personal: the surrender
Yesterday marks the last day of taking anti-depressants.
Today marks the first day of a new chapter in my life.
8 months ago, I was an entirely different person. Truly. I was miserable. Beyond miserable. I was lost, hopeless, a shell of myself. Sleeping all day. Sorrow. Unrecognizable to myself. Unrecognizable to those close to me. Heavy. Numb. Slow. Like I was chained to earth that had turned cement.
I remember so clearly the day I surrendered and sought the help I needed. As I write that sentence I don’t understand how those words strung together do not encompass how profound that was for me. I surrendered. I sought help. I surrendered. I sought help.
I surrendered.
I sought help.
It was raining, cold. I had gotten pretty good at “continuing on” and doing what I needed to do to get by everyday, and this day I was out at a coffee shop. I got a call that I needed from Access Mental Health and I stepped outside to answer. I stood under the awning, wrapped in my scarf, and watched everything crumble around me as questions were asked, and my answers begged for help. The world closed in on me. The help wasn’t going to be immediate and I would need to wait weeks to see someone in person. I tried to hold it together as I had for months, even years, and I stepped back in to sit down at my computer and work. How could I continue with the mundane after just being asked “Are you suicidal? Do you have thoughts to harm yourself or anyone else?” How could I ignore every ounce of truth that rose up to be seen? Realized?
My partner encouraged me to leave with him, to go home. I packed up and we stepped out into the cold rain and began to walk. Half way to the car I stopped. And in the middle of the busy street, I sobbed. I completely unraveled. I broke down, and I surrendered. A messy, whole hearted, completely necessary surrender. “I need help. I need help.” I leaned into him, knowing that was only part of the support I truly needed, and I asked him to take me to the Emergency Room. One of the last things said on the phone was “You can go to the hospital at any time to seek immediate mental health support”.
It was an extremely uncomfortable and difficult day. A day of realizing that I am not the “strong and happy” girl I’ve always thought of myself. A day of truly realizing how much I’ve been suffering, and how much of myself I’ve lost. A day of realizing how debilitating the negative narratives in my mind were. A day of realizing how much hate I had for myself. A day of realizing that stigmas had such a big part in pushing off seeking out help. A day of realizing I had truly no idea what anti-depressants were, and how many false ideas I had about them. A day of realizing how small I had become. A day of longing for the version of myself that took up space in the world and lived from a place of worthiness. A day of longing for the love and confidence I had once had.
It’s like the bones in my body disappeared and I collapsed to the ground. A puddle of me. A puddle that eventually would become the mud for the lotus to grow. A puddle that allowed me to reach out to family, to friends, to therapists and doctors and teachers so that I could hold on and slowly pull myself back upright. Slowly. Slowly. S l o w l y.
It was not easy after that. But it became easier. The medication allowed me to gain more energy, to sleep less, to focus more, to be more aware of the stories in my mind. The teachers allowed grace in timelines and workload which allowed me to graduate successfully. The therapists have pointed me in the direction of growth, of loving myself, of identifying my unhealthy and unhelpful habits and patterns, of how to stop letting the blanket of depression keep me wrapped so tight. The doctors provided compassion and guidance, allowing me to trust and allowing all the myths of stigma to be debunked and pushed aside. My family allowed me to be loved and supported despite my negligence of them. My family encouraged me to see how I used to be, and how I am capable of that once more. My friends embraced me and allowed me to share my heart, to learn from their experiences, and to let go of the shame of keeping it secret. My Nico hugged me day and night, tucked my into bed, kissed every part of my heart and soul, and loved me unconditionally in my darkest time.
I am grateful. I am beyond grateful. For all of you have allowed me to climb my way back up to stand tall, proud, and beautiful. You have been my trellis to hold onto as I’ve grown my roots and have sprouted from the puddle of my past, hurt self, and grown stronger and taller as I’ve followed the sunshine and learned once more how to bloom.
Even now, I have such a hard time understanding how I could have been so ignorant to how much I was suffering. But I think it’s true that we see only what we want to see, and we tell ourselves only the things we want to hear. And we don’t want to admit we are suffering. But once you realize, once you see what is true, you cannot ignore it. You cannot carry on as if you didn’t know. You have no choice but to acknowledge it. And it may have taken two, maybe three years to have landed me there. It may have been completely and utterly earth shattering, uncomfortable and fucking impossibly difficult. But I would not change it for anything.
Because here I am now, many months later, different. Healthier. Happier. Aligned with such a powerful part of myself. With a mountain of tools and resources and community at my side that I lean into every, single, day. I am here, a version of myself that I love, that I am proud of, and that I will continue to love and support.
✨
If you feel you need help, reach out. To anyone - friends, your doctor, the ER. I promise it’s not as scary as it seems. And it is incredibly important. If you feel you need a safe space to share - please know that I am genuinely here. Any. Time. I am eager to share what has helped
If you are unsure of using medication and are lost in all the myths and stigmas around it, talk. Research. Learn. Turns out those scary side effects only last a week or two. Turns out there are tons of different medications you can try if something doesn’t work for you. This is the #1 thing that has allowed me to move forward and I would do it again in a heartbeat if I needed to. The positives have far outweighed the negatives.
If you feel shame about your mental state, perhaps that is your unwellness speaking. There is nothing shameful about caring for yourself. There is nothing shameful about learning to love yourself. There is nothing shameful about facing the demons in your mind and instead creating a fruitful place for the you that you truly are and want to be, to thrive.
You are worthy of health. You are worthy of healing. You are worthy of feeling the beautiful side of this life.
