Thank You for Being a Friend
My main diagnoses are depression and anxiety. Looking back, it's clear that I have lived with anxiety since I was a very little girl. I worried about everything, I suffered from recurring nightmares and struggled with sleep, I had frequent chest pains with no physical causes, stomach issues, was very preoccupied with doing the right thing and not wanting to disappoint those around me, and have been an intense perfectionist since I was very, very little.
At age 14, my parents brought me to the doctor and I was diagnosed with a non-specified depressive disorder. I had horrible self-esteem, struggled with making and keeping friends, stuck to myself a lot of the time, cried easily and frequently, and had next to zero coping skills. That's when therapy started for me, which I have continued on and off (mostly on) since then.
It wasn't until October 2016 that I started on medication and was officially diagnosed with generalized and social anxiety disorders. And this fall, I was officially diagnosed with major depression disorder, recurring. I've switched to a new medication as of a month ago and I feel like it's already starting to make a difference (thank GOD). However, I still struggle with my mental health every single day.
Having anxiety is challenging and having depression is challenging; having both together is downright awful and confusing. The anxiety ramps up my nervous system and I find myself panicking about lack of productivity and all of the things I "should" be doing. Simultaneously, my depression zaps me of all motivation and tells me, "You might as well not even try." When I am at my best, I am an organized, tidy person. I look around my bedroom right now, and you can absolutely tell a depressed person is living there: a mountain of dirty clothes next to a full hamper, trash laying around, dirty water cups in a stack next to my door (because I have no energy to literally walk them upstairs and put them in the dishwasher), clean towels sitting on top of a shoe rack from two weeks ago (because taking them 5 steps to the bathroom to hang up seems insurmountable). I have no drive to clean up, but when I look around me, my anxiety says, "You're a slob, you're disgusting, can't you just clean up your shit?! You'll feel so much better if you can just put away your things!"
I currently have 17 unread text messages and 6 missed calls or voicemails on my phone. I have friends who have reached out to me to get together, to offer condolences about my grandpa's death (yes, my dear Grandpa Paul passed away on Tuesday...this is certainly not helping my current mental health), to send me things that they know will make me smile and laugh, and any other number of unknown reasons because I can't bring myself to open the damn messages up. These things make me feel like a terrible friend and person. It sounds so stupid to someone who doesn't understand mental illness (and even to me, who very much understands it and lives it!), but I just can't make myself do anything right now other than sit in the basement, wrapped up in a blanket, reading books or watching YouTube videos about creating art. Anything else is too much for me to handle.
It's absolutely mortifying to admit this all. I feel like a garbage person. At my best, I am not this person. I care about my relationships - although right now you'd never know it. I value organization in my living space - although right now you'd never know it. I care about how I present myself - although right now you'd never know it.
Some of my friends completely understand where I'm at and have consistently showed me grace and understanding as I muddle through existing every day. When they say, "Don't feel like you need to respond to this, just know I love you and I am thinking of you and will be here for you when you're ready" or "I'm having an introvert day today. Want to get together and sit next to each other in silence and watch The Office and color?" it shows me that they understand mental illness and that they are not going to abandon me. This is important to me because depression prevents me from being in contact with my friends, but anxiety's voice is louder, telling me that I'm a horrible person and that all my friends will leave me if I can't get it together.
If you know someone who is struggling with mental illness, please extend grace and patience. We hear everything you say, we love you, we are beyond grateful for your love and support. We might not be able to show it at times, but it doesn't change the way we feel about you. In the immortal words of the Golden Girls theme song, "Thank you for being a friend."
