Please know that while this short story is fiction and is meant to be enjoyed for its style and content, it is inspired by a frightening reality faced by people all over the world. Mental illness does not discriminate. The stigma surrounding disorders and diseases like depression and schizophrenia needs to be destroyed, and we can make that happen by creating a conversation and educating ourselves and others. Please show compassion to everyone you encounter in life. They may just hear or see something you don’t.
Another day of work.
You’re a joke.
Another day of mediocrity in the name of a paycheck.
You’re a waste of space. What’s the point?
Another cold morning with visible breath and achy joints.
You deserve to hurt.
She sat daydreaming in her unremarkable car, staring out the windshield at the other unremarkable vehicles, both idling and parked, between fading yellow lines.
The familiar pop song on the radio ended and the chipper, charismatic voice of an underpaid disc jockey interrupted her absent musing.
She sighed, defeated. She pulled the key from the ignition and opened the door, and as she turned toward the center console to fetch her purse, an object in the passenger floorboard caught her eye.
A large black pocket knife lay in plain sight, clumsily and mistakenly left behind by her husband. She paused and thought for a moment, and her flawed logic made her decide not to leave the weapon in the car.
I shouldn’t leave this in such a visible spot, she thought to herself as she retrieved the knife and, instead of concealing it in the glove box, she tucked it in her purse before locking the car and walking to her office.
The same stained carpet.
Disgusting, like you.
The same cluttered desk with stacks of unending paperwork.
The same jingles of keys from the same insufferable colleagues.
They all hate you.
She worked routinely, but just going through the motions allowed her to slip into an ever-darkening state of mind. Each sheet of paper and click of the keyboard left her more agitated. She heard her associates babbling too enthusiastically about their ordinary lives, and her phone seemed to ring again and again, just seconds after ending the call before.
Anxiety rose in her throat like bile, and she frantically pulled open her desk drawer to find the pills that would calm her enough to allow her to finish her work without a breakdown. Addiction was the name of only one of her many inner demons. With shaking hands, she fumbled with the zippers and snaps of her purse.
Her fingers grazed a package of tissues, a tube of lip gloss, her checkbook which might as well be kindling, cough drops, and-
An unexpected metal object.
Did you forget about that?
An unexpected desire replacing anxiety.
End their incessant chattering.
An unexpected lapse of caution and conscience.
Do it. You have absolutely nothing to lose, you piece of trash.
She suddenly rose and walked away from her desk, and she felt as if she was floating. She navigated the halls purposefully and quietly, but paid no mind to her surroundings. It was effortless; she acted similarly to a lucid dreamer who works impossibly quickly and without consequence.
Her boss was the first victim. He only had enough time to shoot her a concerned glance before she practically lunged across the room and made the first inelegant incision.
Voices told her to do it.
Make them bleed.
Voices whispered to her night and day but she attempted to quiet them with pharmaceutical muzzles.
We’re still here.
Voices convinced her to kill.
You’re a monster.
Her ears rang as she thrashed and plunged the knife into her colleagues’ flesh over and over, moving from office to office deliberately and rapidly. Her work mates had no time to process or react to her blows. She couldn’t even hear their pained screams despite how they must have been tormented by every stab and slice.
The rooms filled with the scent of pennies, and brilliant red adorned the mundane walls and stained carpets. She laughed joyfully and hysterically at the sudden change in scenery.
They were all dead. There was no one left to call for help but she knew someone would become aware of her actions soon enough. Oddly, she felt no remorse and even smiled as she leaned back against one of the freshly blood-painted walls and slid to the floor.
No more mediocre life.
No more routine, no more insufferable coworkers, and no more weight on her shoulders.
You’re going to die.
“Call an ambulance!”
“Oh, God, what have you done?”
“Check her pulse! What are those pills?”
“There’s so much blood!”
So much blood.
So much… blood…
So much… pain?
She slumped in her chair, and her downward glance revealed her bloody hands, holding both her entrails and the knife with which she was sure she had just murdered at least three people. She choked and sputtered as she began to realize the damage she had inflicted, not on any of her coworkers, but on herself.
As the scope of her vision receded, she lifted her head to see her physically unscathed colleagues, and the empty pill bottle, almost indistinguishable amidst the pools and spatters of crimson. Warm blood replaced the last of the air in her lungs.
One last heartbeat.
One last sound heard before everything faded away completely.
