For the last few months, I've had an awful lot of nights where I've felt strong emotions.
The difference? Before April 21, those emotions were despair, hopelessness, pain and extreme sadness.
Since then, I've continued to feel strong emotions, but now I feel grateful. Grateful that I survived the fight of my life to feel a way I never thought possible and grateful that I'm now in a position to help others.
Don't get me wrong, I still have depression. I'm not exactly walking around feeling like a million bucks. I simply feel normal. I don't have days where I feel like a 9 or a 10, but a 5 or a 6 is incredible when you've been where I've been.
Winston Churchill called depression his black dog. Before April 21, the dog had me pinned to the mat, with no way out. Now I've got it under my foot.
What happened April 21? I finally gave in and decided to let the professionals take care of me.
I'd been spiralling out of control for months. Despite doing therapy and trying out new coping tools, it was getting worse. Finally, in the week leading up to April 21, I was suicidal. I couldn't take it anymore. I was in such a dark place that I wanted the light at the end of the tunnel to be a train. The pain was so great and it kept hitting me in such waves that I didn't want to endure another day. I was drowning.
I never attempted it, but I came close twice. And I had the means.
A lyric from Wilco's Ashes of American Flags kept echoing in my head:
All my lies are always wishes
I know I would die if I could come back new
Finally, on April 21, I broke down and admitted myself to hospital. I was tired of fighting. I wanted to end the pain but there was something inside me telling me to stay. I was there for almost a week and started feeling better the day after I went in. I was put on medication that made almost an immediate difference.
I felt the bliss of normal. I didn't feel any pain and my anxiety was dramatically reduced. I didn't feel great, but normal was great to me.
And I've felt that way ever since. Even-keeled. On Michael Landsberg's Sickter Scale, I haven't been below a 5. Yeah, I've had a couple of down days, but no worse than how I felt every single day before April 21.
And there are days when I'm just bursting with a desire to talk about it and help others. After where I've been, I'm incredibly grateful that the medication is working and I can live a normal life again. Because the depression messed with absolutely everything in my life.
It was only a month ago that I didn't think there was any hope. I had tried things and not gotten anywhere. I was frustrated and angry. But I'm living proof that there IS hope. The first resource you try might not work, or the second one, but if you keep at it, it's possible to turn things around.
Talking about it is a big step. It took me a while to decide to go public with my struggles. It's tough and the anxiety that comes with depression makes it even harder.
But it's worth it. I promise it's worth it. I've had so much support as a result, and I've had people tell me about their struggles. In some cases, they haven't told anyone else. Sharing empowers you and it encourages others to open up.
Trying to bear the load of depression by yourself is crazy. Tell someone. Tell anyone. Tell me. I'm more than willing to talk to anyone about this. Having someone you can talk to helps.
Talking about it saves lives. It saved mine.
