- Mental Health Awareness: Depression -

May is Mental Health Awareness Month (well in the US anyway), so I thought what better time to shine a light on my own personal struggles and triumphs with my mental health.
I'm going to delve into some pretty deep topics and emotions, so fair warning for those of you reading this that may be suffering yourself or be triggered by some of my words.
These topics are neither easy to talk about, or read about, so please, if you find yourself struggling, stop reading immediately.

If you or a person you know is struggling with symptoms of mental illness please visit Beyond Blue for more on where you can find help, contact your local GP for a Mental Health Assessment, or call Lifeline Australia on 13 11 14.

Depression

I have a semicolon tattooed on my wrist.
No Nonna, it's not a question mark - it's a semicolon.
;
That little symbol right there that's on your keyboards and probably never used because a lot of people (myself once included) can never differentiate a colon (:) and a semicolon (;).

I was on a date not too long ago where the guy asked me about my tattoos, and why I would get a random symbol actually inked into my skin for life, and it's a fair point - to anyone else, my tattoo is just a random symbol from their keyboards, but to me, and thousands of people around the world it's so much more than that.

~ A semicolon is used when an author can choose to end their sentence but instead chooses to continue it. In this instance you are the author and the sentence is your life.
It's not just a semicolon; it's hope, it's life, it's who we are, and who we become. We are warriors; and our stories aren't over yet. ~

Whenever someone asks me about my tattoo and I give them that explanation I always get a little teary. It reaffirms to me what I've been through and how far I've come over the years despite every obstacle I've faced.
But the guy I was on the date with found it funnier that I said the word "colon" than anything else I said, so tears be gone. Needless to say, that date was a one off (and I know he reads my blog so hey Lenny!).

A big part of why I started The Honest Twenty-Something was to share my personal experiences. I wanted to create a platform that people could read and relate to their own personal lives.
For me, in the early days of my depression, finding people who I could relate my own feelings to wasn't easy - I did feel alone a lot of the time, like no-one could understand how I was feeling, and honestly, it sucked.
My whole mission behind this blog was to show people that they're not alone, and if I succeed in doing that, even with just one person, my job is done.

I was 15 when I was diagnosed with depression.
I remember how it all came out so clearly.
It was a normal night, my dad was away on a business trip, my mum was cooking dinner and my brother was....I don't know, probably annoying the dog or something.
I was sat at our kitchen bench talking to mum about my day when all of a sudden I just started crying.
Of course mum was a bit confused, we were just talking normally and then I started sobbing uncontrollably about seemingly nothing. What she didn't know at the time was that the night before, and all the nights leading up to that moment I was having thoughts that scared the crap out of me.
I'd been feeling low for a long time (I guess being bullied from a young age does that to a kid), but I never said anything to anyone. I thought it would all just go away.
It didn't. It just got worse.
The thoughts turned from "I'm useless, I will never be enough" to "maybe everyone's lives would be a hell of a lot easier if I wasn't around".
I had no idea where it came from, and honestly, it scared me. I didn't want to die, I knew that for sure, but the little voices in my head were telling me otherwise.
So I cried to my mum. I cried and told her everything as she held me, and cried with me.
And then she said the words I'd been longing to hear, I just didn't realise it. She said, "It's ok, you're not alone, we're going to get you help."

And we did. The next day I saw my doctor, and was fast tracked to a psychologist. I continued to see therapists, had days off school when I was having a bad day through the next year (I even got to skip classes and sit in a quiet room sometimes when it was all feeling a bit too much - shoutout to my Year 10 Dean who made that possible, you're a legend Mr G!), and I got to a point where I thought it was gone for good.

Oh boy, was I wrong.

About a year later, after I had been through a bit of a rough patch at school, I was drying my hair one night when dark thoughts started creeping back into my head.
Looking at myself in the mirror I thought 'you know what, you're probably better off dead. Just do it, no one is going to give a shit whether you're here or not"
I fell to the floor and started sobbing. My parents came running in and all I could say was "I don't want to die. I'm scared and I'm sad and alone, but I don't want to die."
Of course they had no idea what I was talking about, until I explained what was going on in my head, and so began another cycle.
Psychologists, doctors, holistic healers, days off school, mum sleeping in my bed at night because I didn't want to be alone; and repeat, repeat, repeat.