One last time the voice of her mental illness said
Available 24 hours everyday
I recently started a new blog series on Sh*t My Cat Does. Honestly, it’s rekindled my love for blogging. I’m planning to keep up this new series, but you know, this blog is called Misfit Musing: A blog about everything in general and nothing in particular. I’m thinking it’s time for more meat in this creative sandwich.
What do YOU want to read about?
I’m a researcher at heart so I’m not afraid to dig into a subject! I love multimedia blogging so I’ll be happy to include videos, links to all kinds of interesting content, and of course, photos.
Please leave a comment and feel free to follow this blog to see where it goes!
If you’re set in your ways and unwilling to consider any perspective beyond your own, you can stop reading.
If you want an unabashed look into the mind of someone with depression, and you think you might have room in your head for more knowledge and room in your heart for more understanding, I hope you’ll read on.
I’ll set the scene for you now:
I’m sitting at my desk at work, and though no one around me has any idea something is wrong, I’m terrified. My heart rate is elevated, my chest feels tight, and something I can only describe as an aching numbness creeps across my skin. I’m having an anxiety attack. My brain is telling me bad things. It’s encouraging me to harm myself.
According to a 2011 Reuters article, one in 12 teenagers self harm, and 10 percent continue to do so into young adulthood.
Self-harming can involve cutting, burning, carving or any number of actions meant to inflict injury to oneself.
I’m looking at the office supplies in front of me, and my brain is telling me it would feel good to stab my forearms with a pen or staple my fingertips. I know that sounds crazy, and in many ways, it is. But depression is not rational, and that numbness I spoke of? It’s worse than any pain I’ve ever felt.
Throughout my teenage years and into adulthood, I have heard many people scoff at victims of self-harm, dismissing them as attention-seekers. For some, that may indeed be the objective. For many however, it’s a coping mechanism. As for me, though I have the awareness and self-control to avoid self-harming most of the time, the concept poses as a mode of sensory relief.
I’m fighting the urge to self-harm and instead frantically (well, it only feels frantic, because my appearance and actions are calm and normal) texting people I trust so they can distract me and bring me back to reality. Eventually, I do start to feel calmer, but not in a healthy way. After coming down from the height of my anxiety attack, I am physically and mentally exhausted. I’m nearly defeated. I want to die.
According to the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, suicide is the 10th leading cause of death for Americans. In 2013, someone in America died by suicide every 12.9 minutes.
There is a stigma attached to suicide, particularly in cases involving depression. The opinion I seem to come across most often is that those who commit suicide are selfish. Let me clear this up right now.
I sometimes find death to be an appealing notion when depression hits me particularly hard. I will be the first to admit that I have been tempted on numerous occasions to end my life. My suffering would cease. The chronic fatigue, overwhelming anxiety, mood swings, hopelessness, all that would disappear.
Depression causes its victims to think irrationally and feel hopeless and helpless. It can be argued that such thoughts are selfish in nature, but as someone who has experienced the illogical, tumultuous thinking caused by depression, I can say with certainty that there is more to suicide than a selfish desire to end one’s own suffering.
I want to die, to end my suffering and be rid of the struggle that is my life. But more than that, much more… I want to relieve the world and all those I love of a burden. Me. The lies my chemically imbalanced brain tell me cause me to begin to believe that everyone would be much better off without me. I start to try to rationalize taking my own life by considering all the ways I am a burden to society, economically, physically, emotionally and more.
Thankfully, I am aware and stable enough to eventually identify these episodes and understand that they are only that. Sadly, there are countless individuals who will succumb to their depression and end their lives. It is likely that, as you read this, someone is dying by suicide.
Suicidal thoughts and attempts are serious cries for help. If someone you know is exhibiting any signs they may be considering suicide, don’t be silent. The Mayo Clinic lists the following suicide warning signs and suicidal thoughts:
Talking about suicide — for example, making statements such as “I’m going to kill myself,” “I wish I were dead” or “I wish I hadn’t been born”
Getting the means to take your own life, such as buying a gun or stockpiling pills
Withdrawing from social contact and wanting to be left alone
Having mood swings, such as being emotionally high one day and deeply discouraged the next
Being preoccupied with death, dying or violence
Feeling trapped or hopeless about a situation
Increasing use of alcohol or drugs
Changing normal routine, including eating or sleeping patterns
Doing risky or self-destructive things, such as using drugs or driving recklessly
Giving away belongings or getting affairs in order when there’s no other logical explanation for doing this
Saying goodbye to people as if they won’t be seen again
Developing personality changes or being severely anxious or agitated, particularly when experiencing some of the warning signs listed above
Warning signs aren’t always obvious, and they may vary from person to person. Some people make their intentions clear, while others keep suicidal thoughts and feelings secret.
