When I was a little girl, I loved playing dress-up. I had an old trunk overflowing with glittery dresses and overly fluffed tulle skirts, gaudy clip-on earrings and plastic rhinestone-encrusted crowns. I would spend hours and hours coming up with new ensembles, each more beautiful than the last (or so my five-year-old self adamantly believed). I even had my very own prince charming who let me fight the evil dragons and ugly trolls with him, rather than simply casting me as the damsel in distress. I fancied myself quite the princess back then. And that prince charming, well he made me quite the hopeless romantic. It sounds terribly silly, but I think if I had to pin point and exact moment that did me in, I’d say it was the sunny August afternoon that he pushed me off the tire swing and apologized with a ring made from a blade of grass and a pinky promise to marry me and make me the happiest girl in the world.
Now, obviously I will not be marrying the boy who proposed to me when I was five because my life is not a Taylor Swift song, but he sure made me fall in love with the idea of love. And from then on, I was absolutely smitten. Every Disney song, every Jane Austen novel, every John Hughes movie… I wanted the best of it. I wanted the grand romantic gestures. I wanted the kisses in the rain. I wanted the good morning text messages and midnight phone calls. I wanted the boy standing outside my window holding a boom box over his head.
I wanted to be swept off my feet.
That mindset stuck with me for quite some time, through the cringe-worthy awkward middle school years, through four long estrogen-filled years at an all-girls high school, and even through the first year of college. My overwhelming desire for true love and grand romantic gestures survived my first breakup (as well as the second and third). It endured more than a few crushes that would never come to fruition. Sure, it hit some bumps along the way, but nothing seemed to be able to derail it completely.
I guess there’s a limit though to how much a belief like that can withstand before the cracks begin to show and the foundation starts to crumble.
Maybe it was one too many almosts. Maybe it was my dwindling self-confidence. Maybe I’d finally experienced enough of the world to realize that I was living in a fairy tale land.
Whatever the cause, it made me cynical and untrusting. My heart was hardened by all of the shots life had taken at me and the scars left behind. Sick and tired of letting my guard down, even if just for a second, only to have my heart trampled on, I lived in fear of letting anyone see more than the polished and controlled exterior that I’d built up.
And then a new belief began to settle in. One that told me that I didn’t deserve the fairy tale if it even existed… that I was far too broken to be loved, let alone cared for. My past, and even my present at that point, was too scary… too much for anyone to want to get close to.
That was confirmed when I finally let myself take the chance of letting someone in, letting them see the worst of me, and then feeling the stinging burn of resulting rejection and fear.
And so for a long time, I was certain that there was simply no hope for me in the love department. As far as I was concerned, I was damaged goods, unworthy of even the faintest whisper of a happily ever after. Even once I began to piece together the rubble of my past and found a way to heal old wounds, I couldn’t shake the fear that who I used to be and the struggles I still faced would always be more than enough to send any guy sprinting in the opposite direction without a second thought.
So I kept everyone at arm’s length in a desperate attempt for self-preservation. Because despite how terrifying the thought of letting someone in was, the scarier thought was possibility of losing them. I managed to live like that for a long time.
And then, not too long ago, one week changed all of that for me.
It wasn’t really anything special. Sheer proximity brought us together. But somehow, a week of late night presentation practice sessions and final exam study groups had me questioning my cynical outlook on romance.
It was a week of stupid bets, dorky dance parties, late night snack runs, and Jesse McCartney sing-a-longs. Before I knew what was happening, I was letting my guard down, and my old self, which I hadn’t seen in a very long time, was starting to shine through.
For the first time in nearly four years I let myself be excited about a possibility – about being pursued. I was laughing again, and I mean really laughing… as in snorting because I was laughing so hard. And it all just came so easy. I wasn’t nervous and I wasn’t overthinking. Everything just felt so natural with him, as if I was exactly where I was meant to be sharing those moments with exactly the right person.
My stomach was filled with butterflies and pizza at midnight.
Suddenly I was thankful that all of those almosts were only almosts… if they had been anything more, they would have been a waste of time. There may not have been any grand romantic gestures or great declarations of love. But what I got was so much better.
It was real.
It was little things… like bonding about our faith, buying me dinner, admitting our fears about the future after graduation, offering me a ride home less than two blocks away because it was cold outside. It was real and it was mine.
And you know what… there’s a chance that this will end up just being an almost too. And the remarkable thing about it is, I’m truly okay with that.
Maybe it’s not supposed to work out. Maybe when classes start up again, it will be like none of it ever happened. Maybe he’s fulfilled his purpose in my life.
But then again, maybe that week was only the beginning.
