Mentally Ill and Proud of It

There is a streak of depression in my genes, and my family is by and large a melancholy lot. My ancestors were longsuffering farmers that slogged through life and prayed for the blessings of sweet, sweet death. Some treated themselves with alcohol, a losing proposition if there ever was one. I battled depression and anxiety for years without understanding what I was going through. Every moment of every day was filled with dread and foreboding, like the evening before a big exam for which you have not prepared. Joy was unknown to me. I sought to attribute my anxiety to my circumstances, my job, my friends, my neighborhood. I would make changes, but the anxiety followed me and threatened to destroy me.

At long last, I went on antidepressants and, for the first time ever, experienced what it felt like to have a normal mood, to be anxious only in the face of anxiety provoking situations, and to take pleasure in life. I even experience joy.

Life seems quite different when you are depressed. Things you ordinarily enjoy become dreaded chores. Happy social occasions become dreaded and much to be avoided. The universe seems designed to torment you. God seems to have hidden Himself away from you. Nothing signifies.

I am thankful for antidepressants. I wish all the suffering minds would discover them and that the stigma attached to mental illness would not prevent anyone from seeking treatment. You don’t have to live with anxiety and depression.

Now when I am sad or anxious, I can accurately attribute my mood to particular stimuli and, where appropriate, take steps to improve my circumstances. Moreover, I can keep an open heart and experience loss and heartbreak at the injustice and hurt in the world. What a boon this is. Being overwhelmed by anxiety and depression is like having no feelings at all since the feelings you have are of no use to you.

I have resolved to share with all and sundry that I use antidepressants in order to do my part to eliminate the stigma associated with mental illness. That I live a normal life and am "productive" is, in view of my condition, a considerable accomplishment.