I’m not asking you to understand depression. Truthfully, I don’t know that anyone can understand it until they’ve experienced it firsthand. I am asking you to be compassionate, and remove your own selfish feelings from the equation. Let’s end the stigmas.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline
Also visit these other links for more helpful information:
Well, the issue I blogged about yesterday hasn’t yet been resolved. I don’t know if it ever will.
On top of that, I’m scared.
I don’t know what it is… But I feel… I feel myself slipping back into the hole I was in last summer. The depression.
I ache, I’m exhausted, everything is beginning to turn into a chore again, I’m angry and sensitive and sad and yet, I fear numbness is on its way…
I don’t want to be numb.
Maybe it’s change that led me here again. I got my heart broken by putting myself out there and trying to make friends. Maybe it’s failure that led me here again.
How do I fight it off? I still take my medication, I’m still working hard to exude positivity… What am I doing wrong?
My heart is so heavy. It’s weighing me down and I fear that soon, I’ll fall behind and be run over.
I’m so, so tired.
Where’s the light at the end of the tunnel?
I do a lot of things, and writing poetry happens to be one of them. However, I guess I don’t always share it the way it’s meant to be shared. I try to share my photography and my news writing and my graphic design and all that, but I think it’s high time my poetry reaches the minds and hearts of those willing to receive it.
I have written poetry for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it’s for fun, but mostly my writing is born from experiences I have and witness. Personally, I think my best work comes as a result of deep emotion. In fact, it seems it’s much easier for me to express my feelings through abstract writing than through concrete speaking.
My writing has evolved greatly through my adolescence and journey into adulthood. Through confusion, anger, sickness and depression and into triumph and happiness, my writing tells my soul’s story.
I highly favor metaphoric and abstract poetry as a way of opening the minds of others and inviting various interpretations.
The two poems I’m going to share with you in this post were written in January. I won’t tell you what they mean to me right now; hopefully you can find your own meaning.
“Write a note,” they say.
Spill your words onto paper in ink or in graphite.
The world doesn’t have to know, but to release those thoughts could mean your salvation.
“Let it go,” they say.
Set fire to the pages and watch them burn brightly.
The ashes will float away, but to feel the warmth of release could mean your salvation.
“Just move on,” they say.
Seek out another with which to share secrets.
A soul mate comes along only once, and to find your missing piece could mean your salvation.
“Life’s too short,” they say.
Make the most of the time you’ve been given on earth.
Do your best and learn from your mistakes, because you may never get another chance at salvation.
And one that means a great deal to me…
So much flooding… And yet, no rain.
How can I be drowning when I’m dry? I’m wading through the thickness of thin air.
I’ve never seen the ocean or felt its lapping waves, but I have to imagine it’s much kinder and gentler than the sea I’ve come to know.
How long can I hold my breath? I’m not certain. I only hope I can make it to the shore before I sink, sending tiny bubbles to the surface with my last goodbye.
I had only just begun to find my footing, to leave my mark on solid ground. Basking in warmth and light, with balance and with control. Now I’m only treading, and I’ve never been a very good swimmer. It’s cold and dark, I’m unbalanced and I’m losing control.
Where is the sun? Will it come again tomorrow, or did it burn out when I turned my back?
No lifeboat or salvation, not a buoy in sight. Only miles and miles of… what? Not water.
So how can I be drowning when I’m dry? I’m hoping this is just a dream.
Will I wake and find myself still and safe in my bed? Will I fill my lungs with air and know I won’t suffocate beneath the surface?
Wait, I remember. This isn’t a dream. But it’s not all bad. I’m learning to swim. I’m learning to hold my breath and to value every second my lungs are allowed to function.
I will not drown, for the shore is now in sight, and my motivation is renewed as I come closer to the feeling of earth beneath my feet.
My strokes are not consistent, and I tire along the way, but to know or to yearn for what lies ahead makes me paddle on.
Again I find my footing, as unsteady as it may be at first, and the feeling is nearly indescribable.
I catch my breath, savor it, hold onto the bliss and the relief of a trial now overcome.
The sun returned. Did I ever truly believe it would abandon me? How silly the idea seems now that I’m warm again. I feel such a stirring inside me.
I’ve never seen the ocean or felt its lapping waves, but I have to imagine its power and beauty is unmatched by the sea I’ve come to know.
So much flooding… And yet, no rain.
What do my poems say to your heart?
