The Sound of Silence

*Unrelated note: I was out sick yesterday, so therefore, no blog post. I thought about posting something really quick yesterday to stick with the whole “blogging daily” resolution, but decided to just stay in bed. That decision made me happy, and as this is a happiness project, I stand behind it. =P

I kind of debated posting about this, but I decided to anyway…blogs are supposed to be about sharing yourself, having an outlet. Beginning a happiness project is a big step for me, in many ways. First off, as I mentioned in a previous post, putting yourself out there is a step all in itself. Secondly, being happy on a day-to-day basis is difficult for me. In my sophomore year of college, I was diagnosed with clinical depression.

Depression is a difficult thing to talk about. It’s even more difficult for people who do not suffer from depression to understand it. I remember after I went to the doctor, was prescribed anti-depressants, and started going to a therapist, my dad asked me why I was depressed and needed to go on anti-depressants. I remember replying, “I don’t know, I just am,” and walking away. It was extremely difficult for me to talk to my parents about it. I think a lot of it was that I was 19 years old, and still saw them as parents, and not necessarily as people to confide in. And I definitely know that part of it was that I was ashamed in breaking down and finally having to ask for help in something I couldn’t handle on my own.

Somewhere along the line in life, I had gotten it into my head that I needed to be on top of everything, all the time. I was the responsible student in school that teachers always paired with the “problem kids," because they knew that with me, projects would get done. I was the oldest child at home, and therefore, had more responsibilities. When my dad was deployed after 9/11, I became the second parent at 17 years old. I signed permission slips for my sisters, I would walk past my mom glued to the news on TV with a laundry basket on my hip, and I would do my homework in the kitchen so I could help out with dinner. I was the responsible, dependable one, and I always felt that I had to shoulder my own burdens, as well as everyone else’s. (Deployment was hard on all of us, and I've never blamed my mom or even been upset for taking more responsibility when my dad was gone. I just wish we all would have been able to talk more during those times, because I think we were all upset, but trying too hard to stay strong for each other. This resulted in all of us having a more difficult time with it.) Let me clarify that no one told me this is how it had to be, it’s just how I felt. Looking back, I know that if I would have gone up to someone and asked for help, they would have given it. Because if you fast-forward to me at 19, breaking down after Thanksgiving break because the thought of driving back to college and spending one more second there made it hard for me to breathe, my parents stepped in and everything came down. I still have the emails they sent me the rest of the semester: my dad checking in on me every day, my mom asking me to tell her what was wrong.

It was still hard to talk to them though. When I told my dad, “I don’t know, I just am,” I knew how I felt, but I didn’t know how to tell him that. I didn’t know how to tell my parents that I literally could not find the strength to just get out of bed in the morning. How the second I passed the “Welcome to Columbia” sign of my alma mater, my stomach clenched and this drowning feeling came over me. How I was barely getting by in school because when I went to class, the words just swam in front of me as I fought back tears every day. How the one thing in the entire world that I wanted was to just go home.

Over Christmas break, when I started therapy and medication, I sat down with my mom and dad to discuss options, because I didn’t want to go back to school; I wanted to transfer back to the college in my hometown. Telling me it was my choice and they would support whatever I decided to do lifted so much off my shoulders. Just hearing that I could make that decision if I wanted to relieved me so much that I ended up staying at my current university, because I was able to choose to stay there. That was the first thing that saved me. The second was my roommate. I will tell you that it is the hardest thing in the world to be depressed and share a 13x13 room with another person. Emily Ann would literally walk into the room when I was laying in bed, throw on the light, and say, “Ok, you’re going to the movies with us. Put some damn clothes on.” Or, “No, you can’t skip Krysta’s holiday party, you’re coming. Put some damn clothes on.” And my favorite, “I swear to God, if I hear Sound of Silence one more time, I’m throwing your laptop out the window. And God, put some damn clothes on!” (Not that I was running around depressed and naked or anything, I was just living in pajamas.) Once I was out of my room and around my friends, I felt above water again for a little while…but the second I stepped back in my dorm room, I was instantly dragged down into the drowning feeling again.

I never had one lightning bolt that zapped me back into being ok again. It was a bunch of little things, one thing at a time. I went to 6 therapy sessions, and then felt ok enough to stop. I was on Zoloft for 6 months, and hated the way I felt on it, so I took myself off. I switched majors, Emily Ann and I moved off-campus into an apartment, I got a job, and became more involved with campus activities. And slowly, little by little, I stopped drowning.

The thing about depression though is, it never goes away. It’s not something you can “cure.” It’s always there, in the back of my mind, and when I get too stressed out or overwhelmed, I can feel the waves gently lapping around my ankles, threatening to pull me back under again. People who have never struggled with depression don't know what it feels like. They just think you are really sad...I cannot even describe the complete hopelessness and utter defeat you feel during depression. How much it feels like drowning.  I remember when my best friend told me she had been diagnosed with depression and explained the exact same sensation. I’m not crazy, I remember thinking, this drowning feeling is real. My therapist had me bring in my old journals one session, and I sat and went through all of them and realized this went back further than I thought. I was depressed in high school, just didn’t know how to vocalize it or understand what it was.

Fast forward to today…I’ve slipped back down a few times since college. Right after graduating, adjusting back to living with my parents, having no friends left in my hometown, and looking for a job was very difficult. Then enter my relationship with Matt. He also struggles with depression, and has had a very difficult life, so us trying to make a relationship work at first without communicating anything was like mixing oil and water. We broke up for about 4 months and got back together (obviously), but the breakup was extremely hard on me, as was the memories of how he was last year compared to the amazing person he’s become this year. So there has been a lot of struggle, but I think we are finally getting to a point where everything is more settled. I’ve started talking to my parents more. I cannot expect them to know what I am thinking or feeling if I don’t tell them. And time after time, they’ve surprised me by rallying behind me when I finally get up the nerve to discuss something hard with them. So every talk gets a little bit easier. In my opinion, I’ve changed a lot over the past year, and am constantly trying to figure myself out and be happy with that. Enter the bHappy Project, where I wanted to start improving my life little by little and making it a goal to be happy on a day-to-day basis. That’s a little difficult for someone prone to depression, but I have never wanted to be someone who let themselves fall back into that place and stay there. It’s too hard. Happiness is even harder, but the outcome is better.