This is the final post in the Thriving with Depression in your Twenties series. If you haven’t please take the time to read the rest of the series: one, two, three, and four. Now I want to take a minute to pass along a seriously huge thank you to everyone who has supported me, shared their own stories, reached out for advice/support, and just been really freaking awesome over the course of this series. I had originally planned on doing this series in March but after going through another depressive spell myself, realized I couldn’t wait to share this with y’all. As some of you know, this has been my first series and I have really enjoyed sharing my thoughts and experiences. Talking about depression has never been easy for me but you all have made it possible for me to open up and I have enjoyed connected with each and every one of you. So thank you.
Today I’m going to get a little more personal. On Monday, I briefly shared the story of my battle with depression however, over the course of the week, I have been inspired to really dig deep and discuss my experience on a more personal and in-depth level. I hope you will find strength, hope, and support in my story.
My Struggle with Depression
If I had to point a finger to the exact moment when I realized I might have a problem, it would be way before I actually got help. My freshman year of college was terrible. I was miserable and felt trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship. I can recall about two or three depressive episodes over the course of our relationship (which started in high school). I didn’t know that’s what they were at the time, but hindsight is 20/20 or so they say. By the end of Freshman year, I was so miserable that I honestly didn’t know what was going on. I decided one night that I was going to end the relationship and I thought this was my road to salvation. I broke up with my boyfriend, got a dog, and moved into my first apartment (I had previously been living at home). I had some pretty great roommates and was getting my first taste of real independence.
We did what normal college girls do, we went to parties and to clubs, slacked off in school occasionally. I was having the time of my life until I woke up one morning second semester and had absolutely no desire to go to class. It wasn’t the normal “I don’t feel like going today” either. The idea of getting out of bed, taking a shower, getting ready, etc., etc. felt impossible. So I stayed in bed. At the time, I just equated it to being a lazy college student. I had never been really driven academically. I knew I was smart and capable of making better grades, I just didn’t care. Like I said, I thought this was normal.