I don’t have the answer right now, nor do I want one.
The one thing that I do know to be sure is that this wonderful guy set me free. Without having any idea that it was happening, he helped me take a sledgehammer to the walls I’d built around myself. And what’s even better is that he accepted the nerdy, quirky, slightly dysfunctional girl that emerged.
It’s something we all need to be reminded of… that we are enough. And the person who helps us remember doesn’t have to be “The One”, or even someone we end up falling for – that person can be an almost. Honestly, that part doesn’t matter.
What matters is that we do remember. That we are worthy. That we deserve to be swept off our feet. That it’s okay to believe in love. So that the next time it comes knocking at our door, we aren’t too afraid to take a chance, undo the locks, and let it into our lives.
Do you remember the time we sat in my car at a stoplight, when I rolled down the windows and embarrassed you by singing very loudly and terribly off-key to the people in the cars around us.
Do you remember the time we penguin-walked through the snow and ice together talking about Phantom of the Opera?
Do you remember the time we drove all the way out to the airport and back, even though you had a migraine, just because I wanted to drive through the tunnel to see the Pittsburgh skyline become magical at night like in Perks of Being a Wallflower and you wanted to see me smile?
Do you remember?
…
Sometimes I wish I had a time machine…
I would go back and I would relive each of those moments. And the countless others like them… all the little things that together remind me why I love you.
But, there are also things that I wish I didn’t remember – moments and memories that I wish more than anything I had the power to change.
There was a time when I thought they were perfect too. But, as you have reminded me many times, life is rarely ever perfect. I have come to realize that I have been viewing all of these things, these memories, through a very dense pair of naïve, rose-colored glasses.
Now I see the world for what it is. I see you and me for what we are. And it is all glaring and harsh and ugly. I wish I had that time machine to go back and put on the glasses again. But… what I’ve seen cannot be unseen.
…
I’m not really sure how we got here. This isn’t the ending that I pictured for us. But we have gone too far off script and now it would take a miracle for our story to be salvaged.
You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You are also the worst. I wish I knew how that could be.
You are the one who makes me smile on the bad days. And somehow, you are the one who breaks my heart at the exact same time.
I gave you a piece of myself. And now, I guess, it’s a piece that I will never get back.
Too many things have gone unsaid for far too long. Too many times I’ve been left wondering what I did wrong… why I wasn’t enough. I’ve tried so desperately to make myself better, to give myself some kind of meaning in your eyes.
But I have to stop trying… some people just aren’t going to be there for me. You told me that, remember? I guess it’s my own fault for assuming that you were not included in that category.
…
So what it comes to is this… I have to let you go. I have to walk away and believe that one day this will all make sense, that I will be okay again.
But I don’t think today is that day.
Because right now it feels like all I have left is a gaping hole where you should be. And maybe you will try to find a way to fit back into that empty space again when it’s convenient for you. But I won’t be able to let you in. Because right now it hurts so bad that I can’t even catch my breath. And if I ever run out of tears and can fill my lungs again, I know that somehow I must be strong enough to say no when you try to walk back into my life.
If I let you back in, I’m opening myself up to the possibility of having another piece of myself stripped away. And I don’t know if that would be the thing that I can’t come back from. Maybe the hole you’d leave the second time would be too vast and maybe I would never recover.
So I have to accept that your chapter ends right now. Your character needs to be written out of the storyline of my life. Because as much as you have built me up and made me better, you also ripped out the floor from beneath my feet without ever noticing the havoc.
…
I handed over a piece of my heart, so eager to finally share it with someone, and you never truly cared. I think you wanted to care, but I don’t think you understood what I had entrusted to your safekeeping.
You told me to have faith in myself. You told me to have faith in you. And you know what, I did. I believed in you more than I’ve ever believed in anyone.
Maybe I should have tried to tell you, reminded you more frequently. Maybe I should have done a better job of showing you just how much you meant to me. I guess telling you I love you wasn’t enough. Because even after everything we went through together, you still couldn’t tell me what I mean to you in the moment that I needed to hear it most. And I guess, not answering is your answer. I don’t know if I ever meant anything to you. Right now, it’s hard not to feel that it was all just make believe.
You told me you had faith in me. But I guess you were lying, because you didn’t fight for me. If anything you’ve told me in the last year and a half was true, you should have been able to stand up and fight.
…
Maybe I’m being the selfish one here. Maybe I asked for too much. Maybe this is on me. Maybe all of it is just in my head. Maybe I need to be stronger, braver, and better than I am to be worthy of you.
But right now, I’m okay with that. I have decided it’s time for me to be selfish.
