But yesterday Buzzfeed actually posted something and got it pretty right, and as I reflected on my experiences, having suffered from undiagnosed and unmedicated depression for about 4 years of my life, I thought I would add my voice to the throng and share some of my experiences. I don't call those 4 years "the dark ages" of my life for nothing.
Here's the link to the article I'll be referencing: http://www.buzzfeed.com/alexisnedd/things-nobody-tells-you-about-being-depressed
My husband Chase and I would love to bring a couple curly-haired baby girls into this world, and hopefully one day, God willing, we will. But being a woman, I worry about my future girls sometimes. As a man, Chase thinks boys are much more worrisome and difficult to raise, because they go out with their friends at any age and do ridiculous stunts, hurt themselves, get into trouble, come across a lot more of the dark things of this world than girls do, etc.
He's got a point there.
Did you know that preteen and teenage girls are among those at the highest risk for depression? I learned that in a class on child and human development. Girls that age are very susceptible to low self-esteem.
I want my girls to be confident, but humble and kind. To know without any doubt their self worth, so that no one will ever be capable of making them believe otherwise. I hope they shine like the sun.
And so I hate that statistic. I also hate it, because that was me! I did great in middle school, which is a problem time for a lot of girls. I had a solid group of bffs, the Harry Potter books, the Lord of the Rings movies, and 53 different celebrity crushes like Sean Biggerstaff to keep me preoccupied and happy. The cruelty of mean girls hadn't started yet.
Look at us! Look at our cute faces! Look at how fat I was! Look at my nasty unkempt eyebrows! (Didn't figure that one out til college, ugh.) I LOVED that time of my life.
But then it got to the 10th grade, and I found a boy. And that's where it all began.
I don't blame my depression on him. Really, I don't. After all, Lord knows as a 17-year-old boy at a school that never addressed or mentioned depression, dealing with a girlfriend who had it I'm sure was really hard. And we didn't even know that's what it was! I didn't figure out until 3 years into it as a psychology major in college that I was certifiably depressed. Things could have been SO different had I even known in high school that that's what was wrong with me and I could do something about it. I just lived through it thinking it was teenage angst and the fact that I was an awful person.
Now, do I think he handled the situation horribly? Absolutely. Was he kind, compassionate, or loving? Not at all. I'm not going to bash him or try to dirty his name. But I will not hesitate to say that it was a toxic relationship, and without a doubt he aggravated the depression and made it worse, so he is therefore in this story. Unavoidably so.
Depression DOES physically hurt. I have never experienced fatigue like I did then. Physical, awful, achey, fatigue. One of the most classic signs of a depressed person that you won't find in the DSM is the head in the hand.
Here's a little Captain Picard for you. That was me all the time. I never had too much trouble getting out of bed, probably because nature was calling. But if I had free time, I would sit at my desk in my dorms or apartment, or on my bed with my computer in front of me and do that for HOURS. Nowadays I can sit down and quickly create a plan for the day or a to-do list and get to it. In my dark ages, it was impossible. I knew I had to do something. Even wanted to do something. But typing was too hard. Looking at my computer screen was too hard. The article doesn't lie when it says getting up and making myself a bowl of cereal was TOO FREAKING HARD. I would lift my head up and try to muster the energy to get something as simple as turning the light on accomplished, only to sigh or groan and think to myself "ugh I just can't!" and put my head back into the comfort of my hand and either start praying or crying or both. I can't even explain why people do the head in hand thing. It becomes a physical need when you're depressed. It's too painful and difficult to not put your head down. Or at least for me it was, anyway.
That goes right along with the food thing. Also spot on. There would be days where I just didn't eat, because all I could do was sit in my bed and browse facebook. I'm sure it wasn't as bad as other people, because I love food and my parents would be like "Hey, Wendy's tonite!" and who can pass up that kind of greasy delicious comfort food, but I did have a weird eating pattern. My social phobias and awkwardness were out of this world, too, so you wouldn't catch me anywhere near the inside of a Wendys. That food was brought home for me, God bless my parents. And of course there were some days where I ate everything.
My dreams got really freaky sometimes, especially when my depression was at it's worst. You know how your dreams usually are kind of weird, or something's just a little off? And you wake up and try to tell someone about it later and realize it all just sounds ridiculous? Like it seemed fine as you were dreaming it, but then as you're sharing it you think to yourself, "why am I talking right now?" haha.Well, depression dreams are horrifyingly realistic. My senior year of high school, I used to have dreams every night or at least every other about my friends and significant other abandoning me, hating me, and saying the meanest things my dreaming mind could muster. That's part of the reason I think depressed people have sleeping problems too...the nightmares scare you enough that you don't like to sleep, but you're so sad all the time all you want to do is sleep. I would wake up sobbing with tears pouring down my cheeks, and remember everything clearly. I still remember some of them. Eventually, what actually happened in my real life was the equivalent or worse than all my nightmares. That's depression.
