THE INVISIBLE ILLNESS

“Depression” was the word the doctor gave me.

“A mood disorder causing a persistent feeling of sadness and loss of interest.”

I had always read textbooks on medicine when I was younger, because I dreamed of becoming a doctor and helping others. Even after studying AP Psychology in high school and (sort of, but not really) reading the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders), I had never linked any illnesses with myself.

It’s common for people to think they are invincible and that nothing bad will ever happen to them. Until it actually happens to you. Then you realize that you’re just as human as everyone else.

Similarly, mental illness is just as common as that belief.

It wasn’t until after my first year in college when my doctor diagnosed me that I thought anything more of the feelings of sadness that accompany. Finally, I realized that my thoughts and behavior were not normal for me to have.

I rationalized it as the fact that I was adapting to the new environment I was living in. Of course, that idea did not account for everything else preluding college. It just didn’t make sense to me at all.

These erratic and insecure thoughts that constantly haunted my mind at all times of the day should not exist.

But that was only the beginning.

“Sharon, I think you have anxiety disorder.”

“What?”

“A mental health disorder characterized by feelings of worry, anxiety, or fear that are strong enough to interfere with one's daily activities.”

Oh.

That’s what kept me from doing class presentations in school.

That’s what kept me from making friends.

That’s what kept me from actually following through with plans with people.

That’s what kept me up at all hours of the night obsessing over every little thing.

Little by little, it started making more sense than before.

It wasn’t because I’m more introverted than most people.

It wasn’t because I’m incredibly soft-spoken like every one of my past grade school teachers had always told my parents.

It wasn’t because I’m painfully shy like my friends have to explain to other people.

I have a mental illness.

It was frightening knowing that I had this “incurable” disorder. At the same time, though, it gave me hope that things could change. There are treatments that actually really work.

I could experience the exhilaration and happiness that my life so clearly needed yet lacked, because now that I’ve identified the problem, the next step is to go find a solution.

This isn’t a story about my diagnoses and the hardships I still go through each and every day.

This is a story about my recovery and the challenges I surmounted to reach where I am now. That is what I want to focus on and talk about.

But it’s not over.

Mental illness stays with you.

I would never wish my pain upon anybody. Even the worst person in the world.

I still have ups and downs every once in a while. Each day, I have to gather the strength to climb out of bed and tell myself that I can get through this day.

Every day, I take medicine for my depression and anxiety. But, every day, I also call my mother to tell her I love her and I would never do anything to hurt her.

Every day, I struggle with approaching people. But, every day, I wave hello to and start a conversation with a stranger.

Every day, I struggle with my poor appetite. But, every day, I remind myself that I need to take care of my body for my body to take care of me.

Every day, I find myself daydreaming and then suddenly having restless and anxious thoughts. But, every day, I tell myself that I can’t waste my time on meager things.

I have a bucket list of incredible things I plan to do in my life. At the top of my list, I wrote, “to have a meaningful and wonderful life.”

Every once in a while, I want to give up. But then I tell myself that there’s more to life than these little things. There’s so much more I want to see and experience before I go.

This kind of thing is unbelievably hard to talk about, but it’s time.

It’s time to talk about it.