I deserve to be more than an afterthought. I deserve to be more than that girl that you spend time with when you have nothing else better to do. I deserve to not have to constantly question the validity of our friendship. I don’t deserve to feel like your charity case.
Even you, the person who knows me better than anyone else and who promised me always, can still break my heart. Even you can let me down.
And yet, I still love you. I hate myself so much for that. Loving you is drowning me.
…
Do you remember when we fell apart?
I do.
I am just left with the memories. All of the little things that I thought I would hold onto forever, together they simply add up to the worst disappointment I have ever known.
And I fear that this memory of you will haunt me long after all the others, both good and bad, have faded away.
You can never really know anything for certain, but I am sure that we should have had more than this.
…
I don’t want to be mad or bitter. And I’m not anymore. I know that these are things that I can’t change. I can’t make you love me. That’s simply wishful thinking… time machines and fairy tales aren’t real. I have to stop living in the past because that is no way to live at all.
All I want is to move on. I want to find a way to piece my life back together… my life without you in it.
This is a story that has already been told. Over the course of a two-week span in March, I published a series of articles about my struggle with depression and my ongoing journey of healing. The response I received was absolutely overwhelming. Family, friends, and even complete strangers reached out to me, sharing their own stories and journeys. One of the most resounding sentiments throughout all of the messages was that people are looking for hope, people want to know they are not alone in their struggles. No matter how dark the endless night may seem, people are still looking for the light… they have not given up. I am so humbled that my story was able to touch lives and hearts.
It was also suggested that I combine all of the parts of my story into one, single article so that it would be easier to share with others. So that’s what this is, my story from beginning to end. And if you, or someone you know and love is struggling with depression or any other mental illness, as always, I ask you to please remind them that they are not alone – that there is always hope.
As always, this goes out to my family and my friends. The people who have always been there for me. The people who love me unconditionally. The people who bring me joy. The people who light up my darkness.
“Write hard and clear about what hurts.”
–Ernest Hemingway
I realized the other day that I have never actually explained the title of my blog…
The Walking in Between
The phrase comes from one of the sweetest songs I’ve ever heard by one of my favorite singer/songwriters… Ben Rector’s “I Like You”.
If you’ve never heard the song before, I strongly suggest that you give it a listen. I promise you won’t regret it. I’m almost certain you cannot listen to it without ending up with a smile on your face.
Aside from trying to connect all of my readers to the wondrous talent of Ben Rector, I mention this song because of its lyrics and the special place they hold in my heart. My favorite lines of the song come from the bridge…
Cause life is not the mountaintops
It’s the walking in between
And I like you walking next to me.
Ever since the first time I heard this song, those words have resonated very deeply with me – probably because of the countless times I have seen their truth in my own life.
The things that make life so crazy and magical and beautiful and worthwhile are all of the little moments when you’re not standing triumphantly on top of the world. And it’s the people that you get to experience all of those perfect, tiny moments with that make life truly amazing. Because as human beings we need one another… to walk with us, laugh with us, cry with us, and live with us.
But that space in between the mountaintops is not all sunshine and rainbows or fields of wildflowers with prancing unicorns. Sometimes the walking in between means you have to ford a river, trudge into the depths of a valley, or push on through a raging storm. I’ve been through my fair share of rivers and valleys and storms… and I am sure there will be many more in the future, but that is what life is.
There is one story of my own journey that I feel compelled to tell. Honestly, it’s a bit of a journey in itself. I’m tearing down all of my protective armor for a bit to let you inside my head and my heart.
This is the hard stuff – the things that are kept between me and my diary and my most trusted friend. But this is something that I feel that I need to share. Because I know that I am not the only one who has ever felt this way, and I know from experience that it is far too easy to feel completely alone in those times of darkness. So this is for anyone who has ever felt like they could never be enough, like their life is meaningless, like they would rather disappear completely than have to endure another day inside the prison of their own minds. You are not alone in your heartache.
This is me… Julie, unscripted. This is my truth. I hope that some part of it can reach you if you’re hurting.
I’m sharing this because we all need to recognize that there is always hope. I’m sharing this because I am tired of the stigma that comes with admitting the words “I have depression”. I’m sharing this not because I think my story is special… it isn’t. But I’m sharing this because I’ve finally found my voice and I want every soul that has known such suffering to be able to find theirs. Find your voice and your strength… because there is a fire inside of you that cannot be extinguished, and it is waiting for you to let it be a brilliant, inspiring light for the world.
