How I Found Joy in Depression
I was cared for through the darkest period of my life
In one of the darkest nights of my life, I thought I would die. As I wept on the frigid bathroom floor — broken, shaking and weary — I wondered whether I would ever feel even the smallest fragment of happiness again. I cried until my voice was hoarse and my strength ebbed. A deluge of suicidal thoughts battered me until I was too exhausted to think.
Pulling myself from the cool tiled floor, I wandered to my desk as if in a trance and typed a two-page letter to God on my laptop, pausing every moment to draw a ragged breath between tears. In the letter, I outlined my desperate pleas for help.
Then, I sank back into depression, preventing me from later remembering what happened in those long, bleak days — except the daily trek home from school along blocks of grey pavement and the occasional takeout dinner sat around the television with my family.
My struggle with anxiety began early.
With a vivid imagination, I never ceased to imagine the many frightening things that could happen. Shadowy figures on the ceiling in my bedroom transformed into devious creatures. The pounding music from the neighbor's house party became cries for help.
