I knew at a young age that I didn’t value life as I should. I would pray every night before bed and beg God to give me cancer, instead of punishing someone who loved their life. It wasn’t fair, I remember thinking to myself, why can’t I be happy like my friends? For years I hid this sometimes crippling, horrible disease from everyone I knew and loved.
But hiding it was exhausting and I needed to tell someone. I knew I could trust my brother because he understood me, so he was first on my list of people to tell. After my practice with him was out of the way I told my parents.
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Telling my friends was the hardest. How do you explain a dark and vivid state of mind without wanting them to know how you’re feeling. They were shocked because I was so good at covering it up. Talking about it more, I began to understand that this wasn’t my fault and I wasn't alone. But still, I was so angry at myself. I had no right or reason to be depressed. So why was I?
Days got longer and my issues became prominent. I needed help and I knew it. It was time to grow up, open up and talk about my problems. I couldn’t wish it away anymore, couldn’t pull the why me, self-pity game.
For a long time, I was upset about the fact that I had to be reliant on medication to function properly day to day. So I weened myself off and attempted the “ Think yourself into a better mindset” approach. It didn’t last, nor was it a good idea.
With the right combination of medications, endless support from my friends and family, and counseling I was finally grabbing hold of my life. I had control, something I lacked for years. My days now are unpredictable, some are comfortably numb, some are full of happiness, and some suck. The refreshing part is that each day is a new one.
Being depressed isn’t fun. It’s not the cool new thing, and it's most definitely not an excuse. It's merely a reason. I spent too many days questioning why I was like this. Why was my world constantly gray? Why didn’t I care about my well being? I then realized...I was the only variable in the way of enjoying the life I have.
This generation is entitled. I’m guilty. I thought I was entitled to a happy life, without having to put in the effort. I wasn't raised to expect things, I was raised to work for what I want. And guess what, things get in the way…things you can’t help. But you grow up, and you deal with it.
I’m depressed, anxious, and on medication. While the depression isn’t in my control, how I manage it is. I deal with it every day, and it's taught me one of my biggest lessons yet. We’re not entitled to happiness, in fact, were not entitled to anything.
Things take work. Living takes work.