#5 of the article, about friends not knowing how to handle things and ditching you....THIS! THISThisthisthisthis! This is where I will spend a majority of my post. Mixed with #9, not knowing what's real thought and your depression speaking, and #18, arguing with your real friends about what a terrible person you are, this is where all my words, thoughts and feelings come pouring out.
To begin, depression made me forget 90% of my memories of high school. Or maybe I chose to forget. Either way, I did, and I'm so glad I can't remember them or I'd probably still be depressed. But of the 10% I remember, telling the difference between what was real and what was my depression talking is literally impossible. And so when I tell the stories, if you were involved, I'm sorry if I'm misrepresenting how it really was and how you really felt. It's just the way I remember it because it's the way it was playing in my chemically-imbalanced brain at the time, and I think its important for others to understand that. I will never know what came first, my depression and depressive thoughts, or people, including the one closest to me who I loved the most, hating on me and bashing me, calling me the names that my depressive thoughts told me. That is a giant, knotted, frazzled, mangled ball of thoughts and memories that will never be straightened out. And please know, that for anyone involved, I have forgiven you. I cannot and will never know for sure, if I made myself a victim in my head, or if it was justifiable and I had been pretty seriously bullied. We all have moments we're not proud of, and I give you the benefit of the doubt that if you did those harmful and mean things purposely, you are changed and would never do so now.
I truly am struggling to publish this post, because I don't want anyone who was involved to feel bad all over again, or feel the need to apologize. You don't need to. I understand. I'm ok, and you're ok.
Poor Charlie Brown really speaks to my past self. I KNEW nobody liked me. Teachers didn't even like me. I didn't like me! I knew I got talked about. I wish I had a hard shell, but I was born without any shell. I'm the kind of person that has anxiety for days over the littlest confrontation. The things people used to say about me...the gossip, the smirks and snickers and smug mean girl faces and "way to go!" vibes when my boyfriend used to tell me off and make me cry in front of everyone in class literally caused stabbing pains in my chest. Sometimes I'm amazed at myself thinking about it. That I actually had the strength to sit there in front of everyone with tears in my eyes, hating myself, hating him, hating everyone that laughed at me, hating life, when what I felt like doing was falling to the floor and curling up in the fetal position. Disappearing from existence. Or that I had the strength to walk out of school and go home, when it felt like the equivalent of army crawling through a jungle with a broken leg and arm.
Picture it.
To feel guilty, ashamed, angry, annoyed, selfish, small, to be disgusted with yourself, thinking that no one else can stand you either and that others find joy in you getting hurt, AND blaming yourself for it.
Sometimes I'm amazed at myself that I maintained an A-/B+ average in high school. Homework was so difficult for me. Concentrating in class was impossible. I was so focused on how everyone else felt about me. I knew something didn't add up when I got to college, where there's thousands more people and you're less likely to stick out, and I was praised by nearly all my professors for my abilities, intellect and writing talents. Either something was wrong with me or something was wrong with that high school that I left there honestly thinking I would be a C student in college and hopefully I would even make it through and graduate. 7 semesters later I was an A+ student (with the exception of those darn Spanish classes haha) graduating early! Boo-yah grandma! Anyway....
Here's a story that still makes me cringe and gives me heart stabs to think about:
I think most people know I was in band. I had a small, very close group of friends that were all in my class that I hung out with at practices, including the bf. One nite, I showed up to practice early like always, because that's what all of us always did...to hang out and talk beforehand. It had been our routine for 4 years. I get there, and I can't find them anywhere. I wandered around for a few minutes feeling pretty dumb. I think I called 1 or 2 of them once to figure out what was going on, and the calls got ignored. I knew it couldn't just be coincidence that they were all missing and all not answering their phones. I asked around and other people said that they'd seen them there earlier. I walked back outside and looked for them, didn't see them. I still wonder if they saw me standing out there looking and made fun of me. I think to kill time I probably went to the bathroom once or twice, annoyed and upset. My depression made me feel like had it been anyone else in my situation, calling wouldn't have looked desperate and someone happily would've answered and been like "yeah we're out here, come out you have to be a part of this it's hilarious" or something. But since it was me I swore they were like "ugh, Sheridan's trying to call. Just ignore it, she's so effing annoying, I wish we didn't have to pretend to be her friend. (To bf): You really need to do something about that". I hated that I cared so much and looked desperate. So eventually the band director called everyone to the stage to get started, everyone's seated, and my friends still aren't there. Practice starts and 5 minutes later, they all come sauntering in, talking, laughing, smirking and having a grand old time. I tried to be as nonchalant as possible for a depressed girl that felt tricked and abandoned and later asked my bf where they had been, and he immediately responded with some sharp angry comment "we were just in (insert girls name here)'s car, you weren't here yet when we decided to go out there, it's not like it's our fault!" "That's cool, but then how come none of you answered your phones?" "We just didn't hear it, ok?! Stop making such a big deal out of nothing!" And it was like I was being punished.