“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”
–Stephen Chbosky
I don’t recall exactly when it started. Maybe it had always been there, lying quietly in the shadows, waiting patiently for the first sign of weakness. I wish I could pin point it for you – one glaring moment that is burned into my mind… narrow it down to one hour or day or even a week. But the truth is, there was no one defining, life-altering event that triggered this thing in me. All that I know is that somewhere around the end of my sophomore year of high school, I was not the same person that I had always known myself to be.
It started off slow – a dull, lifeless fog… like after a summer thunderstorm just before sunset and you’re driving home and the colors around you start to fade away. At first you don’t notice it, but then suddenly you blink and your world has gone from Technicolor to a desolate sepia.
There was exhaustion… I didn’t like to sleep for fear of my own mind and the monsters that had taken up residence there. The things that I had always loved became something almost unbearable to endure.
I was good at hiding it at first. I kept telling myself to snap out of it, to get a grip. I blamed it on my own teenage angst. I was just stretching my fifteen-year-old self a little too thin between school and sports and work. I was being overly dramatic and hormonal. That’s what I told myself over and over again, night after night, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying not to slip into the terrors that my nightmares always brought.
The only thing I could think to do was continue to pretend – to keep trucking along, pushing forward more forcefully and with more determination than ever before. I convinced myself that if I could just reach x-amount of goals that were swimming around in my head, I could be okay again…
So I made lists and crossed things off. And I made more lists to cross off more tasks. But even when I had done all of the things that I thought I wanted – the things that I thought could make me happy again – the fog just continued to grow thicker, absorbing the last of the color that remained in my world.
When my plan didn’t work I began to withdraw… from my friends, from school, from life. I felt like a failure and that was something I was not allowed to be. I wasn’t supposed to be weak. I wasn’t supposed to need help. I was supposed to be able to handle everything on my own. So even though it wasn’t working, it was all I knew and I didn’t change.
I was alone and broken and scared. The fog began to take a new form… it grew blacker and more threatening. Its presence was palpable in every minute of every single day. I was chained to its weights, unable to break free. I hid from the world. Locked away whenever I could, I let the depression take full hold, gripping me tighter with each passing moment.
I cut off my friends because this wasn’t their problem – they had their own lives, their own troubles to work through. Who was I to need them for something so irrational and self-centered? So I blamed myself. With the blame came the self-loathing and anger. I could feel myself crumbling piece by piece under the weight of everything that I was trying to hide. I told myself that I deserved it, all of it… the pain and the emptiness and the fear. That’s the thing about depression, it can consume you – it can find a way to take even the good and twist and distort it until it is ugly and unrecognizable. It whispers in your ear in the dead of night that this is what you are, all you ever could be – worthless and alone.
I remember the night clearly. It was warm for the beginning of March. It had been raining and the streetlights were reflecting off of the pavement As I stared out my bedroom window, I felt everything and nothing all at once. I remember leaning against my bed, clutching the old stuffed Pooh Bear that I’ve had since I was two, and finally letting myself break down. I remember being filled with anger and throwing the nearest breakable object across the room. I remember the splintering sound it made crashing against the wall. I remember getting up and going into the bathroom and staring at the reflection in the mirror looking back at me. I remember not being able to recognize the worn and tattered girl with the tear-stained cheeks that I saw there. I remember picking up the razor. I remember my trembling hands as I pressed metal to skin. And I remember crumbling to the cold tile floor where I stayed for I don’t know how long.
Somehow though, I picked myself up and swore to myself never again… never would I be that girl. Because at that point, I had truly failed and that wasn’t something I knew how to deal with. So I swore I wasn’t going to let myself lose. Failure was not supposed to be in my vocabulary.
With this new-found will power I did what I could to fit the pieces of my life back together. It worked for a while… the fog was still there, but every so often I would get a glimpse of the world in full color, without blurry edges.
I convinced everyone, myself included that I was okay. The darkness came and went, but I had become so good at faking the smile, I began to believe it myself.
I was living a lie. No one knew what had happened, and I thought it was better that way because in my head, I still wasn’t allowed to need anyone else.
So months passed. And then a year. And then another. Life went on. I graduated and started college and hit a few bumps in the road, but ultimately I ended up on a good path, doing something that I love. I hoped that could be enough.
I began to feel happier, freer, lighter. And while it lasted it was wonderful. But then one day I woke up and realized I had been running for years. So I stopped to take a breath and just like that… the world turned cold and black.
“The purpose of life is not to just be happy. The purpose of life, my love, is to feel. You must understand that your pain is essential.”
–Christopher Poindexter
I thought the chains had been broken and the fog had lifted, but that was simply wishful thinking. The reality was that my shoulders had simply grown used to the weight and my eyes had adjusted to the constant haze.
