An Open Letter to Myself

An open letter to myself on those “tough days”:

Dear Brenda,

I am going to write you something and I’m going to write it to you, but I’m going to write to you as if you were someone I am trying to help. I want you to know it’s going to be okay. It will. It might not feel like it right now, but it will. I want you to know that I know it’s hard. It hurts. Everything seems too bright and overwhelming. Everyone wants too much from you. Everyone expects you to do more than you think you can, but you CAN do it! You HAVE done it, day after day. Even on those days when you wanted nothing but to sit in the bathroom and cry your eyes out. Even on those days when getting out of bed seemed close to impossible. Do you remember that last year? You didn’t even know you were struggling with depression yet you managed to get out of bed and come to work every day. And if that’s not something to be proud of, then I don’t know what is.

Do you remember how heavy your legs felt? Do you remember the dread of  hearing that alarm in the morning, dragging you from the only peace you knew? Dragging you from the escape you had from the despair?

But you fought it. You are a warrior.

You are strong and brave.

You can do it.

It doesn’t feel like it right now, I know baby girl. I know. I know that things suck. I know that Youssef hates you right now and you keep fighting yourself to go back to him, but yet you stay away so you can’t hurt him anymore. It’s better that way. If you’re far away from him, you can’t harm him. Not anymore. He can be happy far far away from you, like every other boy you’ve ever destroyed or who has destroyed you.

I know you are stressed about money. I know that there isn’t enough and you’re so goddamned tired of working two jobs day and night. I know you long to come home after a long day at work and just go for a walk and relax, but no- the cashier struggle is there. I know that you have all sorts of debts piling up. I know that you want to throw up at the thought of them, but I want you to know how proud I am of you for almost finishing paying off your car. Month after month your payment was there. And yes, sometimes you couldn’t afford to go out with your friends or to buy yourself something new, but as of now you have a roof on your head and your parents are alive and well and so are your siblings and you have these great friends and a great job with awesome coworkers. You are so lucky. Please don’t forget it.

I know your thoughts are dark and stormy. I know you question your life every single time you open your eyes in the morning. I know you ask yourself if it is worth it.

I know your car is not working right and it could cost a lot of money to fix it.

I know that you would give anything to be able to have someone love you like you love them.

I know that therapy appointments are piling up and you keep finding things wrong with you and it’s so sad. But you are you and people love you so it might not be as bad as you think you are.

I know that you are stressed about work and all the people who are mean to you at the register. I know that the lady from the other day was so rude, but all you could do was smile and thank her for shopping at your store, because that is your job.

I know all you wanted was to tell her the truth of all of it, and mostly just make her realize how bad her attitude was.

I know all of that, baby girl. I know.

Life is so tough. Life is so hard. But you are tougher.

I want you to believe that, no matter how hard things are right now.

I know you’re worried. I know your 20s are happening and you still haven’t found a career path you want. I know that right now all you care about is making enough money to make it to the next damn month. But that is no way to live. I know you’re worried about your parents. They’re getting older and less able to work. I know you want to go to college, but are afraid that your mental illness will interfere. I know you’re scared you won’t be able to afford it.

I know you’re worried about your sister and being a single mom. I know you worry about your niece and how she is going to be able to make it through high school and all its pressures. I know you worry about your nieces and nephews and their lives.

I know you worry about Erika and her life. I know that you want her to do the best and you want her to do it with or without you. I know you love her far more than you love yourself and how you think that will never be enough. I know you want her to keep going to church, even on the days you just can’t because moving seems impossible and talking to other people makes you want to run and hide. That’s your depression talking, honey, so don’t be so hard on yourself.

I know you worry about her mom and how she’ll handle Juan moving out. I know you love her very much and you always want the best for all them, and how you wish Juan would realize how much this will affect the only mother he will truly know.

I know you worry about Grammy and her dad and his girlfriend. I know you worry about her when she worries about you. You pretend you are fine, but she knows you are not. You know that she prays for you, and you wish to God you could have the motivation to pray for her, too. But sometimes even moving takes too much effort and you can’t do anything but sit there and stare blankly at the wall. You just feel like you can’t.

I know you’re worried about your brother and his life. Why does he drink so much? He’s working so hard, you hope he takes a break soon or he might end up on antidepressants for anxiety like you are. You hope he’s careful because you love him and want him to be safe and healthy.

I know you are worried about church and how you haven’t been going like you should. How you don’t want to answer James’ phone calls and how you feel like a disappointment because like he said, he can only do his part and you have to do yours. But you just can’t. It’s too much.

I know you’re worried about all those things and more.

But honey, you’re doing just fine.

Can you see that?

Can you feel that?

That’s God. He’s always been there. Go to Him. Let Him comfort you. I know you haven’t prayed in who-knows-how-long.

I want you to remember the good things. I know that it might not seem like it, but those good things DO exist like:

Bernise’s food and how it’s always yummy even if it’s just a simple sandwich.

Erika and Cat. Cat licks you and she likes to be petted on her head. Erika will go along with whatever you want and she will pretend not to like it but you know she will always do it because she really loves you.

Grammie and everything about her. She loves you very much even though you don’t always choose to see it.

You’re going to go see Mockingjay part 2 with Erika and the grandparents!! You have waited a long time for this and now it is only three days away!!

You only have to work a few hours on Black Friday! While most people have to work 12, 11, 10 hours you got off with just four.

You have friends like James and Jared and Angelica and Bernadette, who you might not talk to daily, but they’re there

Your family is all well.

Nico’s kisses.

Seeing Calloway at work.

Hanging out with Judy at work.

Those cat stickers you bought the other day.

All the funny people you like at work like Skylar, Jasmine, Katelyn, etc.

Grammie’s sweet tea- it’s always so good.

Mom’s homemade tortillas

The people who are actually nice to you at the store

The parents at school who are always so appreciative of all that you do.

Laughing so hard that you forget how sad you always are

Cuddling with your Despicable Me pillow and how warm and inviting your bed is and listening to Taylor Swift and falling asleep to your favorite songs.

How your mom makes you chamomile tea every single morning

You’re still alive. And breathing.

Things are tough, I know it honey. I know. But please stay strong. Please. I beg you. I know sometimes the pain is so overwhelming that you can’t breathe and sometimes your eyes run out of tears long before you run out of pain, but it will be okay.

You have so many people who love you and you have cat stickers and tea and books and candles. You can do it. Some days are just harder than others. You CAN make it out, I swear to you. I know that sometimes your eyes seem like they’ll never stop spilling tears. Sometimes you cry and no sound comes. Sometimes you look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself to keep it together, but it’s so hard! Sometimes nothing is easy. Some days you just want to stop existing. You just want a break from it all. Sometimes dying sounds comforting. Sometimes you just don’t feel anything, and it’s scary but not bad because at least it doesn’t hurt anymore.

I know you try to stay strong, but you fail. It’s okay. Those are the times I want you to reread this letter and know that it is going to eventually be okay. I love you. I wish you would love yourself.

Brenda

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.