Now maybe to you, this doesn't seem so bad, and I was overreacting. Maybe to me it wouldn't have been so bad either had I not been depressed. But unfortunately, things like that had happened frequently, and to me it felt like the last straw. My unhealthy mind had grown used to the blame others always put on me, and the guilt he tried to make me feel. Was I really that bad? I don't know. Was he really that bad? I like to think so, but I don't know. Like I said, it was toxic, so it was probably both. In that moment, I knew something, deep down. Maybe not all of my friends, but definitely him and one other, had deliberately made sure to run out there and hide somewhere where I would never think to find them. And then chose to ignore my calls, come in late, and leave me out of the fun. And then get mad at me for asking. It was a vicious cycle: 1. do something to hurt Sheridan, 2. pretend you didn't do it to hurt her, 3. make her feel bad for being so self-centered as to get hurt and upset by it, 4. Sheridan feels like a huge jerk and guiltily wonders why anyone puts up with her at all.
Depression or the real truth? I hope whoever is reading this will begin to see how hard it is to tell the difference when you're going through it.
One time, about a week prior to that story, I walked into math class at the end of the period during free time. Those same 2 people were looking up something on the computer for our upcoming band concert, and she was sitting on his lap. It had gotten to the point where I didn't even get mad about things like that anymore, because I wasn't allowed to, and I was numb. Similar things had happened countless, and I really mean COUNTLESS times before then. I was always yelled at for it, because apparently this was supposed to be acceptable behavior. What was unacceptable was me getting angry over it. So I just approached them and sat next to them like nothing was wrong, and started discussing funny nickname ideas for our concert t-shirts. And they just stayed right where they were. Picture that for a second. Girlfriend of TWO YEARS walks up to boyfriend with girl sitting on his lap flirting, pulls up a chair and awkwardly sits next to them, trying to be nice while tangibly feeling the 'you're unwanted here' vibes coming from them.
If my life were ever made into a movie, I would totally go Walter Mitty on them in that scene...throw her off, slap him, kick him in his tiny package, say a few choice words with a few choice gestures and walk out of there with my head held high. And then you keep watching and realize that was only in my head. And what really happened was I sat there politely and took it, while everyone else appreciated my discomfort. That's what low self esteem is like.
In my eyes (once again, depressive thought or reality, idk) everyone at that school LOVED my boyfriend. Worshipped him. He was like Jesus to them. (He once explained to me why cheating on me with a girl from another school was ok because she had a rough life and he had a dream about her and thought it was a call from God to help her. Just thought I'd throw that out there.) Every teacher thought he was a natural born charismatic leader. Every girl wanted him. Every jealous girl x10 for her friends all thought I was an undeserving, angry, miserable, selfish b-word. In my mind, every teacher agreed. With the exception of 3 or 4 teachers who I could tell honestly liked me or just didn't buy into teenage ridiculousness, I'm pretty sure all teachers were in on the drama. I felt like even they judged me wrongly, thought that he deserved better than me and viewed me in a negative way. It felt like there were sides, and everyone was on his. Girls used to approach him with doe eyes and ooey-gooey voices, flirt with him like they could barely keep themselves off of him, and never acknowledge that I was standing right next to him. I hated being the jealous girlfriend that stands there 'throwing shade', but really? It didn't help that he was secretly making out with most of them. So instead of being like "thanks but no thanks, I really like my girlfriend, she's pretty sweet" it was more of an ego boost and a reason to yell at me for being mad later. And it was such a mangled mess of emotion and thought...because I WAS miserable. I remember sometimes for the life of me not being able to understand what anyone would be jealous of, because I was in this awful relationship with an awful human being. And didn't I deserve better? But at the same time, I put him up on a pedestal too. Sometimes I convinced myself that he was right, and I was wrong. I was convinced that he WAS a saint, and I actually WAS a terrible, selfish, jealous, undeserving girl. If everyone felt that way...if everyone so obviously adored him and would've been happier had I just disappeared, it must have been right, right? I literally did feel like I was crazy and losing my mind...ALL. THE. TIME. Because the battle of is he a bad person or am I a bad person, of why am I putting up with these fake friends or why do they put up with me was constantly playing in my head.