My innate fear of failure and my stubborn refusal to depend on other people gave me enough motivation, enough energy, to mask the pain for a few years. But sweeping my problems under the rug could only work for so long. And then too much had built up and the things I was trying to ignore began to escape their hiding places, returning to their familiar spots in my mind.
Before I knew what was happening, I was surrounded by the quicksand that my depression had become. The harder I fought, the faster I began to sink.
It was too much to bear. I had watched as my career as an athlete slipped through my fingers. I survived the times that had tried to tear my family apart. I had endured so much already… I was finally in a place where, every so often, I could see the sun. And now it was being taken away. It wasn’t fair.
The little hope of something good that I had let myself begin to feel was ripped from my hands. I let the pain in, let it fill up every inch of my soul. I was tired and worn. My heart was broken… seemingly beyond repair. It was a struggle to simply keep myself breathing.
So one night I stopped believing in fairy tales and happily ever afters. I broke the promise… I let the darkness consume me once again. I let my depression make its mark, tattoo itself on my arms and even deeper in my heart.
Depression is not a choice. Depression is an illness just like a cold or the flu is an illness. I think the part that throws people off is that it’s a mental illness. It has symptoms just like any sort of physical ailment, but they can’t always be seen. That doesn’t make them any less real.
If you can’t see it and if you haven’t experienced it yourself, I suppose it’s easy to be scared of depression or mental illness. It’s something that you can’t really understand if you haven’t actually been there. That doesn’t mean you should dismiss it. That doesn’t mean you should ignore it because you’re more comfortable not talking about it.
Every single day is a battle – a brutal and never-ending fight that uses you up from the inside out. Some days you feel too much… others you feel nothing at all. Some days are good days and you can catch your breath and feel almost-normal. And other days you’ve never been so low and you don’t know how you will make it through the next five minutes, let alone the next five days. Some days you want to be surrounded by people to distract you, and some days the mere thought of interacting with another person is unbearable. And you wish you had some sort of control over what was happening, but it’s out of your hands and you don’t know why.
The plans made but not followed through on… she wasn’t blowing you off, she couldn’t will herself to get out of bed to face another day. The bloodshot eyes and disinterest in your favorite hobby… he wasn’t hung over or rude, he was exhausted from lying awake all night fighting an unseen battle. The long sleeve shirts in the middle of summer covering up scars… she doesn’t want attention, she was trying to feel something other than the pain inside that she can’t put into words.
Self-harm isn’t something that we want. It isn’t something we are proud of. It isn’t something we want others to know. Sometimes it happens because we want to feel physical pain instead of the emotional pain that is slowly draining the life from us. Sometimes it happens because we want to feel something… anything to distract us from the numbness in our own minds. And sometimes it’s a cry for help because we don’t have the words to tell you the things burning inside of us.
For a long time, I didn’t have the words. I was spiraling out of control with no way to slow down. I was crying out for a long time, but it didn’t make any difference… no one could hear me.
That is, until I came across that Albert Einstein quote about insanity one day as I scolled through my twitter.
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
As hard as it was to admit, that seemed like a good description of how I had been trying to handle my depression. I desperately wanted different results. So I did something different. I made a phone call. I punched in some numbers and a week later I sat in a beige waiting room with a vase of fake sunflowers and a stack of Time magazines on a table in the corner. I was terrified. I was anxious. But I was also ready.
I was there for nearly two hours. I told her everything… everything that I hadn’t been able to say out loud for almost five years. As I was leaving, she told me she was proud of me. She said I was courageous for having the strength to ask for help. And while I felt relieved that I wasn’t trying to do this completely on my own anymore, I didn’t feel very brave as I got in my car and found I still had tears left to cry.
There isn’t a quick fix for depression. Going to a counselor or psychiatrist one time won’t be the answer. It won’t solve all of your problems. It won’t be enough.
You have to commit. You have to try. You have to put in a lot of time and effort. You have to be willing to fight. Because it will help. It may take a month. Or six months. Or a year. Or maybe more. But you can’t get discouraged if it takes time. Everything worth having takes time. I know that’s hard to grasp in today’s society when time is the only thing that seems to matter and we are bombarded with the instantaneous gratification of technology 90% of the day. But it is going to take time.
And if you’re on the outside looking in as a friend or family member tries to get the help they need – the help they deserve – you must be patient too. They are trying their best. They are fighting their fight. And some days are going to be uglier than others. But let them take all the time they need. It will be worth it in the end.
One thing I was still missing at this point was someone outside of those four beige walls that knew what I was going through.
