This has been a rocky month for me. Three weeks ago, after missing almost an entire week of classes due to a really scary encounter with depression, I dragged myself out of bed, and went directly to the school counselling center.
“I need help,” I told the “triage therapist”. “I’m depressed, and I’m burning out, and I can’t figure out how to juggle everything. Please. Help me.”
The therapist decided that even with my difficulty leaving the house, even with my only sleeping three hours a night, even with my plummeting grades and slipping business, and even with the fact that I wasn’t hungry EVER (I’m a huge foodie, so that was a pretty telling sign to me…) I just wasn’t depressed enough to see a therapist that week.
And even with me breaking down crying because I couldn’t get my tea water to just BOIL, and even with me running out of class to throw up when I had a sub teach one of my classes, and even with panic attacks on the bus, I just wasn’t depressed enough to see a therapist the next week.
Or the week after that.
Or the week after that.
In fact, the man decided that I was perfectly fine, but if I really wanted to see someone, he could schedule me for an appointment at the end of February (I took the appointment). In the mean time, had I tried just NOT stressing myself out? Had I tried going to bed before 4am? Had I considered eating breakfast in the morning?
I came home feeling even worse. I called my mother, and vented my spleen about the encounter, and then I called my boyfriend and vented my spleen all over again.
After all that venting, I sat down and really thought. If the sons of britches at the counselling center wouldn’t help me, then I would help myself just to spite them all!!!
For the past two weeks, I have listened to nothing but ambient meditation music. I have done yoga everyday, twice a day, and about every twenty minutes I do some deep breathing. I drink one cup of decaf coffee in the morning, and then it’s all herbal tea after that.
And now that I have a new cellphone (mine was stolen three weeks ago. Draw your own conclusions on what set me off… I did), I can keep in touch with people.
I feel phenomenal.
I’m still going to keep my appointment. I still think my time management and stress management skills could be bettered. But I got through this without their help.
The moral of this story is NOT that if you are depressed you shouldn’t get some help. I hope no one EVER has to be told that they aren’t depressed enough to need help, because that’s really fucking scary.
The moral is that even at your darkest hour, even when you have nothing left, you have to hold on and keep going. It can feel like the most difficult thing in the world, but you need to remember that the sun will keep coming up every morning, and there will be better days ahead. You just have to get through the bad times.