Rock Bottom

Rock_Bottom-Depression-2000x1005

Disclaimer: SickNotWeak does not provide medical advice, diagnosis or treatment. This content contains explicit and sensitive information that may not be suitable for all ages.

Why couldn’t I see anything anymore?

I could hear one of my teammates screaming for the ball, I could feel the gust of wind as a player ran by me and I could still smell the freshly cut grass that I could have sworn I was standing on.

But why couldn’t I see? Everything was so foggy, so blurry.

Why can’t I see?”

And finally as I spoke the words out loud, I realized it was because I crying.

I was standing in the middle of the pitch and I couldn’t will myself to play anymore.

I was in the middle of a soccer game, the sport I had lived and breathed since the age of four, the thing that had always been my escape no matter how hellish my life was becoming. I was standing in the middle of the pitch and I couldn’t will myself to play anymore.

Luckily for me, even though it felt like I was wandering about for eternity, it had only been a few seconds. When I finally came to my senses, the ball was out of play and I motioned to my dad (my coach at the time) to come off, pointing at my knee as if I had hurt myself.

It was half true-I had hurt myself but it wasn’t in the game. I walked off, begging myself to stop crying, I didn’t want my dad to see me like this and I didn’t want any questions from my teammates. My bottom lip was quivering, my eyes were watering and my knees felt like jello beneath my body weight. I mumbled a few quick words, “I’ll be fine”, at least I think that’s what came out, before I collapsed beside my bag and began to rummage through it pretending as though the answer to my problem was in there.

It just sat there, this unspoken thing that chooses to be the elephant in the room.

The whole way home, my dad and I sat in silence. I hadn’t gone back on-I never said I wanted to and he never asked. My dad’s one of my best friends but he’s never been good with emotions, even to this day, we’ve never really spoken about my depression or social anxiety. It just sat there, this unspoken thing that chooses to be the elephant in the room, but only on occasion.

I had been sad for so long that I just assumed this was it. This was my life and nothing was going to change it. My shyness that had affected me for as long as I could remember had become debilitating. I had shut out all of my friends, gotten myself into an unhealthy relationship, and just the idea of getting out of bed brought tears to my eyes.

That night, as I sat on my bed, convincing myself that I could live with the pain, my oldest sister knocked softly on my door and asked to come in. As she turned the doorknob and her face came into view, I broke. Through sobs, I just kept repeating “I am so unhappy, I am so unhappy.” And my sister did what any amazing sister would do. She hugged me and sat with me. And then my mom came and did the same thing.

We sat there for a while until I could muster an explanation, not that they really needed one.

The next day was the first day I started looking for help.

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