What do biological differences, neurotransmitters, hormones, inherited traits, life events and early childhood trauma have in common? According to Mayo Clinic, a nonprofit establishment for medical care, research and education, these factors are all possible causes of depression.
Who fits the diagnosis? It could happen to anyone
The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) estimate that one in ten U.S. adults report depression.
Depression can affect people of any demographic, but certain groups tend to be more likely to meet the criteria for major depression. Women, people between 45 and 64 years of age, people who are unemployed and those with less than a high school education are some of the groups likely to be most depressed.
I am a female, 21 years of age, a college student and I am employed. I don’t fit in every category for those who are at high risk, but I am part of the one in ten. I have personally been affected by major depression. I’m not the only one; many others outside the categories deal with the illness as well.
Jay Lee, a 23-year-old male college student with two jobs, has had experience not only with depression, but also bipolar disorder, a disruptive long-term condition characterized by potentially intense mood swings and many of the same symptoms associated with depression. Depression and bipolar disorder can sometimes be related, and according to Mayo Clinic, people with bipolar disorder often don’t get the treatment they need.
Lee’s biggest struggle began when his grandmother unexpectedly passed away in April 2007. He and his grandmother were very close and he had felt he could always confide in her. Over the next few months, Lee became very reclusive, his grades slipped and his outlook on life turned grim.
“I felt like I was all alone,” Lee said.
Lee and I both had feelings of hopelessness and despair in the depths of our depression, but others sometimes find a way to fill the void.
Bea Lile, a 75-year-old female, said that when she was 30 years old, she knew she was depressed but never did anything about it. Lile has always known God has been her guide. She said her relationship with God has given her “a joy and peace that doesn’t come any other way.”
Lile’s failing marriage contributed heavily to her condition, but she did not believe in divorce at the time and didn’t want to accept that her decision to be married had been wrong. She eventually divorced her husband, but she said “God was always there.”
“My depression was situational depression,” Lile said.
Lile understood she was depressed, but many people do not have a firm understanding of depression.
What it is and how it hurts
There are plenty of sources out there that explain what depression is, but a health article on The New York Times website provides a simple definition.
“Clinical depression is a mood disorder in which feelings of sadness, loss, anger, or frustration interfere with everyday life for a longer period of time.”
This disorder can involve a great number of symptoms. The severity of a particular case of depression can depend on how many symptoms the affected person experiences. MayoClinic.com lists several symptoms of depression, including feelings of sadness or unhappiness, insomnia or excessive sleeping, fatigue, restlessness or agitation, decreased concentration, changes in appetite and feelings of guilt or hopelessness. Trouble thinking, crying spells and unexplained physical problems are also symptoms that can come with depression.
Lile said she “slept less and ate more” when she was deeply depressed, while Lee said he experienced fatigue and irritability, but that those symptoms weren’t the worst part.
“My heart hurt more than anything,” Lee said.
The causes of depression are still being explored, but a variety of factors may be involved, sometimes all at once. Information from Mayo Clinic explains that physical changes in the brain seem to be linked with those who experience depression. Hormones and brain chemicals have the ability to affect mood, and it’s possible that depression can be inherited, though researchers are still trying to find genes that may be involved in causing depression. Life events and trauma such as death, loss, abuse and high stress can trigger depression or make a person more susceptible to its symptoms.
It’s no DIY project
Normal day-to-day activities and life in general can become very difficult under the hold of depression. Depression is a chronic illness, and Mayo Clinic explains that it’s not something someone can simply “snap out” of. It often requires long-term treatment such as medication or counseling.
When Lee finally understood he couldn’t get better on his own in October 2007, his parents supported his trip to see a doctor. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder.
Lile never sought professional help, but when she began attending college at the age of 49, each time her small psychology class met, it was more like a counseling session.
“It was the only therapy I got,” Lile said.
Her studies and self-examination further helped her cope with her condition, but in her pursuit of a job, she was required to take several tests, one of which was an emotional evaluation that resulted in a visit to a designated mental health counselor.
Lile said she’s always been able to express some feelings with her coworkers and friends, so when the counselor asked her why she was depressed, she explained every reason she could think of. The counselor stared at her for awhile before speaking.
“Do you realize you’re smiling and crying at the same time?” the counselor asked.
Lile did realize it, and that’s all she knew how to do.
A great number of people suffer from depression, but many still don’t know how to get better.
