I Am

In January of 2015, I came home from class to my sorority house. As I usually did, I walked passed a kitchen full of chatty girls, keeping my eyes averted, and ran up the stairs of Sigma Kappa. I went to my desk in the corner of the room, and I typed. I have a history of attempting to keep journals and tossing them out. This journal was no exception. I have long since lost the pages and pages I had spilled about my dark thoughts and fears, but when I picture myself in that room, I can feel the weight, the gravity, all over again. I felt like the earth’s pressure against my shoulders was increasing ever so slightly, minute after minute, second after second. I could not breathe. I thought that day was like any other, one where I would write out my feelings and try to forget them. Put them away. Push it all down. Do some homework, Izabella. Be focused, Izabella. You are fine, Izabella.

You see, depression is not what they say it is in the commercials, the flawless figured blonde woman who cannot get out of bed and rolls around on some perfectly white sheets tossing and turning, or the man who gazes into the distance drowsily as he gets ready for work. Depression is not some cartoon that follows me around until I take a magic pill. Depression does not disappear after I visit a therapist or take a walk outside for fresh air. Depression is not a way in which you “choose happiness” or “choose God” whatever the fuck in hell that means. Depression is an illness. A disease. A heartbreaker. A life changer. A puzzle. A leach. A demon.

Depression, she almost makes me feel alive.

I am just alive enough.

Just alive enough to barely want to live.

Depression is allusive and all encompassing at the same time.

I thought I was fine. I am going to be fine. It will all be fine.

Don’t worry about me, Mom, I’m fine really.

To the world, I am fine.

To the world, I am excellent.

I am beautiful, check.

I am smart, check.

I am getting good grades, check.

I am working out, check.

I am eating, check.

I am resting, check.

I am smiling on social media, check.

I am trying to socialize, check.

God, I hate socializing.

People do not like me.

I am not going to the party.

People won’t like me when I go to the party.

I always cry when I drink. This is why people do not like me.

I am so fucking pathetic.

Fuck me.

This is why I can’t go out.

The girls didn’t ask me to go out tonight.

I am a burden.

I am so embarrassing to be seen with because I am always a drunken mess.

It is so hard to be my friend.

Why did I yell at her?

I am so angry.

I miss my friends.

I do not really have any friends.

Friendship is not real.

Happiness is not real.

Illusions.

My heart is beating so fast.

I can hear my heart in my ears.

Why do I bring people down?

My friends did not ask me to walk to class today.

I cannot ask.

I am annoying.

Why am I so annoying?

I need to try less.

I need to be alone.

 Depression is sneaky in how it takes over my mind and allows me to believe I am the problem. I am inherently dark. I am tired.

I am tired.

God, I am so damn tired.

I took a sleeping pill. Why am I awake?

I will take another.

What time is it?

Why can’t I sleep?

I stare at the bottle.

I wonder what if.

I push the bottle away.

I pick it back up.

I stare.

I put it back under my pillow.

My sleeping pills are my friend.

This is my solace.

I am safe in my bed.

I am safe alone.

Here.

Alone.

My heart hurts.

Sleep. Yes. Rest.

The morning comes too early.

I must get up.

I must try.

It is so heavy.

My heart is so heavy.

I am tired.

God, I am so damn tired.

Depression. Depression is my friend now. I see her everyday. You are who your friends are, right?

I watch her drink her coffee.

I watch her walk to class.

I watch her toss and turn to fall asleep.

I watch her fail to focus.

I watch her drink too much.

I watch her fail to eat.

I watch her cry herself to sleep.

I watch her smile with her friends.

Those are fake smiles.

I made those fake smiles.

Fake. Fake. Fake.

Silly girl.

She tries to ignore me.

She tries to pretend.

She does not know I take this toll.

She does not know I push her.

She does not know I gave her the headache.

The backache.

The shaking hands.

The sweaty palms.

The nerves.

The sweat.

Gifts.

Things I leave in my wake.

Thoughts.

Hate.

I yell at her friends.

I despise her friends.

She has me.

She can be alone.

She can trust me.

I watch her try.

I watch her struggle.

She fights with me.

I fight back.

I beat her down.

I feed the pain.

I let it sink.

Until she is numb.