Mr Italy, who you’d know if you read my previous blog Let’s Talk About Love (yes, a shameless plug), once told me that “depression is a beautiful thing, you are very lucky to have these feelings”. And to that I have only two words..
Get fucked.

How am I lucky? It’s not beautiful, it’s not a choice, it’s not something to be glorified or some quirky part of someone's personality; depression is fucked up. Period. No ifs or buts about it.

Depression is dropping an ice cube on the floor and mentally beating yourself up about it because in your mind you can never do anything right.
It’s sitting on the floor of your shower and crying your eyes out over something that to anyone else would be a non-issue.
It’s feeling the safety of hiding away under your bed covers and being quite content at the thought of staying there for weeks, staring into nothingness.
It’s when sometimes something as small as getting out of bed and getting dressed is a drain of energy.
It’s losing the ability to see the colour, the light and the good in the world, no matter how hard you try.
That is depression, and it’s far from beautiful.

When people find out I’m feeling sad or having a low day they always ask why.
Why are you feeling this way?
My response is usually the same; “I don’t know, but it’s nothing new. It’ll go away, but for now it’s just a low day”.
It’s sadly part of normal life for me to feel this way.

I’ve had it bad, but nothing could prepare me for what I faced in 2016.
We had to sell and leave my childhood home, I secluded myself from the little group of friends I did have even further, I had four surgeries in five months, my health wasn’t great, my parents separated for six months, Donald Trump won the election; it was just a fucking terrible year.
By the time I actually decided to take action and get help I was close to being hospitalised. 

Yep, that bad.

Now, having depression does not mean I’m insane, nor does it mean I belong in a "loony bin" (I fucking hate that term).
There’s this ridiculous stigma behind seeking help from a treatment facility setting or being prescribed antidepressants that needs to change.
People aren’t weak for checking themselves into a treatment centre, nor are they taking the easy way out when they seek medicinal intervention.
For me, it was the very last resort in trying to get my mental health in check.

Before I was first put on antidepressants I wanted to stay as far away from them as possible because I was afraid what people might think.
Then I realised I really didn’t care. My medication was going to make me better and for as long as I needed it, I would take it.
I started taking them and within a month I was already a whole new person. It had been so long since I felt so energised and happy - even something as small as saying “today I’m really happy for no reason” was such a huge thing for me.
I was told by my doctor when I finally went to get a Mental Health Assessment done that the brain is just like any other part of the body; it can be damaged, but it can also be healed. I never really knew just how true it was until I felt like my brain was finally in a good place thanks to my medication.

Now, by no means am I a qualified professional. The only advice I can give to people is based off my own experience, so here goes...

• Stop pretending that you're fine and that there's nothing wrong. Let it out; it's ok not to be ok.
• Cry. Scream. Say fuck a hundred times. Do whatever it takes to release your pent up emotions, no matter how long it takes.
• Let go of things you're holding onto. The easiest way of staying in a depressive state is hanging onto the hurt of the past and letting it take over and control your life.
• Talk to people, and be open and accepting of the fact that people want to help you, you just have to give them a chance. And yes, chances are they're not going to have a clue how to deal with what you're going through, but you know what, the ones that really care will try their absolute hardest to help you make it through.
• Don't be too proud to seek professional help: you're not crazy because you're seeing a professional or need a bit of time away to check yourself into a treatment facility, and no one will view you in that way. If you're anything, it's fucking brave.
• Realise that after everything, you're human. You're not bulletproof, you're not a superhuman being (yes, I know, it's unfortunate that none of us are actually Avengers-worthy supers), you are a normal human being, with normal human emotions.
• Accept your strengths and learn to love yourself; because perfectly imperfect you is enough.
• Don't let anyone invalidate or belittle you or your battles, because let me tell you, you are much stronger than they are.
• Be the voice you want to hear in breaking the stigmas behind mental health issues. If no one else is going to do it, why not you?

So to perfectly imperfect you, from perfectly imperfect me, know that you're never alone, and that even though sometimes your days may be colourless, there will always be a tomorrow, as long as you let there be.