My Depression Isn't Beautiful

So many people see depression as beautiful. I can assure you that my depression isn’t beautiful. Its probably the most terrifying thing I’ve experienced in my life. And I’ve had my fair share of trauma.

I just recently started to take medicine for my depression, and it was a struggle to find one that worked for me. My doctor at the time prescribed me Prozac and it just made me sleep all the time (which wasn’t the best thing for me as an already struggling college student). She eventually upped my dosage in hopes to have the reverse affect. It didn’t. I slept even more.

And eventually, I slept through several of my appointments with her and she had to turn me away. That was a stressful situation if there ever was one. Thankfully, it was a blessing in disguise, and I found a nice nurse practitioner to see that cares for my well-being. She found a medication that helps with the depression but also doesn’t make me sleep all the time.

With her help, my depression is a little less ugly. But it wasn’t always this easy to deal with.

After officially graduating high school, I thought I could handle myself and decided to go to a university upstate. Little did I know, that it would push me to the brink of taking my own life.

Things started off easy. I went to my classes. I ate at least twice a day. I did my homework. I took my tests. Then things took a turn when my advisor counseled me and told me my best bet would be to drop the language course I really wanted to take and pick up ANOTHER science lab course (and I already had ONE). I took her on her word and decided to drop the language and pick up the lab.

Personally, I’m 80% positive this is the decision that flipped my world upside down. Within the next two weeks, my workload doubled with the dual sciences and I was practically drowning. Another two weeks and I was no longer passing my classes. Not passing my classes led to not having the energy to do my homework cause what’s the point if even though I studied my ass off for two days with moderate breaks in between, I still fail the tests.

With my world slowly crumbling around me, I didn’t even have the energy to stand. So, I would climb into my bunk and sleep the day away. My brain was so mentally exhausted with my body so physically exhausted I could sleep for literal days without a break. And the more I slept, the less I ate.

I lost several pounds while I was attending university. On a good day, I would eat at least once. Meals consisted of French fries and buffalo chicken dip or a pack of bagel bites and peanut butter and jelly. The only people that I ever really saw were my roommate and my friend whole lived a dorm literally across the campus from me. (Zoie truly was a blessing. A light in the dark cloud I lived in.)

At one point I tried the whole Tinder thing and met a few people in hopes of getting me out of the dorm. As nice as all three of the people that I met were, all I could think about doing whilst talking to them was drawing the curtains and hiding in my dorm room.

As a last-ditch effort, I tried to find something that would be good for me. When I was in high school, I was on the dance team, so I made the decision to audition for the universities dance team. Sad to say I didn’t make it. And I was at my limit.

Fall break rolled around and I went home for the few day that I could because my hometown does a week long festival around that time. I spent time with my family and breathed in some air that was familiar. Sunday when my mother drove me back to school was my breaking point. About an hour after my mother had left and I had settled back in, I made the choice to try and do some homework. Every once in a while, I would give the material my best go in hopes of bringing my grades up.

But checking my student email made my heart plummet. Midterms were being turned in and I was nowhere near a passing grade. My advisor was emailing about the things I could do to get a leg up I couldn’t see myself making a comeback. No matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t getting the material correct.

In that very moment, I only saw one way out.

Suicide.

My roommate wasn’t going to be back until the next day. My mother was good. The halls were quiet, and I had a drawer full of medicines at my disposal. My heart was racing, and my face was covered in tear streaks. I was searching frantically around for anything that could possibly change my mind.

On the floor, next to my laptop was my phone, blinking with notifications. A few friends had texted me, but I had an unread message from my mother from before she left. So, I opened it and without thinking, I called her. She was probably an hour and a half out from me, but I had to ask her to come back.

I knew if she didn’t come back and help me pack and leave, I was going to do something I couldn’t take back. Thankfully, she turned around and came back.

That was my lowest point. And I truly feel like I’ve slowly made my way back up to a good point. I feel happier. Yeah, my depression isn’t beautiful. It probably could have killed me at one point. But it has also made me stronger.

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