THE LAST DAYS OF MARCH
Living with depression and how it manifests itself during different periods of my life.
Content warning: Topics pertaining to depression, e.g., suicide, body dysmorphia, alcohol, etc.
My history with depression
I was diagnosed with depression at 15, and have been on and off medication ever since. That was the year where I started to see a therapist, which changed my life for a better. I've been a huge advocate of therapy ever since, and am glad that the stigma against therapy has died down over the years, at least in the US and UK. Mental illness is still stigmatized in Switzerland. I feel like there's still a ways to go.
During 2015, I experienced a severe burnout—though back then, that term hadn't been the normalized yet, so I didn't know what it was. I went to psychiatrist, who, within the hour, diagnosed me with Bipolar II and put me on antidepressants (fluoxetine) and Lyrica (pregabalin), which is a much stronger drug and would fuck up my sleep for the next two years. It was during this time when I realized my time in Hong Kong was coming to an end. I also experienced an unfortunate sexual harassment incident in my apartment, which I still don't want to talk about. But I became afraid of construction workers for years. Nowhere felt safe.
Back then, I also had a drinking problem. It didn't seem that way to me at the time, because I only drank during social occasions. But I would always end up at home, shitfaced and crying for hours, with my poor cat bearing witness to my sorry state. Because I couldn't drink while on my prescription meds, I would choose to skip taking meds on the nights I went out, thinking I was making the wiser choice. That's when I learned that, without Lyrica, I could not fall asleep. So I would go into work the next day, a shell of a person running on adrenaline and nerves.
Looking back, that was probably the worst time in which my depression manifested itself.
When I was a teen, I had suicidal ideations but never acted on them because I was too afraid. The medication I was on at the time (I don't remember what it was), simply numbed me. I only took it for a year before deciding to go off of it.
Later, when I moved to Switzerland, I immediately found a psychiatrist because I was worried about my medication. Lyrica wasn't even available here, which was fine, because I wanted to get off of it. When I eventually did, I couldn't sleep for 72 hours. It was torture. Nobody knew what I was going through. I was staying with colleagues then because I hadn't found my own place yet, so in the mornings, I pretended that everything was fine.
My psychiatrist was shocked that I was diagnosed with Bipolar II so quickly. He said it would be a much longer process here, and after discussing for a bit, we decided that I had depression and anxiety. He put me on some anti-depressants. I forgot what kind, but I eventually stopped taking them after a year or two.
Around this time, I ended up dating a horrible person. It was only 3 months long, but I felt like he took 3 years off of my life. I cried all the time. I cried in public—on the bus, in restaurants. I would go to the bathroom to cry, but sometimes, I couldn't help it and just cried at the table.
Thankfully, we broke it off. I stopped crying. I met Daniel. I remember the first time Daniel made me laugh. I laughed so hard and remembered thinking, "I haven't felt like this in such a long time."
The last years
6 years ago, I decided to go back on anti-depressants. I'm on venlafaxine now (Efexor), and it was the first medication where I felt a significant, positive change. For the first time in years, I felt optimism. I still feel negative feelings, but they're not as hopeless. In 2020, I fell into a deep depression when my cat, Spyder, passed away. But I think that's normal, to feel depressed over an immeasurable loss.
The other times depression would manifest itself was while drinking, especially at work parties. Thinking about it now makes me feel ashamed. Drinking was my way of being outgoing and approachable. The last event is still embedded in my brain. Hopefully everyone forgot, but I felt embarrassed for how I acted. And in the end, I returned to my hotel room and cried.
So these days, I don't drink to get drunk anymore. I still enjoy cocktails, but I now hang out with people who either don't drink at all or aren't big drinkers. I also make sure to chase every drink with an equal amount of water. That last work party has scarred me so much that I don't ever want to experience that again. And I think if I have work functions in the future, I'm going to be sober.
When I lost my job in July 2 years ago, I fell into a huge depression, but this was expected. Since I knew I would be getting an unemployment stipend, I let myself be. Death Stranding 1 got me through that time. I played it from the moment I woke up until I went to sleep. I don't remember what I did besides gaming.
The past few days
Depression hit me like a ton of bricks. I think it was triggered the moment S said that we needed a break from karaoke.* I took it as a personal reflection, that I had been too loud and expressive. I felt like I was always going to be too much for people and that I would never belong anywhere. I became self-conscious, and it triggered a wave of insecurities. Suddenly, I hated my body again. I hated seeing photos of myself. I started to insult my body, and pulled angrily at the parts that I wanted gone.
*I know that it was not directed at me.
I wrote my Sunday reflection assuming that I would fall back into my routine again. Instead, I woke up at 8:30 to feed Boba, only to fall back asleep until noon. I would wake up to eat, doomscroll on the couch, and sleep again for a few more hours. Whenever I woke up, my eyelids felt so heavy. I didn't want to do anything. Even blogging felt like a burden, and moving felt impossible.
There were moments of clarity in between my stupor.
"What's going on? Why am I feeling this way?"
During the last months, I did think that I was handling this whole lack-of-job-and-soon-lack-of-money situation quite well. But now I realize that it was laying dormant, because there were more important issues I had to deal with. Now that they've been dealt with, those worries and anxieties exploded to the surface and paralyzed me with fear.
Now what
The good news is: I don't give up on myself. I always felt like there was this tiny ball of light in me that would come and "save the day" before things got really bad. It was that voice that whispered to me, "You need a therapist so you don't end up like her." Or, "We need to find a way to leave this place, now."
Today, the voice is telling me, "You need to keep going. Don't give up."
Sounds trite, but fuck. Imagine if that voice whispering, "Just give up! You'll never be enough!"†
† I used to have thoughts like that all the time. But after I stopped talking to my mother, they only occur in my dreams now, rarely when I'm awake.
Nah. In moments of darkness, I need to crawl towards the light, no matter how dim it may be.
I feel really lucky that I'm surrounded by a lot of supporters, because it helps talking to good people who want to see me succeed. They really snap you out of those negative moments. Every tiny thing helps. Words of encouragement, or even a suggestion from someone else.
"I remember you told me you used to light candles to relax," Han told me today.
"Oh yeah," I responded. "I forgot about that!"
And suddenly, I'm motivated to turn my life around again.
This was a topic I've been hesitant to share on my blog. It's not that I only want to write about positive things, it's that this requires me to dig deeper into parts of myself I still feel some shame towards. But where else can I share this stuff, besides my blog?
Eventually, I want my blog to be a space where I can write about anything pertaining to my life. And yeah, depression is part of it.