Suck it, depression

Well, I’m back – and I don’t just mean a return to SickNotWeak. I’ve come out the other side of that slow, painful transformation from a total puddle of a human to a mostly functional adult. I’m talking about depression – the kind that keeps you in bed all day, makes you forget the few things you liked about yourself, and sucks the joy out of everything (even internet pugs).

Like a bad ex-boyfriend, my depression seems to show up every time I am even slightly close to having my shit together. This time, I had just started my first real job (and I knew it was a real job because my mom bought me like five pencil skirts for my birthday). When I first started crying every morning before I went to work, I was kind of like, “Well maybe this just how adults do their thing.” My doctor did not agree with me, so I spent three months adjusting the dosage of my Latuda, developing a coffee addiction, and dragging my miserable butt to work despite feeling like a potato.

I’m used to my moods being closer to a bouncy ball than an anchor.

As someone with bipolar I, I’m used to my moods being closer to a bouncy ball than an anchor. To be stuck in the same godawful place for months on end was not only exhausting, but unfamiliar. I started having anxiety attacks on my way to work, until one day I was standing in Wellesley station, thinking that if I sat in the subway tracks, I wouldn’t ever have to go to work again.

That’s when the alarms went off. Having survived two poorly-executed suicide attempts (I forgot I was scared of blood and heights, okay?), I knew that I was a flight risk. I knew that when I started thinking like that, I wasn’t really thinking. I needed some serious help.

I made it to work, commandeered an empty executive office, used an entire box of tissues, and called Michael. “I have to quit,” I said. “I’m letting everyone down.” I knew there were short term disability options for people struggling with mental health issues, but I didn’t feel like I deserved them. I felt like a failure for not being able to control my brain.

“This isn’t your fault,” he said. “You would never blame me for my depression. Why is it any different when you’re struggling? Be kind to yourself, Simmer.”

I felt like a failure for not being able to control my brain.

And that’s when I realized that even after a year of living and breathing SickNotWeak, I was still beating myself up for something I couldn’t control. Still looking at my brain illness as a character flaw. Still not showing myself the same compassion that I strongly believe others deserve.

I called a meeting with my supervisor and one of my mentors within the company, and told them that I needed time off to recover. It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do, but also one of the most important. It’s so easy to get caught up in all the responsibilities of growing up, but like my roommate said, “You’re no good to anyone if you’re dead.” I was finally going to put my mental health first.

I was struggling, but I wasn’t struggling alone.

To give you an idea of how supportive my company is, my boss actually walked me halfway down Yonge Street to meet my best friend. I’m not going to tell you that everything got better right away, but I did feel a bit of weight lift knowing that I didn’t have to keep it a secret anymore. I was struggling, but I wasn’t struggling alone.

My biggest regret about the way I dealt with my depression is the silence. I stopped writing, withdrew from the SickNotWeak community, kept my pain to myself. If I’ve learned anything during the past six months, it’s that we have to keep sharing. We have to celebrate other people’s small victories so we can recognize our own. This article – the first thing I’ve written in ages – is a victory. Suck it, depression.