I did tell two of my closest friends that I was going to counseling… but they didn’t need to know the details. I still didn’t want anyone to know just how terrible things were. I still felt like a burden. So I barely skimmed the surface… that was enough for them.
Throughout the years, my faith had been on quite the roller coaster ride. But this time around, when things got bad again, it became nearly non-existent. I remember one particularly rough night, I went to the chapel and prayed for God to hear me. I was angry and questioned His goodness and His mercy. I sat there for nearly three hours… begging and crying and pleading for some sort of relief, for some sort of escape. But the answer that I was hoping for did not come as I sat there in the chapel, and I became more certain than ever that I was alone.
I got back to my room with every intention of giving up. Of breaking the promise for the last time. Of finding a way to leave all of my pain and darkness behind, no matter the cost.
I made a cup of tea and pulled out my journal and tried to think of something to write… something to describe what I was feeling, why I wanted to go. But I couldn’t. It was like I was stalling. I guess I was trying to find a reason to stay.
So for some reason, I picked up my phone and texted a friend. I apologized profusely and told him I just needed someone to talk to for five minutes. Nothing else. I was certain that I would be ignored… he and I were not very close. He owed me nothing.
He proved me wrong though… he was there within minutes. And although we didn’t talk about why he was there, I think he had an idea. So instead, we just talked and laughed about stupid things until the early hours of the morning.
He kept me from breaking the promise, without even knowing it. He didn’t have the slightest idea that he had saved my life. He didn’t know that for the first time, I didn’t feel completely alone.
And so a few days later, I sat beneath the glow of the city lights and waited. And this time I was ready to reach out my hand and entrust him with even the most shattered pieces of my heart.
“It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. Love never fails.”
–1 Corinthians 13:7-8
Honestly, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I didn’t know what I was going to say or how he would respond. I knew it was a risk. It was the biggest risk I’d ever taken in my life.
I was taking a leap of faith with no idea what was waiting for me at the bottom of the fall. But, God, I am so thankful that I let myself jump.
I struggled to find the words, but he was patient. It took a while, but finally I was able to say the words out loud. I have depression. They were words that I was only beginning to fully accept myself. And yet, I spoke them to him.
Once I started, everything came pouring out, like a tidal wave. Even if I had wanted to stop, I don’t think I could have.
The more I told him, the more I expected him to get up and walk away. But that never happened. I don’t think it ever even crossed his mind. And to this day, it’s nearly impossible for me to understand why.
I fought him. When he tried to reason with me, I tried to prove him wrong. And he fought right back.
He told me I was more than good enough – if not too good – for him. He told me I was worth fighting for. He told me that I have someone who will never let me down. He told me that someone was him. He promised me… always.
And finally I told him how he had saved my life only a few days before. I told him how important it was that he had been there. And I tried to thank him, but the words seemed so stupid and meaningless in comparison to what he had done for me.
I remember hearing him catch his breath when I told him, when I spoke the words out loud. I don’t think he realized how severe my depression was until that point. And I think what stuck with me the most was that I could see that the sheer thought of that pained him, even before he opened his mouth to respond.
This time, he was the one who took a while to form the words. And then he found this picture that is now saved on my own phone as a reminder. It’s a series of photos of people holding the same cardboard sign. Written in thick black sharpie were the words: Suicide does not end the chances of life getting worse, suicide eliminates the chances of it ever getting better.
I read each one slowly and by the fourth time I read the words, I felt a pang deep in my chest as I realized their resounding truth. I handed the phone back to him and began to weep. And suddenly, his arms were around me, hugging me tight. He rested his chin on the top of my head and whispered, “I just need you to know that. I need you to never forget that.
And as I hugged him back, I let him shield me from the world for just a few minutes. I let my tears flow freely because for the first time in my life, I felt safe, I felt loved, and I didn’t feel quite so broken.
And since that night, the night when I offered him this cracked and bruised heart of mine, he has held it close and never let it go. He has never stopped protecting it. He has never ceased reminding it how much it is loved.
Everything that had happened that night hit me all at once. I wish I had a better way to explain it. Somehow in that moment, I knew that I would never be alone again. For the first time in nearly six years, I believed the words. He wasn’t the first person to speak them, nor was he the first person to truly mean them. But, for some reason, that is still a mystery to me, he was first person to break through my walls and reach the most broken corners of my heart.
He was the answer to my prayers in the chapel the week before. He was my sign from God that I had not been abandoned, nor would I ever be. It was as if as he spoke the words to me, they weren’t just from him, but also from my Heavenly Father.