Numb.

Nothingness.

Empty.

Fake. Fake. Fake.

She turns away.

She picks me.

She doesn’t know

I am winning

I am Depression.

I wrote out my feelings but that night I could not stop. I could not stop my brain. She was rapid, throbbing, and incessant in her conquest. I stared. I stared at the wall of my room. The blank wall seemed interesting to my distracted mind. Seconds. Minutes. Hours.

Depression, she was relentless. Depression, she really was winning.

I am worried.

I worry a lot.

I am scared.

I am afraid of my brain.

I am afraid of myself.

Fear.

Paralyzed.

My heart is beating in my chest.

My heart is beating in my ears.

Shaking.

My hands are shaking.

My vision blurs.

Tears.

I am crying.

Help.

My face is sticky.

Help.

I cannot do this anymore.

Please, help.

I am going crazy.

I watch myself pace the floor.

Sent a text.

Right. Left. Right. Left. Turn.

Right. Left. Right. Left. Turn.

I cannot do this anymore.

I see myself bang my head against a dresser.

I see myself bang my head against the wall.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Stop. Stop. Stop.

Please, God. Stop.

No pain.

Pace.

Right. Left. Right. Left. Turn.

Could be over.

Right. Left. Right. Left. Turn.

Could be easier.

Pace.

I am not fixable.

I am broken.

This is all my fault.

The wall.

My head.

Once more.

Twice more.

Three times more.

No pain.

I cannot do this anymore.

My pillow.

The bottle.

The label.

“Take one.”

The pillow.

The pace.

The pillow.

The bottle.

The label.

“Take one.”

Depression makes me think I am alone, and I can only count on her. Depression is jealous of my relationships. Depression is selfish and wants me all to herself. Depression, she does not always triumph.

“Take one.”

Pace.

What if.

Pace.

What if.

The disbelief.

The horror.

The fear.

The end.

“Take one.”

Take two?

Two three?

How many?

How many until

The end.

What if?

What else?

How else?

Easier?

No pain.

No more pain.

Is this the end?

Is this better?

Take one. Take two. Take there. The bottle. The label.

Takeonetaketwotakethreethebottlethelabelmypillowmyheadmyheartithurtsohmygodwhywhywhythebottletheendtheendtheendthepacingrightleftrightleftturnrightleftrightleftturnwatchingwaitinghelpmemyheadmyhearttakeonetaketwotakethreethebottle

Silence.

Numbness.

Pacing.

Confusion.

Uncertainty.

The text.

Help me.

The door.

A shadow.

A friend.

My only friend.

Ashamed.

I am scared.

She hates me.

I am unfixable.

Save me.

Love me.

Do not give up on me.

Help.

I am scared.

Ashamed.

A hug.

More tears.

I watch us from above.

I can’t let go.

My face is sticky.

My heart hurts.

She won’t let me go.

Please do not let go.

The hug.

This hug.

My life.

I breathe.

I can breathe.

The hug.

Do not let go.

Do not let me go.

Do not give up on me.

Help me.  

My life.

The choice.

My life.

There are few moments I remember as vividly as this. My life, saved. A friend, forever. A duty never able to be repaid. A favor never asked for in return. A gift. A chance. A choice. This is my choice. This is my life. Passion. Rejuvenation. Revival. I am Izabella, and I need help. I am Izabella, and I have depression.

Depression can be strong, and she can be weak.

I watch her drink her coffee.

I watch her walk to class.

I watch her toss and turn to fall asleep.

I watch her fail to focus.

I watch her drink too much.

I watch her fail to eat.

I watch her cry herself to sleep.

I watch her smile with her friends.

Real smiles.

She fights with me.

I fight back.

I beat her down.

I feed the pain.

I let it sink.

She turns away.

She fights hard.

She tries.

She hurts.

It hurts.

Life is hard.

I am difficult.

She doesn’t know

I am losing ground.

Depression is toxic and addictive; she makes me believe I like to be sad. I am sad. I am so, so goddamn sad.

I am better.

I am loved.

I am talking.

I am trying.

I am trying so hard.

Life.

Living.

Trying.

Effort.

Exhaustion.

I am still so tired.

Trying. Trying. Trying.

A treatment.

