If you’re reading this, talk to the people that will love you no matter what.
Last semester, at the beginning of my freshman year, I was living through what I would describe as the toughest time of my life. I was struggling with the culture shock of a new school, missing my dog, and trying to make new friends like most of my peers, but there was also a slowly growing wave of suffocation that was overtaking not only my brain but also my body: depression.
I had friends who were and are wonderful, people I laughed with and did homework with into the early hours of the morning. And yet, I had never felt more alone. I started to notice it in the summer: I remember randomly crying late at night, feeling numb in moments where I should have been overjoyed, and having trouble sleeping. After struggling the first week of school, I started antidepressants at my own insistence and with the encouragement of a close friend. I went to therapy. Things were okay, but I still found myself exhausted and constantly emotional. I dedicated myself to others in place of myself to feel more in control.
Beginning in October, though, when the sun went down earlier, my relationships changed, and school became overwhelming, I stopped spending time with friends. I lost what little energy and luster I had left for a life that I had spent years dreaming of. I slept much more than I ever had before, I was too anxious to eat, and I cried quite literally every single day. And yet, I still struggled to convey the weight of my struggles to the people in my life who needed to know the most: my parents and my very best friends from home.
Like a lot of people, I felt like my feelings and struggles were invalidated by the life of immense privilege that I live. I was surrounded by so many people I love, yet I couldn’t bring myself to be okay long enough to have an honest conversation with them about the fact that I could hardly bring myself to wake up in the morning.
When I try to describe depression in my head or to other people, I tend to lean towards the perhaps overused metaphor of drowning. Being depressed feels like being pulled down by your own anchor- yourself- farther and farther underwater. Your very being is fighting against everything you want. Last fall I felt that way a lot. Everything I said or did pulled me farther into the depths of the ocean, to the point where I was so out of breath I couldn’t bring myself to scream help towards my loved ones on the shore. Life was going on without me while I stood in a corner watching the lives of my loved ones roll by like a movie.
As you might imagine given that I’m writing this, I did eventually tell my parents and dearest friends what I was going through. They were there to love and support me when I felt like I couldn’t be there for myself. They reminded me of the version of myself that would one day wake up and smile again.
Make no mistake, though, this didn’t magically make me wake up one day happy to be alive. I’ve spent months in therapy, on medication, crying, listening to way too much Phoebe Bridgers, and cuddling my over-loved childhood stuffed bunny to get to a point where I can even write this. I still don’t have it all figured out, but I do know that I’m happy to be where I am now. I’m happy that I get to watch the flowers bloom as we move into spring, I love to meet new people, and I spend my time eagerly awaiting the next Taylor Swift re-release.
This is certainly not the full story of my depression or my experiences over the past year, let alone one that encapsulates everyone’s experience with mental illness. I don’t know you well enough to reassure you that one day everything will be sunshine and rainbows. I can’t tell you that things are going to get better in a week or a month or a year. What I can tell you, though, is that everyone in your life would much rather hear a “Thank You” when that time comes than a “Goodbye” right now. You aren’t a burden. You are worth living for. One day you’ll wake up excited for what’s to come.
To the people who stuck by my side, even and especially those who have had to move into the periphery a bit lately, thank you. I made it to that day of excitement because of you and the sacrifices you made. I miss you and I love you all.
With immense gratitude,
Addison S.
Wake Forest ‘25
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