Sometimes the Lord works in mysterious ways and sometimes He opens your heart when you least expect it. And that is exactly what He did that night. He brought me this absolutely remarkable person who was able to reach the deepest desires of my heart… to be enough, to be loved unconditionally despite my brokenness. There is no doubt in my mind that God knew what he was doing when He led me to this person.
A lot changed for me after that. I was more open. Little by little, I began to let more of the people closest to me in. I wasn’t so ashamed anymore.
By knowing that I could be cared about so deeply by him and the Lord, in spite of everything, I began to recognize the other people in my life who loved me and were trying to let me know.
Trust me, that one night didn’t solve everything. The things that happened as a result were not immediately visible. And the road I have traveled has not been smooth.
There are still times when I feel worthless and unlovable… when the depression takes hold and tries to pull me under. But now I have more ways to fight back. I have the most incredible support system that never lets me down.
Some days the battle still leaves scars, but I know that I can heal – that I will heal. And when I can’t do it on my own, I know that someone has a light on for me, a beacon of hope when I fall and need to be rescued from myself. I know it will shine brightly for me. Always.
So let yourself take the chance… because you most certainly are not alone. Someone out there loves you, even if you can’t see it right now. You are so worth it. Even if you don’t think you could possibly be enough for that person, they wouldn’t be there if you weren’t.
Be prepared. Some people won’t respond as well as others. And that’s okay, too. You don’t need everyone to understand, you don’t need everyone’s love. You only need one. And if you find that one, don’t you ever let them go. They are rare. They are the ones that will turn your world upside down and help you see the sun again.
Maybe you’re on the other side. Maybe you know someone who is struggling… whether it’s with depression or another mental illness. Remind them how important they are. Maybe you do all of the things that should prove how much you care, but sometimes you have to look them in the eye and pierce through their pain. Tell them what they mean to you. Tell them how much you love them. Tell them how that have shaped your life, how you’re better for knowing them. And not just on the bad days… but the good days too.
Surround them with love. Because love can heal… it can transform. If you don’t give up, neither will they. Be their reason until they can create their own. Love them though the rain and the thunder. Love them when the sky is cloudless and the sun is shining. Because one day you will reach them and they will still be there… they will still be yours to love.
I know it isn’t easy. I know it’s scary because the path is foreign and you don’t have a guide, but trust yourself. Let yourself feel loved. Let yourself believe you are enough. Let yourself accept that you deserve happiness. You are worth so much more than you know.
We are in this fight together. We are not alone. We survive together so that one day we can truly live together.
“The world I believe in is one where embracing your light doesn’t mean ignoring your dark.”
–Kevin Breel
I am not a success story. I am still a work in progress. I might always be. But aren’t we all? Isn’t that the whole point of life?
I have faith in my own resolve. I have faith in the love that I witness every single day. I have faith in my Lord and in His mercy and in His grace. I have faith that I will always be able to find the strength to take another step forward… even after I stumble in the wrong direction. Yet, despite my faith, the road ahead is still rocky and unknown.
I don’t know if depression ever goes away. I don’t know if you ever stop fighting battles. That’s not something I can give you.
I do know that it can get easier. I know that the people who love you will not leave you to fend for yourself. I know that even when you feel completely abandoned in pitch-blackness, there will be a light at the end of the tunnel. I know that no matter how endless the night may seem, the world is still spinning and the sun will rise.
I also know that you will have setbacks – some worse than others. There will still be bad days amidst the good. There will still be sleepless nights and tear-soaked pillow cases. There will still be moments when you feel too much. I have been there. I know. But you cannot let that defeat you. You cannot let that rob you of your hope.
You’re allowed to feel pain. You’re allowed to ask for help. You’re allowed to need other people to take your hand and pull your through the raging sea. In no way does that make you weak. Reaching out, speaking up, those are the things that prove your strength. Because even after everything you’ve been through, you still have hope. You choose to believe that there is more for you than this. I’m not promising it won’t be hard to take that step… actually, it’s going to be absolutely terrifying. But what I do promise is that it will be worth it.
When you find your reasons to keep moving forward day by day, don’t let yourself forget them. Write them down… make a list. Even just one is enough to outweigh the reasons you may have to want to give up.
And here’s another.
You belong in this world. There is a God who loves you, who knew your name before the Earth was formed, who molded you with His own hands. You were made to live. You were made to love and to be loved. You were made to laugh and to cry. You were made to feel joy. You were made to be other people’s joy. You were made to see the beauty in this world. You were perfectly made… you are not a mistake.
You belong here. You are wanted here. I want you here. I want you to live.
