I remember sitting in the library my junior year of high school desperately trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I had been feeling very fatigued, and had been sleeping at least 14 hours a day. I had constantly experienced unexplainable feelings of inadequateness, irritability, hopelessness, guilt, agony, and shame. I could not explain or justify my feelings to anyone, so I showed up wearing a great big smile on my face. I was trying to be a “functional” human being. In the back of my head, I knew for a long time that I was depressed, but I tried looking for every physical possible thing that could be wrong with me instead. I simply refused to believe that I was depressed. I could not be depressed. How could I be depressed?
I had always earned high marks in school, I had an excellent upbringing, a nice home, and a wonderful family. It could not be possible. Being depressed.
In fact, I dreadfully wished that there was something physically wrong with me so that I would not have to tell anyone I was depressed, including myself. However, after having extensive blood work done and a physical exam, my doctor asked me, “have you ever considered that you may be depressed?” My worst nightmare had come to life. I was depressed. And so began a long and lonely journey through the darkest three years of my life.