Battling Severe Depression (and P.S: It sucks)

I’ve been pretty open with my life through posts like these and social media. I’m a 26 writer who lives in Los Angeles who works for ESPN and writes about competitive gaming for a living. On the surface, it seems pretty great. There really isn’t anything behind the curtain. I love my job. I love the people I meet through my job. I’ve had nothing but support from my bosses and management in the two-plus years I’ve worked at ESPN, and I hope to continue there for many more years.

But I have severe depression, and although for all intents and purpose I’ve managed it well over the years, over the past few months and especially the past week I’ve been in a fog. I could use a lot of verbose metaphors and analogies to explain to you how it feels to go through what I’m going through; however, it would just be easier to tell you how it really is.

I wake up, usually much later than I usually would, and have no real motivation. It’s a pain to get up. It’s a pain to the shower. It’s a pain to do anything. I have plans, but they don’t really matter. Everything I do, regardless of how small it is, feels like I’m pulling my limbs with hundreds of pounds attached to them. Everything feels heavy. My mind is in a constant lackadaisical state. My chest feels heavy when I walk around my room. I get fleeting ideas for stories and they run through my mind, but when I actually sit down to write, the fog in my mind and the heaviness of my limbs take over.

Things that usually make me happy don’t make me happy. I still laugh at things on occasion, but those thoughts revert back to the fog seconds later. Over the past week, it’s not like I’ve been sad every second of every day. There are minutes, even hours where I’ve felt better, written, and done other things 26-year-olds are supposed to do, but the heaviness in my limbs always return, and I end up laying on my bed or on my couch, looking up at the ceiling and feeling like the world is so far away.

I was diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety when I was in my early 20s after spending Christmas in the hospital. One Christmas back when I don’t even recognize the person I was, I couldn’t handle the things around me. The fog was too much. I didn’t have the support system or people I have now in my life. Back then, I was really alone. I don’t have parents, legal guardians, or anything like that. So when I couldn’t take the pain anymore and the feeling of crippling stagnation, I called 9–1–1 on Christmas because I knew if I didn’t talk to someone I would probably would have killed myself.

So yeah, when I was in my early 20s, alone in the world essentially, I spent my Christmas in a hospital, detained due to being under the 72-hour rule that if you confess thinking of harming yourself or someone else, you can’t be without supervision for three days. There really isn’t any zany, uplifting story that comes out of this part of my life. I didn’t meet some wise old person at the hospital that night, or some young nurse that I fall in love with that changes my fortunes. I just spent it in a dark room surrounded by other people in similar situations, failing to fall asleep due to the bright hospital lights peeking into the room and the constant movement of staff entering and leaving the room every other minute.

Since that night, I’ve changed. I mean it when I say I don’t really recognize the person I once was. Before I was 23, I didn’t even really know how to talk to people. Over the last year, I’ve lost almost 100 pounds. Before falling into the fog the past week, I had been to the gym for almost two months straight. I have friends. I go on dates. I’ve had relationships. The person who was stuck in that hospital bed years ago didn’t think any of this possible. That version of myself was fine with just drifting into the void.

When I was diagnosed with severe depression, the doctor I talked to was shocked at what I had gone through as a teenager. From 18 to 20, I don’t think I left my house once. I just spent every minute in bed, on the computer, or in my bathroom. I never tried to hurt myself because I was content just sitting in my room forever until I was 90 and could die naturally. I’ve had a lot of death in my life (mother, my grandparents who were my legal guardian, close family friends, the first person I ever went out with) so I kinda became numb to it all.

I shouldn’t be upset right now. I really shouldn’t be depressed. That’s what hurts the most, I think. I know someone right now is reading this and thinking, ‘Why the hell is this guy so sad? His job is WRITING ABOUT PEOPLE PLAYING VIDEO GAMES! HE WORKS FOR ESPN! SCREW THIS GUY!’ and I totally understand what you’re thinking. Lots of people have it worse than me. Lots of people have it better. On a surface level, I should be the happiest I’ve ever been. I love my job. I love where I live. I love the people around me. These are all things I didn’t think were even possible years ago.

That’s what sucks the most about depression, though. It doesn’t matter what kind of shape I am in on the outside. For me at least, when I think of depression I don’t think of it in an aggressive sense. It’s just this always looming thing that overtakes me and pulls me under like I’m drowning. One minute I’m fine, the next minute I’m blanked out, tears welled up in my eyes and there’s nothing more I want to do than melt into nothingness. It’s frustrating. Every night I feel like the next day I’ll feel better, and I eventually fall asleep. I don’t have a nightmare. I wake up with the trail of a dream, and in seconds realize that I’m back into reality, drowning once more.

I’ve talked to professionals recently and know that it’s time to actually get into therapy. I’ve done medication before and it only made things worse, but if things continue, I’ll try again with something new. I know that I have no right to talk about my pain when I’m not doing everything in my power to fix it, and I’m sorry. It hurts. It just hurts and feels endless, and even though I know that things will get better (hopefully) it still feels like it’s a long tunnel that keeps on going and going and going.

To be honest, I don’t know why I’m writing this all out. I think I feel better when I write because it’s one of the only things in life I’m not terrible at. I know I’m lucky to be where I am, and I just want anyone that ever reads what I write or do through media with depression, anxiety, or any mental illness, to know that you’re not really alone. I know what you’re going through. It doesn’t matter if you’re a kid or older than me. Depression sucks. Anxiety sucks. Panic attacks suck. Life, a lot of the time, sucks, but I know that it also can be great, so that’s why I don’t give up.

I could have given up when I was 19 with no direction in life, no family, no money, no friends, and no house. It would have been really easy. No one at that time outside of a few would have really cared if I was gone. I wasn’t a great person, and for all that bad stuff that happened to me in my life, I did nothing to better myself.

For me, writing saved my life. It gave me something to put my whole soul and heart into. If I’m able to make something of myself — me, someone who even my teachers in high school thought was a lost cause — then I’m positive you can too. It doesn’t have to be writing. If it’s pottery, cooking, or whatever makes you happy in life. If there isn’t anything that makes you happy in life, keep working at it. Keep searching. I think there’s a place for everyone, and even if it feels like you’re alone in this world, realize that you can change that.

You’re the main character of the story that is your life. No one else. It’s up to you to make sure you tell the best damn possible story you can, because you deserve it. I believe in you. I honestly do.

So although depression sucks and I still need to work through it, I’m not going to give up. I’ll work hard, and hopefully one day get to the end of that long tunnel. I know depression isn’t something that magically goes away. The fog will continue to linger, and even if the current haziness fades, one day it’ll return. But that’s OK. Life isn’t easy. I’ll just keep moving forward.

I’ll just keep moving forward.