It’s bigger than you might think
The estimated 9 percent of Americans facing depression come from all regions of the United States. According to a state-by-state analysis posted on stateoftheusa.org in 2010, of the 45 of the 50 states and the District of Columbia that participated, the Southeast states had the highest rate of currently depressed adults, led by Mississippi at 14.8 percent. Arkansas, Alabama, West Virginia and Oklahoma also had high rates, while the colder states appeared to have a lower rate of depression. North Dakota had the lowest rate at 4.8 percent, followed by Minnesota, Alaska, Iowa and Colorado. The survey was conducted in 2006 and 2008 and not every state participated in both years of the study, but it’s impossible to accurately measure depression rates.
Why does it matter?
It may be beneficial to study depression on a large scale, but it’s important to also focus on the individuals suffering from the condition. When left untreated, depression can lead to emotional, behavioral and health problems. Mayo Clinic lists several complications associated with depression, such as alcohol and substance abuse, anxiety, problems at school or work, family conflicts, relationship difficulties and social isolation. Self-mutilation, premature death from other medical conditions and suicide are all risks associated with depression.
At the height of my condition, I nearly died as a result of the extreme fatigue, physical pain and emotional exhaustion I had been experiencing for many months.
Jay Lee and Bea Lile both considered suicide as an escape from the pain.
Lile attempted to overdose on medication.
“It was the weakest moment I’ve ever had,” Lile said.
While driving, his little sister in the vehicle with him, Lee had an urge to “crash the car and die.” He decided against it for the sake of his sister and the rest of his family.
If you feel depressed, you should seek medical attention, as symptoms of depression may not go away on their own, and can actually become worse if ignored. It is especially important to seek help if you are experiencing any suicidal thoughts. The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) reports that over 38,000 people in the United States die from suicide every year, and over 60 percent of those who die by suicide suffer from major depression.
It doesn’t have to hurt
According to the AFSP, depression is among the most treatable of psychiatric illnesses. Once depression is recognized, treatment can help. Between 80 and 90 percent of people with depression respond positively to treatment, and almost all patients gain at least some relief from their symptoms.
I sought treatment in July 2012 after suffering from different levels of depression for over four years. I have been taking antidepressant medication since then and I have made some lifestyle changes, and I’m feeling significantly better in comparison to my lowest point.
Lile eventually learned that in addition to her situational depression, she had an inactive thyroid, which can also cause depression. She was prescribed a light antidepressant and thyroid medication, but she stopped taking the antidepressant within about six months when her thyroid medication began to work.
Lile expressed the importance of voicing your feelings, because it makes it seem more controllable. She also said you can really change your way of thinking and learn coping skills, but not alone.
“Don’t try to do it by yourself,” Lile said.
Lee has had to make his own changes in life to be happy. Playing golf and surrounding himself with friends and activites he loves helps him cope, but he knows he still has several issues to work on.
“I’ve tried to make myself smile more and say the word ‘hate’ less,” Lee said.
Lee is still taking medication for his condition and he said he feels ten times better.
His advice for anyone facing depression is simple.
“Just get help, really,” Lee said. “In any way you can.”
So, what do all Americans who suffer from depression have in common? We share the ability to heal, the right to be happy and the responsibility to take care of ourselves and get well.
Additional information from Mayo Clinic:
If you have suicidal thoughts
If you or someone you know is having suicidal thoughts, get help right away. Here are some steps you can take:
- Contact a family member or friend.
- Seek help from your doctor, a mental health provider or other health care professional.
- Call a suicide hot line number — in the United States, you can reach the toll-free, 24-hour hot line of the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255 to talk to a trained counselor.
- Contact a minister, spiritual leader or someone in your faith community.
When to get emergency help
If you think you may hurt yourself or attempt suicide, call 911 or your local emergency number immediately. If you have a loved one who has harmed himself or herself, or is seriously considering doing so, make sure someone stays with that person. Take him or her to the hospital or call for emergency help.
Is this what dying feels like? That thought crossed my mind the night I hit rock bottom. I lay in bed with tears rolling down my face and onto the blankets beneath me as I stared blankly at nothing in particular. My whole body ached, I was physically and mentally exhausted, and I could swear I felt myself slipping away.
My name is Kylea Copeland, and I am a victim of depression.
I am a full time student, I work two jobs, I’m engaged to be married and I have a busy schedule. There is nothing wrong with all those aspects of my life, but it doesn’t leave room or time for constant sadness, sickness, anger, excessive anxiety and an overall feeling that life is a chore. Everyone gets sad, anxious, angry or ill once in awhile, and that’s normal. After all, we’re human. The difference between my situation and a normal one though, is that I felt a combination of those emotions every single minute of every day.
