“Don’t wanna be perfect, just alright.” – Look Away by Thousand Foot Krutch

Depression. Pain. Loss. Hate. As a society we have become too accustomed to these words. People do not give much thought to them. But the reality is, these words represent feelings that can truly render a person without any hope. Major (or clinical) depression is defined in the textbook Psychology and You by McMahon, Romano, and McMahon as “An extremely low emotional state, severe depression; involves loss of appetite, lack of energy, hopelessness, and suicidal thoughts.” (516) Depression is a daily struggle for those who have it as well as the families and friends who support the individual with depression. Depression can completely take any joy you feel away from you. Those with depression have to fight every second of the day to smile and to hold on to any happiness that they feel. Depression is a common mood disorder, but that fact doesn’t make depression any less serious than any other mental disorder. There is no cure for depression, but it can be manageable through medication and cognitive behavioral therapy.

I was in the second grade when I first began to notice that my emotions differed from the other children. I liked people, but I did not like being around them for very long. Sometimes I would feel so sad I would only eat a couple bites of food at lunch and dinner. I would curl up in a ball in my room for hours on end without moving. I no longer enjoyed the games my friends played, and many of my friends left me because, as they said, I “wasn’t like them”.

Throughout elementary school, while everyone enjoyed their recess, I just wanted to cry and never stop. I never understood why I wanted to cry, but it was an overwhelming feeling for me and it made me not want to do anything. I knew that I did not have any reason to cry. I had a loving family and friends that cared about me. But at the same time, I could not stop being sad. My mood was constantly down, with very few high points. I dealt with this feeling of uncontrollable sadness for years, even into middle school.

Middle school felt like the worst years of my life. I struggled to make friends because I had gone to a different middle school than all of my friends from elementary school. I was quickly labeled the “quiet smart girl,” and I found myself not caring. I became very apathetic towards many things. I had also discovered that I liked being alone. I felt like I was not worthy to be anyone’s friend. I felt like everyone was better than me, including the people who pushed me down the stairs and threatened me. In my mind, they were justified in hurting me because I was insignificant and hopeless. They told me I was ugly, fat, worthless, and that no one could ever love me. I believed them. I always believed them.

Sometime in middle school I stopped trusting people. I did not tell anyone anything about me that was of real value other than my name. No one at my school knew my birthday, my family, my hobbies, my favorite foods, or the sound of my laughter. I respected my teachers and answered questions when asked, but I never really conversed with my peers. I felt like the dirt on the bottom of people’s shoes was better than me. I hardly smiled. I was absolutely miserable.

I was in eighth grade when I felt like everything was falling apart. I found myself losing more and more sleep and waking up in the middle of the night from terrifying nightmares. My schoolwork began to lack my normal effort and I began to get low grades in English and Algebra, which were my best subjects. I was known to be a straight ‘A’ student at my school, so my teachers became concerned. I falsely assured them that everything was alright. I tried to get my grades back up because I knew people were disappointed in me, but I lacked any will to put forth the effort. I felt utterly sluggish and it became harder and harder to get out of my bed in the mornings. I had completely stopped hanging out with the few friends I had. I truly believed I was good for nothing. In my mind, there was no hope for me and I was better off dead. I can honestly say that I felt like the world would have been a better place if I was not taking up so much space. I was a waste of life. I was wasting the oxygen in the air by breathing.

One afternoon after school in the eighth grade, I felt like I had had enough of life. I knew that I could take enough pills out of my mom and dad’s medicine cabinet to end it peacefully, painlessly. I knew that I could fall asleep in my bed and no one would know I had slipped away until my parents called me down for dinner and I did not answer. I could just sleep and never wake up. It was simple in my mind. Death seemed like the best solution to my sadness.

But then I had a thought. It was the faintest glimmer of hope, but I held on to it. I did not want my life to end; I just wanted my pain to end. I wanted to stop feeling so sad and worthless. I wanted to be happy. I wanted to be free.