A plan.

A therapist.

A goal.

Fear. Shame. Trust.

Acceptance.

Trying.

I am depression.

I am an illness.

I watch her talk.

I watch her plan.

I watch her choose vivacity over me.

She does not like to be alone with me anymore.

She does not know I am still here.

She does not know I am not gone.

Depression can go and come as she pleases, leaving a wake of confusion and anxiety in her path.

I was so happy.

I was doing so well.

Why am I sad?

Why am I lonely?

Why can’t I sleep?

What happened?

The questions

No answer.

The trigger.

The stress.

I am trying.

I am trying so hard.

The treatment.

The therapy.

The effort.

Keep trying.

I am trying.

I am trying.

I promise, Mom, I am trying.

My friends.

My rock.

I am trying.

For you.

Love.

I love you.

I promise .

Do not give up on me.

Depression does not just leave. She lingers. She taunts. She makes you wonder if she’ll return. She’s unreliable. That bitch. She can be triggered. She can be summoned back.

Happy.

I am so happy.

No pain.

The unknown.

What if?

And then,

It happened.

She’s back.

Why?

It happened.

It happened.

It happened.

My mind.

She’s here.

The stress.

The weight of the world.

The papers.

The projects.

The planning.

The pressure.

The pain.

The unknown.

The heartbreak.

The shame.

Cheater.

Liar.

Endurance.

Effort.

Love.

Hate.

The heartbreak.

I am sorry.

I love you.

I still love you.

Lies.

Myths.

Cheater.

Liar.

Forever.

Goodbye.

The known.

The time.

In the dark.

With the man.

The tears.

The fear.

The weight.

The tears.

Tears.

Tears.

The weight.

Crushing.

The fear.

The unknown.

What happened?

The desires.

The alcohol.

Fear.

Shame.

Fear.

Shame.

Pain. Anger. Guilt.

The known;

The unknown.

The memories.

The fights.

The words.

“Bitch”

“Cunt”

“Slut.”

“Ungrateful.”

“I hate you”

“Not worthy.”

“Burden.”

Haunting. Pain. Love.

Damaged. Unworthy. Untrusting.

Childhood.

The known.

The death.

The sadness.

The fear.

The mourning

The loss.

The gravity.

The end.

The beyond.

God -

God -

God -

Are you there?

God.

The unknown.

The triggers.

The summoned.

The resurgence of depression.

My struggle with depression has continued long beyond the night in January of 2015. Today, July 2017, I still struggle. There are days, I have to remember my story, the story of those I love, and the reasons I am here. I am strong. I am fighting. I am living proof there is life beyond mental illness.

Depression also haunts people I love.

My friend.

The sadness.

The universal truth.

A common bond we share.

Late nights, long talks, phone calls.

Love.

Unconditional.

Depression, she pushes me away from you.

Depression, she does not want me to love you.

Do not choose her. Choose me. Pick me. Love me.

A promise, unbroken.

A gift I was given.

That hug.

A gift I can never return.

My life.

A gift I want to share.

The choice.

Please do not let go.

I won’t let go.

I promise.

No more bottle.

No more pills.

No take one, take two, take three.

No more pacing.

No more pain.

No more hurt.

I am here.

I promise.

The love.

Unconditional.

I promise,

My friend.

 There are no quick fixes. There are no magic pills. There are no miracle treatments.

There is not a choice. There is life. This life. This amazing life.

The pain and the sorrow, the happiness and joy.

The black, white, and grey.

Life. The struggle. The common fight we all share.

The ending of the cycle. The beginning of hope.

We create honesty. We tell our stories. We share our pain, and we bring together our happiness.

We fight for each other.

We never, ever, ever give up on one another.

The years.

Time.

One year.

Two.

Three.

Four years.

Five years.

Therapy.

Treatment.

Acceptance.

Struggle.

Struggle.

An uphill battle.

A never ending fight.

My life.

My choice.

The Hug.

My life.

This choice.

I still choose.

I am Izabella Zant. I am a daughter. I am a sister. I am a student. I am a friend. I am kind. I am loving. I am generous.  I am sassy. I am argumentative. I am blunt.  I am honest. I am smart.

I have struggled with a mental illness.

I am more than my depression.