Reading the article, I cracked up laughing at the gif of Matthew Perry being like "I AM SICK OF EVERYONE!" because man, that was me.
If anyone did disagree with him, they never stood up to him as far as I know. No one ever said to him "you know, that's really low" or "you have a girlfriend. it's ok if you're unhappy and you don't like her anymore, but then break up with her!" "put yourself in her shoes, how would you feel?" "stop being a douche!" Actually, I remember there was one boy who confronted him about it once. I'm pretty sure he had a thing for me. He was a kind-hearted soul. A few of us were sitting in the cafeteria, and when the bf's argument fell flat about why he always put this other girl before me, he (the bf) got so upset he stormed out and wouldn't talk to either of us for awhile. I was so appreciative of the kid, it still makes me a little teary.
I just wanted ONE friend, ONE teacher to feel empathy for me. To say "Sheridan I'm worried about you" or "Sheridan, that is NOT ok, you don't deserve this". I may have responded numbly at the time, but what bothers me is realizing today that with the exception of that one story, it never happened. And it bothers me so much, not because I feel entitled to have had that, but for the future. For kids now suffering with anxiety, depression, toxic relationships.
Guys, I understand feeling like it's not your place. Or liking 2 feuding people and not wanting to take sides. But if you suspect you have a depressed friend, if you see them suffering in a relationship that is no good for them, if you think your friend's significant other is a jerk AND your friend is miserable, if it's your place to say something or maybe even if it's not...just SAY something. Even if they don't listen or don't wanna hear it. Just say something. Please.
Innocent bystanders and the Switerlands of the situation either faded away, or became vicious gossipers and haters. I had a few true friends like Jen who would always tell me she loved me. Haley, who would eat large amounts of pizza with me and say things like "you just pretend that tennis ball is his/her face Sheridan and hit it as hard as you need to". Amanda, who was always supportive and ALWAYS took my side and never judged. And I was grateful for them. Even more so now. But I never believed them. Never thought I deserved them. Never took what they said to heart or was boosted up by it. Depression keeps that from happening. Compliments just go in one ear and right out the other. I lost so many friends. Some of them probably got tired of me always being sad, never seeming to appreciate their compliments or kind comments and just walked away. Most of them joined the everybody hates Sheridan bandwagon. Or so it felt. Most noteworthy, no one, not even me, understood that I had depression.
And so I left that school without a friend in the world. I spent that summer as a shell, a zombie, a robot. I went to work everyday, my first summer at Tudor Grill and was just a total zombie. I wouldn't talk. I hid in a corner. People must have thought I was SO weird. I laugh and cringe at the same time thinking about it. I remember I actually got invited to a couple graduation parties (I assumed it was out of pity, not that anyone would actually want me there) and I got as far as the driveway of one girl's house before I turned around and went back home. Everyone there secretly or not so secretly hated me anyway, why put myself through that?
I started school at Millersville in the fall still as a shell, a zombie, a robot. By the way, depression as a junior in high school caused me to not really care or be able to plan for my future at all. I had no idea where the heck I wanted to go to college, I didn't know what I wanted to study, and I didn't have the strength or energy to fill out applications. Despite being a smart cookie, my grades had slipped because of the drama, heartache, and my depression, so I didn't think I could get into some schools. I didn't believe in myself if I could have. So I applied to one school, that's about all I could muster the energy or brain power to think about, and that was Millersville. So that's where I went. And I don't regret that decision, Millersville was good for me. But I do regret missing out on the joy and thrill of researching and choosing which colleges I wanted to go to. Did you know that hard-to-get-into BYU Provo actually contacted ME, wanting me to go there and take part in their music program? I didn't realize until recently what a huge honor that was. As a depressed person, it didn't phase me.