I texted two people that night. One was a friend who I talked to a lot, and the other was a friend I hardly ever had the chance to speak to. I asked them if I was important to them. Both of them replied ‘yes’. Seeing those responses was the best sense of happiness I had felt in a long time. It made me feel like I was wanted and needed.

I went downstairs and joined my family and we talked about what we wanted for dinner, just like a normal family. Perhaps ten minutes later, the house phone rang. My mom answered and within another minute, she was crying like I had never seen her cry before. She got off the phone and sat in the living room with dad and me, and through her tears told me that the mom of the friend I did not talk to a whole lot had called because her daughter was upset and believed that I might try to commit suicide. My mom asked me if I wanted to kill myself. I told her that I had thought about it and considered going through with it. After staring at me and my mom in shock, my dad started to cry, which was probably the rarest thing I had ever seen. I felt guilty. I felt guilty and dirty and even more worthless. I never wanted to make my parents cry like they did. I never thought about how destroyed they would have been if I had committed suicide. I felt selfish. I hated myself more than ever. I was angry with myself. Why could not I be normal? Why could not I be happy?

My parents and I agreed for me to start seeing a clinical counselor. I should give her a name, so let’s call her Sadie.

The first day that I met Sadie in her comfy office, I was nervous. I felt like I was crazy. It was only crazy people who needed therapy, right? I found out that I was wrong. I was not crazy at all; I just needed help to sort through my problems. I needed to learn how to deal with my strong feelings of sadness and hopelessness. I needed to learn how to manage daily life with a mental illness.

Sadie slowly earned my trust. Trust was still rare for me at the time, so it felt extremely remarkable when I found myself trusting someone who had been a complete stranger prior to a few hour long sessions. The strange thing is, I trusted her even though I knew exactly what she was doing when she asked me certain questions and I could tell what she wrote down by how her pen moved on her clipboard. But she knew me too. She knew that although I was sad, I also had a deep anger that I had not even seen. She knew how to calm me down. I knew it was what she was trained to do, but it still made me feel special. I think it was the way she looked at me and spoke to me made me trust her. She did not look at me with eyes full of pity. She looked at me as if I was just like everyone else, even if I needed some help. She spoke to me like she believed I could help myself. She did not speak to me like I was a child in need of coddling.

I am a junior in high school now, and I have been seeing Sadie ever since that week in eighth grade. Sadie taught me coping mechanisms that I have often had to use. I had to stop thinking about everything as a huge deal. Instead, I had to imagine each event of my life as a grain of sand. All the events create your life, just like all the grains of sand create a beach. When I felt sad, I had to list things I liked until I smiled. I had to laugh every day, no matter what. I had to write things that I did not like in a notebook. I also had to define myself with positive terms in a different notebook. There are countless other ways Sadie taught me to cope with my emotions. Along with the coping mechanisms Sadie taught me, recently I was put on anti-depressant medication. After only a few weeks of taking it, everyone I know has seen a difference in how I act. I still have my moments where my depression gets to me, but it is getting easier to make it through the day.

I will always have to battle my depression. Every day will continue to be a struggle for me. Although it is difficult for me to be happy naturally without medication, do not believe that I cannot be happy. I am capable of feeling happiness. Just because a person has depression does not mean that they cannot be happy at times. They do not have to be sad every second of their lives. Those who have depression are not weak or helpless. People with depression need help, not pity. It takes strength like no other to deal with any illness, physical or mental. One person may not have enough strength to deal with their struggle alone. Help of family, friends, other loved ones, and therapists/counselors truly helps them to make it through the day.

If it was not for my friends, family, and Sadie, I would not be here today. I would have died that afternoon in eighth grade if it was not for my friend telling her mom her worry about me. I would have never seen how amazing my high school years were. In high school, I was able to push through my depression and find a passion in music and literature. I found many friends that I could never forget. I feel like I am memorable to them. I feel like I have worth. I feel good about myself, perhaps for the first time in my life.

Being happy is a battle worth fighting for, and I will never stop fighting. I know that I can make it through whatever my depression throws my way.