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20 Stories Of Depression And Suicide And Living Our Lives
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Your display name should be at least 2 characters long. At Kobo, we try to ensure that published reviews do not contain rude or profane language, spoilers, or any of our reviewer's personal information. You submitted the following rating and review. We'll publish them on our site once we've reviewed them. Continue shopping. Item s unavailable for purchase. Please review your cart. I will be seeing a therapist soon. One day, however, I would like to get to a place where I can know for certain, without a doubt in my mind, that I belong here without the validation that comes from external forces.
I've never been clinically diagnosed with depression, but depression is one of those things that you don't need someone to tell you you have it to feel its wrath. For me, it comes and goes in waves, depending on triggering moments. The toughest part about struggling with something so consuming and life-altering is knowing its effects firsthand, and in turn, knowing you're sometimes helpless and unable to make the pain other people feel any better.
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After Robin Williams passed away last night, I was on Twitter looking at photos of the Good Will Hunting bench that some fans of his had turned into a memorial. One picture showed the bench and a quote from the film someone had written in chalk, "It's not your fault. So often, people who suffer from depression and other mental illnesses are under the impression that their sicknesses are their burdens to carry, that it's somehow their problem and their problem alone.
Not to mention that the stigmas our society has around anything that deviates from our standard expectations of mental health make depression even harder to talk about and grapple with. But if you suffer from depression, it's not your fault. It is not your fault. Thankfully, the people of Boston reminded me last night that Robin Williams knew it's not my fault, either.
But to someone struggling with clinical depression, they sound only like taunts. It took me a long time to come to terms with my depression. I started struggling with it in college but chalked it up to college blues and stress and overcommitment to various activities. I briefly went on meds, only to forget to refill my prescription because I "didn't have time," which only made it worse. But depression can hide for a while, and though the year after college was mostly fine, it came back later with a new vengeance.
As I struggled to find a full-time job at a time when the industry and economy was crumbling and everyone was talking about the "death of journalism," I slipped deeper and deeper into depression, though I didn't know that's what it was at the time. I thought I wasn't working hard enough, maybe I was too lazy — if only I had more willpower.
I felt embarrassed and ashamed at my shortcomings, unable to understand why someone who was known for being an overachiever could all of a sudden feel so useless and unable to function.
Therapy helped a bit. But it wasn't until I was able to understand that what I was struggling with was really dysthymia chronic low-grade mild depression, which at times can dip into major depression that I was really able to get help. While it was so easy for me to help others close to me who were struggling with depression get the help they needed, I was blind when it came to myself. In the fall of I spent more than three weeks unable to get out of my bed. Going out to get a coffee across the street felt like a triumph. And all the while I hid it from most everyone I knew.
When I first started feeling the effects of medication after finally seeing a psychiatrist, I couldn't believe that I'd waited that long to get help. It wasn't a magic pill that made everything better, but I was able to get out of bed in the morning. And you start to realize that it really shouldn't have been that hard to do the simple things. I didn't realize life could be another way until then. Life is hard enough on its own; it shouldn't be a daily struggle to leave your house, to cook a meal, to take a shower.
After seeing the effects, I realized how long I'd tortured and blamed myself, thinking my sadness and futility was my fault somehow. But depression manifests in so many ways and across such a wide scale, I realized that I could've gone my whole life without realizing that there was a better way to live. And I hope that others reading this might know that even if your depression doesn't look like someone else's — maybe you're not bedridden, maybe you don't have major swings — there's still help out there for you, and it's not your fault.
I know I'm one of the lucky ones, who responds well to medication and therapy.
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For many, it takes years to find the right combination of help to manage their depression. For many more, they're not able to find affordable access to mental health care. It's a problem I wish our country and health care industry would make a real priority. KT, Grandpa Ed, Josh. The names scroll through my head. Every day I think their names.