It is fall, the opening night for the school play. I remember that night vividly, the burning shame that pushed me over the proverbial edge into a spiraling chasm of depression. I remember feeling the snap of consciousness as my brain abruptly shifted gears from a healthy state to one where my world was painted grey. The second night of the play is equally memorable, not for the shame, but the burning, gnawing ache of numbness that I would soon find would become my normal state.
It takes me months to claw my way out of the pit and even when I feel my brain re-shifting back to a more healthy state, a small part of me wonders if this is the end of it. It is difficult to tell. The memories are crystal clear of how I got to where I am but the ending is tentative. One step, and then two into the sunlight. Every second wondering and waiting if those grey tendril of fog that have so enveloped my brain for the past several months will suddenly snap me back into its maw of darkness.
It is months later from that tentative ending that I breathe a little easier. I am secure in my new found happiness. I no longer wait for the rug to be pulled out from under me. I am a freshman in college and the world is in its spring, thawing from the harsh edges of the winter that became my last semester in high school. It is a challenge, socially and academically. I am three hours from home and I love it.
My mother calls me in February, maybe March, of my second semester in college. She's had enough of being with my dad, she's going to leave him in the summer. I promptly do everything I can to forget that conversation. Hope is a silly thing. I came home from college and went straight to church camp as a counselor for my third year. I was hopeful, buoyed by the optimism and love I felt all around me. Two days after camp my parents sat my brother and I down and dropped the 'news' that was not news to me. I felt sick to my stomach. Marriage reconciliation books stashed under my bed never saw the light of day.
My grades slip, due to negligence, laziness, and sheer confusion. I am learning that it does not matter what you want to be when you grow up, you need to have some sort of skill. I am not good at science, at least not enough to compete on the collegiate level. It takes me two years before I give up, throw in the towel, and realize that being stubborn can be more harmful than admirable.
I switch my major to religious studies. It is something I had been taking classes in and enjoyed but at this point I'm simply trying to increase my GPA. It does not go so well. Two years of terrible grades and terrible habits do not make a good student overnight. I'm writing larger and larger papers. My anxiety is off the charts. I cope as normal, thinking its just normal stress.
My senior year I am excited but scared for. I have no plans after school. I don't know what I want to do. I focus on the now and the now happens to be my school thesis, 20-30 pages. I feel sick thinking about it. So I don't. I have become adept at avoiding difficult things. I am exhausted, mentally, physically. I have been run through the ringer with my parents, with my brother, my grades, my own expectations of what I should be achieving. I feel like a failure.
I don't recognize the beginning this time. It started sometime in October? I remember being happy around Halloween. I started seeing a school counselor. I can't remember who told me to or if it was my idea. I just know that I wanted to die, but was too chicken to go through with it. A part of me also knew that it would destroy my family and I could still feel guilt.
Before I went home on break, I started Citalopram, 20 mg. I shook like I had Parkinson's for an entire week. I barely ate and was nauseous the whole time. I wanted to die more than ever. But that stubborn streak in me wouldn't give up. Or maybe I could see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel. I went home for break.
I wasn't miserable per say. The color of that break is gray. I felt nothing. Have you ever felt nothing? It's like a void has been opened up and there. is. nothing. No color, no sound, no life. I stopped wanting to die but I certainly didn't have the capacity to feel happy about that.
I went back to school in the spring and was upped to 40 mg. I did better. I could feel again. I met a boy. He made me laugh. I couldn't remember truly laughing in what felt like years. I fell in love. I could feel and I felt everything. I saw a counselor over the summer. I saw him. I went back for one last semester and finished my thesis.
It's August now. We broke up in June. I'm now fine and happy to say I didn't end up in that dark place. I'm happy. I can smile and laugh and play and I think I'm learning about who I am. Still, there are days, days that that gaping, jagged cavern stalks my movements, waiting to knock the colors from my eyesight and the hope from my breast. I know that I'm going to deal with depression throughout my life. Some people are lucky and can go off their medicine. I did for two days once, not of my choosing (a pharmacy mix-up) and ended up bawling hysterically in a gas station because I locked my keys in the car and I could not handle reality.
I still feel that part of my brain that snapped, that shifted and sometimes I fear that it will slide back and I won't be able to stop it. I'm learning the signs of when I'm starting to feel depressed. Learning to not isolate myself and to do something meaningful with my time and life. Doing things I enjoy, because I have the capacity to enjoy them again. Some days are hard. Today is one of them: but my lipstick made me smile, strangers on the internet are kind, and writing is soothing. Today is just another day and I'm happy to be here to experience it. Happy I didn't drive off a river bank like I wanted to in high school. Happy I didn't overdose on pills in college. Happy I didn't overdose on pills the other day.
I plan on seeing a counselor again. My mindset isn't the healthiest and my relationship with my dad is in tatters. But that stubbornness inside me has decided to be optimistic. So here's to a brighter tomorrow. :]
* Quote from Art of Essay, Goodbye to All That by Joan Didion (pg. 681)