I was totally apathetic about school. Just completely numb. Had no interest in doing anything. And somehow, despite the fact that I KNOW I was the weirdest most socially awkward, unfriendly college freshman on planet earth...despite the fact that I lost my first college "friends" within a couple months and went into a horrible downward spiral...I did find a couple real friends at the end of my first semester. Thanks Pam and Ellen, for loving me anyway. For continually inviting me to come eat lunch with you guys after class even though I never even gave you the time of day in class, and kept turning you down for awhile so I could go eat by myself in my dorm. I felt too awkward to ever go to the dining hall alone. I remember sitting there in my dorm one day after just turning you guys down and thinking "Sheridan, what are you thinking? These nice people invited you to hang out with them. Are you going to sit here by yourself without friends for the rest of your life?" And so, despite the depressive thoughts telling me you guys were just being polite, that realization got me to accept your offer the next time. And I'm so glad I did! You guys changed my life. :') Steph, thanks for listening to me rant for countless hours as I tried to sort through the mess of everything that was high school. I eventually just let it go and stopped caring, but I appreciate your willingness to let me bend your ear and vent relentlessly. =)
After that first year of school, I got a little better. The depression was still there but it wasn't so deeply rooted. It was more that it would flare up, frequently, but it wasn't a constant. I remember a big source of confusion and depression for me was the fact that my ex, who I felt had done a lot of wrong, had dumped me and from that point on made a big show of rising from the ashes and having this perfect wonderful happy life. Maybe it really did feel that way for him, it was after all a bad situation for both of us, but I struggled over it. Of course I still felt like everyone else in the world was so proud of him for it too and couldn't care less if I was happy, doing better, doing worse, alive, dead. Whatever. I thought he didn't deserve it and I thought I was an ok, trying-to-get-better person and couldn't understand why my life was going so badly. It made me once again judge myself and assume I was unloved and undesirable.
I don't remember where I heard the idea, but I used to make myself write down 3 happy things that happened each day to combat all the naturally-occurring unhappy thoughts in my brain. Often times it would be simple things like "I saw my favorite duck at the pond today" "the dining hall had dirt dessert" "Pam showed me this funny video" or "I'm going home this weekend". I went home every weekend during my depression, and I am not ashamed. I wasn't a drinker and I had sleeping issues, and that's all kids do on the weekends anyway. If I hadn't been able to go home and snuggle my kitty cats and have familiar people around me and cry to my mom for hours upon hours about anything and everything, I wouldn't have survived.
That statement is SO true. I feel fortunate that as a depressed person, I knew who loved me and saw beauty in simple things. I craved a life with tons of friends; craved going out doing social college kid things all the time. But instead I learned to appreciate the comfort of my room at home, the wisdom and listening ears of my parents, the purring of my sweet kitties, the peace that comes with solitude. Learned to develop the relationship I have with my Heavenly Father. Learned and understood the loving and merciful nature of my Savior. In my darkest moments, more than any other time in my life, I learned and appreciated those beautiful things.
Eventually, in it's final year from the beginning of the fall semester 2007-2008, my depression turned to the boring stage. I had friends, I had a good time hanging out with them. I liked going to class. I'd still go home a lot. But I felt really bored and empty whenever I was alone, and being alone still happened a lot. Which wasn't always the best for me because than I would get to thinking and spacing out and doing the head hand thing.
In fall of 2008, I lived in an "apartment" so to speak with 3 other girls who accepted me and liked to have fun. And it was at some point throughout that semester of being actively involved in a club with them, going on late nite trips for junk food, jamming to *Nsync in the car, and decorating and having parties together, that I realized it was gone. I was happy, I liked myself, and the past didn't bother me anymore. It didn't hurt that around the same time, I realized my ex was human and had bad days too just like me and everybody else, no matter what he tried to portray on social media. I found out that he cheated on other girls too, and that it wasn't just me. It dawned on me that that part of the relationship was his choice, and not something I had forced him into or drove him to do because I was totally despicable and deserved it. (Do you hear that, future children and current sufferers? NO ONE DESERVES THAT. Don't let someone treat you that way, EVER!)
It was his choice.
Something about knowing that truly set me free. If any depressive thoughts remained, it was obliterated in the light that came with that epiphany. It was SO refreshing and liberating to not be depressed anymore. Like sprouting wings and flying away. Being able to breathe in the air and really REALLY feel it. It also was really awkward sometimes as the article stated. I would try to make friends or go to church activities or be extroverted for the first time in years, and it was all horribly awkward but good at the same time haha. I am very impressed and have developed a new love for people...many of them have a great capacity to be kind and become your friends even if you're really weird at first.
In closing, Robin Williams said something in Hook that is my all-time favorite quote.
I'm having issues getting the actual video on here, so for now here's the link:
And while I am heartbroken that he himself and many others get so beaten down that they give up on life so precious and see no way out other than suicide, I feel blessed that in my dark ages, suicide never crossed my mind. I admit I sometimes wished I could die. That I would fall asleep and peacefully slip through the veil and go home. I would pray to God, "I wanna go home!" so many times. But I am grateful that I trudged along, grateful for the love of my parents, for everything I learned and gained, and for the wisdom of my Heavenly Father that saw me through the dark. So now I continue my awfully big (and wonderful) adventure. And pray that my future curly-haired baby girls will never go through something like that.
R.I.P. Robin
And you, yes YOU! You can do this!
