After the tragic passing of a beloved figure, I found myself grappling with feelings I had never fully acknowledged before. It was in the wake of that loss that I began to confront my own struggles with depression—a term I had never dared to apply to myself until now. Saying it out loud felt like admitting to something foreign, something that didn’t fit the image I maintained of my life.
I often believed that depression was characterized by being bedridden, overwhelmed with tears, and unable to perform even the simplest tasks. However, I have learned that it can manifest in more subtle ways. You can function, attend to responsibilities, and even appear perfectly fine on the outside, all the while feeling lost and unmoored within. For me, the onset of my struggle coincided with the time just before the world lost Robin Williams.
Throughout my life, anxiety had always been a companion, but last year, it escalated to a breaking point. My thoughts became chaotic, my dreams unsettling, and my body trembled with unwarranted fear. Instead of reaching out for help, I retreated inward, hoping that the storm would pass without intervention.
That’s when the insidious lies began to creep in. “You’re a burden,” “You’re not worth it,” “Nobody truly cares.” The more I tried to dismiss these thoughts, the louder they became. I knew on some level that these were distortions, but that only deepened my despair. I felt trapped in a cycle of self-doubt, believing that life would always feel this way.
From the outside, it appeared I was managing life well. I fulfilled my duties as a parent, partner, and friend. I got out of bed every day, cooked meals, and maintained the appearance of normalcy. But the truth was far from that: I was a performer, moving through life like a marionette, while inside, I felt like a ghost.
There were moments of clarity, though. My family noticed when I stopped reaching out. Friends might have realized the decline in our time together. Even my partner asked if I was alright, sensing my disconnection. During this period, I found myself distracted by mundane objects, like a kitchen knife, captivated by its potential to offer a momentary escape from the internal chaos.
While I had never considered self-harm or sought medication, I held onto the belief that I didn’t fit the typical narrative of depression. I thought, “Others have it worse,” which only added to my feelings of isolation. Yet, deep down, I understood the hopelessness that could lead one to despair.
Recently, a friend opened up about her battle with depression in a group setting, and the response was overwhelmingly supportive. I noted this and began to reflect on my own feelings. Then, one day, in a small private group, I wrote, “I feel lost.” It was a pivotal moment. The encouragement that followed prompted me to seek help, and although it took time, I finally reached out for support.
Now, as I work with a therapist, I’ve started to unravel the complexities of my anxiety and the events that contributed to my feelings. It’s a journey, and while I am still learning, I can confidently say there is a glimmer of hope on the horizon. The healing process is ongoing, but it feels amazing to rediscover positivity.
I share my story because I resonate deeply with the struggles of others. Robin Williams’s death was a stark reminder of how easily one can fall into the trap of believing that life will never change. But that’s a lie. If you see yourself in my words, please reach out for help. Life can improve, and there are resources available, such as this excellent overview of artificial insemination, which can provide insight and support.
In conclusion, if you find yourself battling similar thoughts or emotions, know that you are not alone. There is hope and assistance out there, so take that brave step to ask for help.