My mental illness doesn’t define me

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was diagnosed by my pediatrician with depression. I remember sitting in the room with my mom, my biggest supporter, waiting for some sort of explanation. Why did this happen? Why me? What does this mean?

I struggled for a long time with the thought that this condition made me who I am, meaning my identity was defined by a lack of dopamine and endorphins. When I began taking an anti-depressant called sertraline, I was almost disgusted with myself. I felt as if this medication was a lifeline, and this sense of dependence on one little blue pill made me weak.

At some points in time, I even felt sorry for myself. I felt that since nothing traumatic had happened in my life to “make” me depressed, why should I be? I didn’t know then being diagnosed with depression isn’t always situational. For many people, it is a condition. It isn’t escapable, but it is survivable.

It’s been five years since I learned I was battling depression. There were obvious signs before the diagnosis, but that day in my pediatrition’s office was the turning point.

I’ve learned a lot since then, not just about myself but about other people who are suffering.

The first and most important thing I’ve learned is you cannot, under any circumstances, feel sorry for yourself. The moment you begin to feel sorry for yourself is the moment you’ve decided to give up. It’s one thing to understand your situation, to know some days are really going to suck, and sometimes it’s going to feel impossible to get up in the morning or even to eat. But it’s an entirely different entity to wake up in the morning and tell yourself you can’t do it because of your condition. This isn’t how life works.

If you allow yourself to pity yourself,  you’re letting your condition define you.

A second thing that I’ve learned is medication doesn’t mean you’re weak. I once had someone say to me, “I would never want to have to take pills to make me happy.” Well here’s a PSA, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety meds, and mood stabilizers do not make you happy.

Mental illness is caused by an imbalance of chemicals in your brain, and medication tries to make up for this imbalance. Someone who is diabetic takes insulin to maintain an even blood sugar level, and my pills do the same for my brain. My medication helps me function like a normal person, which is why I am not ashamed of it. 

Have you ever been asked to come up with a descriptor or a fun fact about yourself? What did you say? These words are those which we believe to define us. Here are mine.

I am a friend. I am a daughter, sister, granddaughter, niece. I am a photographer. I am kind. I am (or I think I am) funny. I’m a wonderful baker. I am a writer. I am a student. I am a girlfriend. I am insightful. I am loving. I am caring. I am outspoken. I am bold.

Never have I ever said “I am depressed.” Because that doesn’t matter. My depression isn’t a defining feature or something that makes me special. It is something I have taught myself to deal with, and for that, I am strong. I am a survivor. I am proud of myself. I am able. I am supported and I am a supporter. I am a human being. I am not your stereotypes. I am not your stigma. I am powerful. I am amazing.

I am not my condition.