24 Days

Twenty-four days. 34,560 minutes. 576 hours. Three weeks and three days.

That is the amount of time it took me to feel better after beginning the antidepressant known as Prozac.

Yes, you read that right- an antidepressant. I am depressed. It does not define me, yet it plays a huge role in my life.

Before the twenty four days, I was depressed for close to four months. It started as something simple- I didn’t feel like going to a gathering. I wanted to stay home and just sit by myself and do nothing. From there it became patterns of oversleeping and under sleeping. I felt hopeless. I felt overwhelmed with sadness and guilt. Everything took too much effort. While people around me kept breathing and kept living- I was stuck underwater gasping for air. Life became dull and senseless. It became a chore too much to bear. I couldn’t handle even the smallest of tasks- it was all too difficult. I would sit for hours re-reading the same paragraph.
Depression took a lot away from me. It took away my love of writing and reading- because I couldn’t concentrate.

Before the twenty-four days, I never would have been able to focus enough to write this.

How many people do you know who are depressed? How many people are there that you might not know about? Did you know about me? Did you notice how hard life was to live for me? Or did the “Good, and you?” answer to your “How are you?” suffice? Did you notice how much pain I was in? Did you notice how my eyes didn’t light up anymore?

No, you probably didn’t. And that’s okay. I don’t blame you. In fact, I’m thankful. Because at the worst times when I could barely gather myself together, I do not know how I would have been able to answer your “how are you?” I’m glad no one knew so they didn’t force me to talk about it, or worse, have me talk about it but not know what to say.

Depression is a lonely illness. Yes, illness. It’s not a “cry for attention”. It’s not “all in my head”. It’s not having “a bad day”, although bad days are a staple in the illness. It makes you think things like you’re a burden to everyone around you and that no one cares and no one understands.

Truth is, many people go through it. Many, many people. It might not feel the same or be for the same reasons, but in some strange way they can kind of sympathize. Just google “depression quotes” and you will see.

During the worst of days, I wanted to stop. Stop living? I don’t know. I think it was more stop thinking, stop feeling. Stop the immense pain that seemed to accompany every action and every thought I had. Stop the crushing blows of life’s cruel twists and turns. Stop the endless waterfall of tears at night when no one could hear you. Stop the inability to find pleasure in even your favorite pastimes. Stop the overburdening tasks that everyone else could do, but I just couldn’t seem to.

Depression is a lot of guilt. A lot of anger. At yourself, at everyone, at your illness. WHY can’t I just get out of bed? WHY can’t I just go to work like a normal person? WHY can’t I be happy with what I have?

I am thankful every single day of my life for the people who helped me through those difficult times. To my best friend Erika: I could live to live a million years and never would have enough time to thank you for all that you do for me. Not just for encouraging me to get help, but also for listening to me every time I needed to say something. You are my rock, and I could not have gotten better without you. To my Grammy Robin: I will never get tired of thanking you for all that you are. You, too, encouraged me to get help, and you even offered to go with me. You listened to me on those bad days, and you gave me strength- strength I did not have and thought I never would have. Thank you. Thank you, Gramps, for your spiritual uplifting and for encouraging me to seek help. Thank you for counseling me, even though it was hard. It did help.

Thank you to my doctor, who listened to me and who worked with me and who felt compassion for me. Thank you to my psychiatrist, who said one sentence I will never forget: “We can make you feel better”. Thank you to my therapist, who listens and helps me cope with life. Thank you to my boss for understanding the reason I was missing work and having to leave early for appointments.

Why am I writing this?

Not for you to feel sorry for me. Not for you to feel guilty.

No, I am writing this so you can take the time to reflect one ONE thing: Think about how many people you pass on a daily basis- at the store, at work, walking down the street, your neighbor, at school, at the gas station. All those people you know and those you do not know- EVERY single one of those people is fighting a battle you might not know about. Think about that. Most people aren’t against others, but for themselves. Most people are preoccupied with their own worries, stresses, and fears. And that’s perfectly fine. But I want to stress just how much just talking to someone for a few seconds will affect their lives. Or listening. You don’t have to know exactly what to say. I will honestly tell you that in the darkest depths of my illness, there was absolutely NOTHING you could have told me that would have made me feel better. But if someone had listened, that would have meant more than any words could have. I promise.

Don’t judge before you know someone’s struggles. Don’t assume. That is all I ask.

It took me twenty-four days to feel better. And not all of those days were easy. Some days it seemed like everything was wrong. On day 12, I had a thought: what if I took all my Prozac at once? Would that make me feel better? Did it ever end?

Prozac was not a miracle drug. It did not “fix” me.

Depression is a hurtful illness. Here is an excerpt from my personal journal: It physically hurts. It feels like there is a giant elephant sitting on my chest and I can’t breathe and it’s suffocating me. It is literally so physical. I feel it in every inch of my body- the pain. It’s electrifying and tingling and it’s alive. So alive. More alive than I have felt lately. It’s lurking. It’s a curse that takes ahold and won’t let go. It’s poison ivy- clinging to every last inch of hope and itching away it all with every scratch. It’s a cloud that won’t disperse with sunlight. It’s rain that can’t be dried off or interfered with an umbrella. It’s suffocating like a million pounds on your chest and it’s crushing, and it’s impossible to move under the immense weight. But it’s also light like a feather- millions of feathers that gently caress your heart, leaving behind scars and blood and tears. It’s beautiful- it’s beautiful in a way that you don’t realize you could feel so …. Deeply. Like a knife stabbing you in the chest. Someone wringing that blade deep in your soul. It probably hurts less than this engulfing pain. So deep. Can there be anything else? Is there a light at the end of the tunnel or is the tunnel endless? Is there hope? Ever? Is there ever a feeling of not dying? Is there relief anywhere on this Earth? Can things get better? Can this endless black cloud ever disappear? Can the sadness go away? Can it disappear like fog? Or will it creep up when you don’t expect it to?

In those twenty-four days I experienced more pain than I hope to ever experience in my lifetime. It always gets worse before it gets better. On those bad days, all I ever wanted was to stop. To cease being. To get to go to heaven and have God hold me and assure me that there was no more pain. I fought against every bad thought you can imagine. I fought against physical pain and emotional pain and spiritual pain. I fought against my own thoughts and my own damage on my own body and mind. I was fighting an uphill battle most of the time. My body was fighting to survive, while my mind just wanted die. And it’s the hardest battle I have ever fought.

My name is Brenda. I am twenty years old and I suffer from reoccurring major depression with general anxiety disorder. I am a friend, I am a daughter, and I am a sister. I am that girl who you know to be sarcastic, but yet funny. I love to express myself through words. Words have comforted me, they have enveloped me in their letters that come alive off a page. I hope you can get something out of this. I hope if you are going through the same that you don’t give up. Getting help is hard, but continuing to live that life is harder. I’m thankful I had loving people around me who helped me to get up. And I hope if you haven’t gone through it, then I hope YOU can be that person for someone else.

Twenty-four days is the amount of time it took me to feel like a normal person again. And it’s not over. It won’t be over. Every day is going to be a battle. But as of now I can say:

Twenty-four days down---and a lifetime to go.

Thank you for reading.