Another Pill to Swallow

Another Pill to Swallow A Personal Essay on Depression, Written for Anna Magazine in January 2016

By Emily Oldenquist

I unclench my fist and watch the blood flow through a thin tube attached to a small vile. I glance up at the nurse who is scurrying around the lab, sanitizing, and disposing to maintain the space. I watch my skin turn from pale to the familiar olive tone of my skin after the blue rubber-band is unwrapped from my left upper arm. This depiction in the medical lab is just a memory of the sustained blood tests which became a monthly routine once my first psychiatrist, in 2006 prescribed me my first antidepressant. Signs of Major Depressive Disorder began to surface when I was nine years old. Suddenly, I switched from a free and curious 4th grader to an angry one, with stiff manners and explosive bouts of unprovoked sadness. Sleep was the only thing that felt possible. The time I spent curled in bed was numb and motionless. I remember my head felt heavy and my chest stung with the weight only tragic news carried. But nothing was wrong with my lifestyle or the circumstances surrounding me. My family life was stable and nurturing. I was an avid reader, an

active equestrian, and as social as any other preteen. In retrospect, it is hard to say who was driving my life from ages nine to sixteen. I surely didn’t feel connected with my actions or emotions.

Unfortunately, the disconnect and debilitation was only the beginning.

By age seventeen I tried six different antidepressants of various medical categories. I was admitted to the hospital four times for suicidal ideations or attempts, self-harm, medication withdrawal (from an over-prescribing psychiatrist or self-medication), and PTSD. Fortunately, I was amidst treatment in a residential treatment center which greatly helped me gain a personal understanding of mental illness and its role in my life.

Currently, I am doing well, I have been stable and sure (as sure as any twenty-something) of my future for about four years. I’ve always been ambitious and held myself and my relationships to high standards. Even with the tribulations of depression and mistreatment, I had aspirations in my core. I am not one to sugarcoat subjects or disregard emotions, but I am always hesitant to discuss my struggle with mental illness. Aside from the fact that these are personal struggles, the social connotation of “depression, anxiety,

bipolar, ADHD� is rough. Society seems to be growing more tolerant, but the level of understanding is still misunderstood and generalized. The common thread in the mental illness conversation is strewn across a blurry spectrum. On one end it is stated as a vague, but constant struggle. On the other end, there seems to be a plethora of self-diagnosed struggling teenagers, simply enduring day-to-day life with hormonal drama. In the middle, there are to be people unwilling to speak up, the undiagnosed population, and those on the brink of sharing their difficult stories.

Despite the frustrating stereotypes and an elusive norm, there are five things that allow me to place myself boldly and proudly outside of the common stigma regarding mental illness. I hope these apply to anyone struggling, diagnosed, and/or affected by loved ones of the sorts.

1. I am more than a number.

Despite varying milligrams, the number of pills I take each day, the inevitable increase in my insurance policy, or my role in the pie charts and bar graphs of this disease: I am an individual with

goals, hobbies, care, and personality. I am not “Depression,” I am me.

2. Depression and anxiety in my case are medical, not circumstantial.

Other people can feel depressed or anxious. But even when life is everything I could wish for, I may still feel sad and angry. Understanding the facts is crucial to a successful life. It is easy to place blame on all the assets in my life. But the truth is: depression can cloud reality, but it doesn’t need to. I am capable of taking a step back from the fog and blowing off steam in healthy ways. With this in mind, I need help. The largest factor in my prior struggles was a failure to understand or accept my weaknesses. The chemicals in my brain may change. Therefore my medication may change. I need to discuss feelings, I cannot hold my emotions inside for long. I need routine and consistency and I need to create that for myself with assistance from professionals.

3. I am not my past.

Like anything that grows, I am constantly changing and trying to look up. The past needs to be processed, it is often relevant but it can not be reset and will not be re-lived. Sort through my paper trail, ask those I have emotionally

influenced: it hardly full of enlightenment and emotional insight. My past is shaky, but the lessons I’ve learned are tools for the future not grudges against my ethos. Full disclosure in highpressure situations is also necessary. I would not accept a job, agree to a task, or commit to a relationship if I felt unstable. If I deem my deficits regarding depression or anxiety are in any way relevant, I will execute an appropriate form of confrontation.

4. Yes, depression is an obstacle, but it is an eventual asset.

Getting out of bed and smiling often feels like the most difficult thing in the world. But the days I wake right up, I am the most successful. I also hope to have greater empathy for things I do not understand. I can’t imagine hearing symptoms of depression without experiencing them on my own, tellings may sound unreal or far fetched.

5. I love and am loved.

One of the largest factors in the stigma is the correlation between mental illness and psychopaths or sociopaths. As a teenager in treatment, I was paired with peers with malicious intentions and sparse conscious’. It was difficult for me to separate myself from these people.

Along the way, I realized the largest divide between more common mental illnesses and those of manic caliber is an ability to ground oneself in love and reality. As unprovoked and nonsensical as symptoms of depression and anxiety may be, they are true to each patent. Nonetheless, I have space in my heart to be an individual with personal choices. I possess a treatment plan and a love language specific to my needs and desires.

People have proven to treasure what I have to offer, and those who do not understand have no place in my personal or intimate life.

Some days depression feels like a monster running beside me, a burden on my shoulder telling me to stay in bed and sleep or cry. Other days I am hypersensitive to comments, crowds, noises, and physical stimuli. In layman’s terms, I am deeply sad and anxious often. I have come to accept, as out of my control as this is, emotions are the only way to discuss these symptoms stemming from a chemical imbalance in my brain.

But I have a voice, a plan and have worked diligently to treat this, cope, and enjoy my life.

Growing up, my father stressed that “Nothing of high worth is easy.� I understand that depression is tough. Sometimes it feels impossible. But on the days it feels like just a pill to swallow, rather than

a suffocating force I am reminded that life is worth the hardship and so is each diagnosed individual.