How many times does the phrase "I'm so depressed" escape from our lips when we are upset about something and feel saddened by it? When this phrase is put into such context, it is understandable why the true definition of depression is not clear to many people. The truth is that depression is a serious, frightening, and debilitating mental illness that can lead to serious problems, including harm to oneself or, in the most serious of cases, suicide. This illness affects a large part of our community, especially Latinas

My story is a story of hurt and pain. I know firsthand how destructive depression can be. At age 21, I have struggled with this illness for four years. It has taken me four years to realize that I needed help. Now, as I undergo treatment, I look back on those four years and am in utter disbelief. The difference in my life from now and then is like night and day. It is as if I have just returned from a four-year absence from myself.

I was a well-behaved child when I was small. Good-natured and loving, I firmly believed that there was enough room in my heart to love the whole world. People would tell my mother,"Tu hija es tan dulce". That attitude was to become my saving grace as the years went by. I have a sister who is two years and four months older than me. Although we are completely different, we are very close. My sister is a person who is extremely talented, organized, assertive, and fast-paced. I was the exact opposite. She excelled in school and I had learning difficulties (although I would not find out about them until I was almost sixteen). No one understood why I was having difficulties in school; after all, I was perfectly intelligent. The logical conclusion was that I was lazy and that I was not working hard enough.

The criticism that I received from my parents was minimal in comparison to the criticism with which I bombarded myself. I could not stand their 'disappointment' in me; to me, it seemed like the final word on my lack of worth. I began to desperately try to make up for my shortcomings in other arenas. In short, I became a model of good behavior. I was sweet, kind, obedient, and compliant. I did exactly what my parents wanted me to do. This behavior extended out to the other people who interacted with me in my life, making me an easy target for getting hurt. In high school, my self-esteem spiraled downward as I struggled increasingly with the challenging workload assigned by my school. By the time I was a senior, any trace of a self-identity was gone. I had become so emotionally and physically fragile that you could have knocked me over with a feather.

Getting knocked over by a feather was exactly what happened. A fight with my boyfriend at the time was enough to push me too far. I fell into the first of several major depressive episodes that would occur over the next few years. I hated life. I was disgusted with myself. I felt as if I was drowning. I was lost, confused, and terribly afraid and I did not know what to do. I felt completely alone, even when I was surrounded by people. I thought that I was worthless, insignificant and that the world would not even care if I were to die. In fact, I believed that the world would probably be a better place without me. I was completely out of control; instead of swimming along the river of life, I was being swept away by its powerful current to the deepest darkest places I have ever known. Worst of all, I wanted to die.

On the exterior, no one knew that anything was wrong. I still smiled, still was gentle and agreeable. Inside, I felt dead, completely dull to any senses except the profound despair that engulfed me at all times of the day and night. Tears flowed easily and I would spend many nights awake, crying. I began to sleep all the time because I felt exhausted. In a desperate attempt to control something, anything in my life, I began to starve myself. Sometimes, six days would pass by without me eating. I justified it because, in my eyes, I did not deserve to eat. I lost thirty pounds in one month. One day, I felt as if I truly could not handle my life anymore and I went to my closet and got out a bottle of painkillers. I started to take them. Thank God I was too afraid to finish what I had started. Yet, I did not tell anyone about my attempt or about my feelings. All that would remain locked up inside for a long time.

As time passed, I began to feel better. I thought that I had overcome my problem and continued on to college. The insecurities and anxieties of high school still plagued me, though, and it was not too long before the pressures of college started to take a toll on me. Through my college career I had three more depressive episodes, all of which resulted in academic disappointments and more problems than I could imagine. Every time it happened, it pushed my self-esteem further down. Finally, after the third episode, I realized that I could not live my life like this and that I needed help. I went to see a psychologist and a psychiatrist. The psychologist helped me to work through my problems and listened to what I had to say. Finally I was able to let out all the thoughts and feelings that I had kept locked inside for years. The psychiatrist prescribed an antidepressant for me to help control the depression. I have been working with my two doctors for half a year. My life has turned completely around. I enjoy my life and I can cope with whatever adversity I come across. I have renewed energy and once again firmly believe that there is enough room in my heart to love the whole world. Most importantly, I have found someone new to love – me! I am truly alive.

My story is a story of hope. I share it for those who feel this way so that they will realize that they are not alone, and that there is a solution. Life is beautiful. Don’t let it pass you by. Do not remain silent if something is wrong. Find help immediately and start the healing process.

Anonymous

Bethesda, MD