When Tomorrow Feels like a Punishment

"Just get up and move around, you'll feel better!" "Just go outside, the sunshine will help!" "Are you sure you're not just tired?"

These are all things that every single person living with depression has heard. I've heard them all more times than I can count. And each time, it feels like I'm just making another tally mark on a wall of the cell I feel trapped inside when I get lost in my own darkness.

For as long as I can remember, I have suffered from depression. As a teenager, I wrote it off as "being dramatic" and forced myself to ignore it. When I got to college and it got drastically worse, I decided that I needed to address it. I remember being met with a less than open-minded response from my mom, who told me that medication was out of the question. I played along. I found a therapist. She was a very kind Christian woman, which was fine, except that she preferred to incorporate her faith into practice. I immediately felt alienated for not sharing the same faith, and learned that lying to her for an hour came much easier to me than actually trying to address my issues head-on. After about a semester seeing her, she told me she felt she could no longer help me.

For years after that, I felt like I was treading water. Not quite living life to the fullest, but also not at my lowest point. Just existing at a minimal level. Doing what I had to do to get through every day without a crisis. I dealt with a lot of bad things, from toxic relationships to a house fire to job changes. Somehow, through all of that, I managed to stay afloat. I definitely had short bursts of extreme sadness, and I've definitely experienced some level of post traumatic stress since all that, but it never knocked me down all the way.

This past holiday season was the worst my mental health has ever been. Within twelve months, my family lost an uncle and both of my grandfathers. It felt like the universe kept giving me just enough time to catch my breath before delivering its next blow. I was exhausted. I went to work and was completely numb and ineffective.

My grandfather's funeral took place two days before Thanksgiving. That day didn't hurt as much. I think we were all still numb to what we'd just endured.

This past Christmas was the first time in my life I've truly felt suicidal. Now, I've always been terrified of death, and I at no point had any sort of plan in place, but I would wake up and think to myself, "I can't keep existing today. I just want to disappear." Choosing to participate in my family's Christmas, which I usually love, was a horrible decision this year. My dad's very large, loud Italian family scarfing down lasagna and rigatoni is normally very comforting to me, but this time, every laugh stung. Every time I heard, "How are you doing?" I wanted to scream. I know they meant well. But I was so tired of feeling anything at all.

I spent weeks, if not months, waking up in tears. Waking up and having three minutes of peace before I started shaking and my mind started racing. During this time I found a new therapist, who was incredibly supportive and understanding. I saw her the day after my grandfather passed and she became such a strong support when I needed it the most.

There was one day recently where I shared something on my Facebook, a poem I'd written years ago during a depressive state. I shared it in the hopes that someone, anyone, would read it, and understand. I left it on my page for a few hours and watched as my entire family passed over it without a thought. They all flocked to a photo my sister posted of her new haircut instead. I remember feeling outraged. How dare these people call themselves family if they can't even speak to me about something I deal with every day. How fortunate they must be to live without these burdens.

"It's just uncomfortable for people to talk about, but that doesn't mean they don't still love and support you," my sister told me after I went on a mini-rant. And I understood her point. My entire life revolves around mental health. It's my career. It's my personal life. It's my friends. I never stop thinking about triggers and diagnoses and symptoms. It is a switch in my brain that never shuts off. And I envy those who don't live with this switch.

But at the same time, I feel for them. Yes, mental health is uncomfortable to talk about if you don't deal with it regularly. No, you won't understand when I tell you that I couldn't get out of bed for three days, or that I didn't eat anything but crackers for a weekend, or that my friends went out to get drunk and do drugs just to feel something. You will feel uncomfortable. But that feeling is something we live with constantly, because we are told to suck it up and just deal.

The narrative surrounding mental health and its stigmas is something that is often talked about, but less often does it actually change. Aside from the occasional influx of "I'm always here if you need to talk!" posts following the suicide of a famous person, it feels like nothing has changed. And that's where so much of the issue lies.

Saying you're here for people who need to talk is one thing. It's another thing entirely to genuinely take the time to check on your friends and know how to support them when they are struggling. Don't claim to be supportive if your only response is, "Oh, that sucks," or, "I'm sorry." If you don't know how it feels, research symptoms. Ask your friends what you can do. Sometimes, a simple phone call or meeting for lunch/coffee can make a world of difference.

This is my story of living with depression. I'm happy to report that I've been much more stable over the past several months. I'm making more time for myself and for my friends. I listen to my body and my brain and let them rest when they need to. Right now, tomorrow is not something I dread. But there have been so many times when tomorrow felt like a punishment. If it feels that way for you, know that you can survive it. You have overcome every other day you've been given, and although you may be weary and ready to give up, you can make it through one more day. This world needs you, and so does your tomorrow.