My battle with depression began in high school. I can’t put my finger on any one factor that caused my illness, but between hormones, a sheltered and tense home life, a busy schedule and not-so-high self-esteem, I think there was plenty of kindling available to start a fire.
One of the first major signs of the impending battle began with a constant headache that lasted nearly two years. No over-the-counter medication would relieve the pain completely, though occasionally it would take the edge off. On some days the pain was mild once I became accustomed to it, but on other days it was so severe I would just cry or have to try to sleep to escape it.
The constant pain in my head was enough to frustrate me, but additional stressors in my life led to another ugly symptom of my illness. Certain intense emotional situations would set off anxiety attacks. If you’ve never experienced an anxiety attack, I hope you never do. When something would trigger an anxiety attack, I would lose control of my breathing and many of my muscles. This awful experience sometimes lasted ten minutes, which may not seem like a long time, but when you are shaking and can’t catch your breath it can seem like an eternity. It’s physically exhausting and emotionally draining and when it’s over, I just want to sleep. Yes, I do still have anxiety attacks, but not often.
Through the whole experience, my fiancé, Brad Amerin, has stuck by my side. He proposed to me nearly a year ago, but we’ve been together for more than five years. He is one of the strongest people I know, and I’m very thankful to have him in my life. I am almost certain I wouldn’t be alive to share this story if not for his patience and love. I still feel guilty for my attitude toward him during the course of my illness, as he often took the heat from my anger, sadness and complete despair. Depression isn’t just harmful to the individual with the condition; it affects the people around that individual.
Brad is a very important person to me, but my family plays a big role in my life as well.
Before college, my health was less than perfect. I’m not angry at my parents, but I don’t think they wanted to believe the symptoms I was experiencing were anything more than a teenage phase. Additionally, they have never been fond of the idea of treating emotional irregularities with medication. I’m a junior in college now, and I currently have a prescription for Fluoxetine, an antidepressant. My mom and dad both now support my decision to take medication for my condition because they can see that it’s truly helping me.
Chronic fatigue, muscle pain, feelings of hopelessness, mood swings and a fairly consistent feeling of sickness are all symptoms I have experienced along with the headaches and other ailments. I managed to continue most of my daily activities while experiencing those issues, at least for awhile, but eventually it was just too much.
Considering the amount of time I spent suffering while still maintaining at least some level of balance, my decline was incredibly fast. To put it simply, this summer I felt worse than normal over a period of a few weeks leading up to my total breakdown. I felt so poorly that being at work, where I happen to really enjoy my job, was excruciating. Getting out of bed was a difficult task. Every aspect of my life had become a chore. Even the activities I enjoy most, like photography, became less appealing. During this time, I could hardly even stand to pick up my camera even though taking photos is a huge part of my life. I felt like crying at any given moment even if nothing prompted it. I felt physically sick and could hardly stand to get dressed, brush my hair, or eat. I was dying.
I knew I was miserable, but until that one evening when I crawled into bed with no energy and plenty of pain, I hadn’t realized how close to death I really was.
I lay there wondering if I would wake again after I closed my eyes. In that moment, I finally began to understand that getting help was not only necessary, but it would also mean the difference between life and death. When I did wake later that evening, I cried and begged my fiancé to take me to the doctor. He was ecstatic that I was finally accepting help. He called to make me an appointment the next morning and I saw the doctor at the end of the week. I was nervous about the visit, but I knew it had to be done. I spoke with the doctor for what seemed like a very long time, and she listened. I revealed everything I could think of, trying not to cry but failing, and she made me feel safe. She prescribed an antidepressant but told me it could take several weeks for me to notice any changes, and that even then, it may not be the right one for me.
It didn’t take several weeks for me to begin noticing positive changes. As soon as I left the doctor’s office I began to feel a spark of something good within myself. Just taking that first step to recovery made a huge difference. I acknowledged that I had been incredibly ill and understood that I was making the choice to get better.
I have been taking my medication for a little over four months now, and that, along with my own positive thinking and support from the people that care about me is making me a little better every day.
I sometimes still struggle with hints of my depression, but I can honestly say I’m getting somewhere.
I hope my story will inspire someone else dealing with depression. Seek help. Everyone wants to believe they can handle their own struggles. Some people seem to make negative judgments about those who use medication or need assistance for such situations. It makes us feel weak if we can’t figure out solutions to our own problems. I couldn’t figure it out on my own, and I couldn’t handle it anymore, but I am not weak.
My name is Kylea Copeland, and I’m not dying anymore.