I never went to get professional help (which I partly regret and partly don’t) so I’ve never ‘officially’ been diagnosed with depression. It took me very long to even acknowledge that something was wrong with me. The thing is, it sneaked up on me. I can’t remember when exactly I started feeling like shit, I just know that when I was 14 or 15 I realised that I had been feeling depressed for a long time.
The realisation that I was depressed didn’t happen all at once. I would often think about depression (and death and how tired I was and how much I hated me), but I had a hard time admitting to myself that I was depressed. I felt like I didn’t have the right to be depressed: I’m not poor, I have a lot of privileges, I learn easily, I have amazing friends, I’m good at other things than school, I have hobbies, I have a family that loves me, I’ve never had a really traumatic experience, no one I love has died (my last grandfather died when I was 6 months old and after him no one has died), so why the hell do I wanna die? I hated myself for that and I felt like I was seeking attention (even though I never told anyone about how I felt and tried very hard not to show it either).
After a couple of years of that, I finally figured out that thinking that way wasn’t helping me. Even if I didn’t have a reason, I felt the way I felt, and I knew I wasn’t doing it for attention. This wasn’t like a one-time realisation, I think I had more than 10 of these moments and then the next day I would think that I was being dramatic again. I don’t exactly remember how long it took, but I think that the ‘something needs to change’ mentality finally stuck after a couple of months.
Wow writing about it actually feels really good. If I had the time I would write it all down right now, but I have things to do. If anyone ever reads this, know you are not alone (cheesy I know but it’s true) and if anyone ever wants to ask questions, you’re welcome to do that (I don’t know how long it’ll take me to respond though).
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