who found help in time.