Anger boiled inside me long before I felt the weight of sadness.
For weeks, each new inconvenience sent me on an emotional roller coaster. As much as I tried to fight it, push it down, deep inside myself, it brimmed out of me like lava in a volcano ready to erupt.
Then, on a day that I should have been happy and filled with cheer, I found myself lost in my thoughts. Instead of peppering my love with 20 questions to pass time, we rode in silence. He focused on the road. My eyes were fixed on forest green leaves blending in with auburn and orange ones from treetops along the highway.
We were heading to Philly for a family and friends service at church. It was my birthday. Though I was happy I decided to attend the service, I wasn’t happy about much else. Not the ding of a text message or the melody of my ringtone from loved ones hoping to wish me a happy birthday. I mean, what do you say to someone who wants to wish you a happy birthday when all you feel is sadness? I wrestled with that question the entire day.
On day one of a new chapter in my life, I decided to get back on my prescription. It’s a pale blue pill for clinical depression that my doctor prescribed me a year before.
Believe it or not, the day of my doctor’s appointment was a normal day. There was a celebration complete with cake and sparkling cider. Yellow and white streamers hung from lights in a conference room. Images of not-so-ferocious tigers and monkeys swinging from trees adorned plates and napkins. After scanning the room of smiles, I couldn’t help but feel proud of the success of the event. Then, the celebration ended and I dashed out to my doctor’s appointment.
In the examiner’s room, I sat quietly unsure of everything. I didn’t know what I was going to say or if I was even ready to say what I’d been feeling. Then my doctor walked in with a big smile and asked, “how are you?” Head bowed, knee shaking, I paused before saying, “I’m okay.” She noticed my hesitation and asked again. Before I knew it, tears were streaming down my cheeks. I remember shrugging my shoulders as if to say, “here goes nothing.” I let out a huge sigh to prepare myself for the unknown.
And for the first time in years, I dropped the mask I’d been wearing.
During the mental health consultation, we talked about my life. She asked questions about work, which for once, was going well. The personal stuff was the main reason I was there.
At that time, my life was in shambles. My heart was broken. My apartment was torn in two. Even though I feared speaking a loss into existence, it looked like I was going to lose my Pop Pop. And I knew I wasn’t strong enough to deal with all that I’d been carrying AND the loss of the backbone of my family.
So, I spoke my truth.
Up until recently, only a handful of people knew about my mental health. In November, I shared this story with someone and they replied, “I’m so sorry.” “Why,” I said, “I’m not.”
Honestly, I’m not.
While I don’t want to take a prescription for the rest of my life, I value my life. I know that sometimes, it’s okay not to be okay. That’s why I decided to talk to my doctor a year ago. That’s the same reason I decided to get back on my prescription.
I don’t know your life, your struggles or your thoughts, but if you’ve ever felt the weight of sadness, I’ve been there. It’s not easy, but it gets better with time and professional help.
I hope you choose the latter. This world needs you, your strength and your story.
Love Always,
Yaszy
