It was my last year (finally) of University. I had given up my place as wroship leader at my church group because I knew my last year would be tough. I (unwisely) had waited until this year to tackle some of the 'worst' required classes in my major (psychology). I planned to find an instructor to help with their research. I was going to study for, take, and, if God loved me at all, pass the GRE. No one would have been suprised at hearing that my roommate saw me only occasionally.
But as it turns out, none of those things happened.
Instead I rarely attended my classes (especially that first quarter in the fall). Instead I spent much of my time sleeping (sometimes in my car on campus between an attempt at going to classes and work, very often back in bed after an attempt at going to said classes). When I did manage to drag myself to one or the other of them I very often was not 'present' enough to absorbe any of the material being presented. I attempted one of those 'required classes from hell' three times before I finally managed to complete it (the instructor was wonderful about it, bent over backward to get me through it including supporting my petition for a hardship withdrawal the second time I took the class).
I stopped going to my church group completely and sporadically attended services on Sundays. I eventually even stopped playing bass for Sunday services (made sense as I was not attending regularly).
I stopped going out much at all. I did not join my roommate when she went to parties with friends. I went out only when necessary. As a matter of fact, more often than not the only times she did me were when I was coming down from my room to take care of some sort of commitment I had or on my way up to my room (which was dark as I had put aluminum foil over the window in hopes it would help me sleep later in the day and not wake up at the crack of dawn) where I either hid under my pillow, slept, or stared vacantly at the ceiling or wall.
I wanted so badly to die.
In the aftermath of all this (what was the worst major depressive episode I have ever had... and it was number five) I feel... incapabul.
And I cannot tell anyone. I want to so much, but I am afraid of their reactions (from past experience I annticipate something that I just cannot handle). But I want to. I want to so that they will understand. I want to so they will stop minimizing all of this; my depression, the experience of this last episode (my sister interpreted 'last year really really really bit' as having to do with difficult classes and not getting the grades I wanted).
God, I wish I could. But... I just can't.
4 comments:
Sometimes I wonder how it is that people don't realize something's up until the person tells them. We realize that we're not acting "normal" so why don't they?
There must be someone you could talk to, a friend or a doctor? Are you in any counselling or therapy? When you feel like this you need to tell anyone. Believe me, I know how hard it can be but you have to tell someone, otherwise they can't help. Please talk to someone.
I was in therapy for about a year. Probably a good part of why I am still around today actually (what with my therapist deciding to get the MHP involved and everything when he thought I was suicidal -he wasn't far off-). However that was through the University, from which I graduated this past June. Local mental health isn't even sure they can help as they mostly work with folks on Medicare or Medicade (this I learned after having a cut checked out at the ER -no PCP so what else am I to do?-).
As to why folks don't seem to notice. I think a main reason for that would be that they are scared. They do not understand it and do not know how to deal with someone in such a situation, such a down time. And perhaps it also has a lot to do with the fact that they cannot stand to see someone they care about hurting in such a way... so they don't. *shrug*
Agreed.
Fear is the root of most things.
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