Admitting Out Loud

My friend, Depression, pushed me to the limits the other day. It’s like one of those people that like to push the envelope to get a reaction out of you: they keep pushing and pushing until you yell or scream or cry — anything for the reaction. And when you do react (because we are all entitled to feelings and reacting), they get defensive. They ask why you can’t take a joke and why you’re so sensitive.

In high school I had sought out counselling and for a while, it worked. It worked so well that I got through what was left of high school and I was able to move on from the problems that had occurred. Even better, I was able to get out high school in one piece and I didn’t even have to think twice about anything. I was able to tell Depression off for a bit, to go away and never return, and for a while, it worked.

I should have known that this was too good to be true, and sure enough it reared it’s ugly head once again. I had a panic attack over the fact that a friend and I had fallen out of sorts with one another. She was my best friend growing up and it had always been her and I together. But suddenly life was changing so fast — she got a boyfriend, her habits were different, and our goals and focuses were incredibly diverse. We wanted different things, a far cry from our pledge to do everything together. And I couldn’t understand what was wrong with me, why she chose this lifestyle over our friendship, why she went out with other people and didn’t invite me, and how we becamse so different.

From there, more situations began to arise, leaving me down most of the time with the occasional upswing of happiness. But the happiness would be short lived, as if someone had injected these happy feelings into my veins. It was a drug that I wanted so desperately, and yet I couldn’t find a dealer. I yearned for happiness, and I tried to find it in people, in places, and in things. But I found nothing.

Sleeping became difficult because it was laced with nightmares, so to combat that I would stay up incredibly late with the intention of falling asleep and eliminating my nightmares. But my plans were flawed and I would come face to face with the things I feared most: how I was incompetent, how I would fail everyone that I loved, and how I would never be loved.

I was stuck, and it took me so long to admit to myself out loud that I needed help. This entire exercise was a desperate plea for help. I was dangling off the ledge and Depression was coming around to peel off each finger individually so that I would fall.

I put my name down for counselling to begin in September. I’m not sure what to feel at the moment; on the one hand I am happy that I am making progress and an effort to keep going. But I am also paralyzed with trepidation, unsure of what is to come and uneasy with what I will come to know.