I have my own list tucked away in my desk drawer that I read through on a daily basis just after I wake up. There are quotes I’ve found. There are segments of conversations I’ve had with friends reminding me why it’s so important for me to stay. There are Bible verses. There are song lyrics. And there is this photo… it’s of me and that one friend who saved my life. It’s one of those really great candid pictures… we had just finished up our summer research presentations and were getting ready to pose for a nice picture. But the thing is we are both laughing hysterically at something stupid one of us had said. It’s one of those pictures where you can just feel the happiness radiating out of that one simple moment. It reminds me of joy and of everything we have been through together. It reminds me how much one person can impact your life. It reminds me of him… the first reason I had to keep pushing on… the one reason that can always reach me, even when nothing else can.
You will have your moments too. You will find your joy again. Do not give up. Trust in your hope. It knows that you’ve been calling out. It will not abandon you.
Love will find you in the darkness. Hold on.
It is my hope that these words have been able to reach you if you are struggling. I want you to remember that you are never alone in your fight. As always, your thoughts and stories are welcome. Whoever you are, know that I love you… know that I will be praying for you always.
Without the people who have walked beside me as I have made this journey, I would not have been able to write these words.
To Jenna…
For living with me and keeping me sane on a daily basis.
For sing-a-longs and leg hugs and conversations that only make sense to us.
………………..For proving that no matter how hard I may try to fight it, I will always be ………………..surrounded by unconditional love
To Rob…
For knowing that sometimes the best medicine is simply coloring with six- ………………..year-olds.
. For never judging and always being willing to offer guidance and support.
To Brittany…
For the quiet understanding, pints of Ben & Jerry’s, and sappy movie ………………..recommendations.
To Emily, Julia, Laura, Veronica, and Xandra… my sailor sisters…
For being my rock and my prayer warriors for the past seven years.
For being my home no matter how many miles separate us.
And to Chris…
For being even more stubborn than me and never ceasing to fight every ………………..single battle, no matter how small.
For keeping your promises, keeping me here, and giving me the courage ………………..to accept my own story and the love I deserve.
I am so unworthy to call you all my friends. But God has blessed me a thousand times over by bringing each of you into my life, and I would be utterly lost without you. I love you all more than words could ever describe.
I am not a success story. I am still a work in progress. I might always be. But aren’t we all? Isn’t that the whole point of life?
I have faith in my own resolve. I have faith in the love that I witness every single day. I have faith in my Lord and in His mercy and in His grace. I have faith that I will always be able to find the strength to take another step forward… even after I stumble in the wrong direction. Yet, despite my faith, the road ahead is still rocky and unknown.
I don’t know if depression ever goes away. I don’t know if you ever stop fighting battles. That’s not something I can give you.
I do know that it can get easier. I know that the people who love you will not leave you to fend for yourself. I know that even when you feel completely abandoned in pitch-blackness, there will be a light at the end of the tunnel. I know that no matter how endless the night may seem, the world is still spinning and the sun will rise.
I also know that you will have setbacks – some worse than others. There will still be bad days amidst the good. There will still be sleepless nights and tear-soaked pillow cases. There will still be moments when you feel too much. I have been there. I know. But you cannot let that defeat you. You cannot let that rob you of your hope.
You’re allowed to feel pain. You’re allowed to ask for help. You’re allowed to need other people to take your hand and pull your through the raging sea. In no way does that make you weak. Reaching out, speaking up, those are the things that prove your strength. Because even after everything you’ve been through, you still have hope. You choose to believe that there is more for you than this. I’m not promising it won’t be hard to take that step… actually, it’s going to be absolutely terrifying. But what I do promise is that it will be worth it.
When you find your reasons to keep moving forward day by day, don’t let yourself forget them. Write them down… make a list. Even just one is enough to outweigh the reasons you may have to want to give up.
And here’s another.
You belong in this world. There is a God who loves you, who knew your name before the Earth was formed, who molded you with His own hands. You were made to live. You were made to love and to be loved. You were made to laugh and to cry. You were made to feel joy. You were made to be other people’s joy. You were made to see the beauty in this world. You were perfectly made… you are not a mistake.
You belong here. You are wanted here. I want you here. I want you to live.
I have my own list tucked away in my desk drawer that I read through on a daily basis just after I wake up. There are quotes I’ve found. There are segments of conversations I’ve had with friends reminding me why it’s so important for me to stay. There are Bible verses. There are song lyrics. And there is this photo… it’s of me and that one friend who saved my life. It’s one of those really great candid pictures… we had just finished up our summer research presentations and were getting ready to pose for a nice picture. But the thing is we are both laughing hysterically at something stupid one of us had said. It’s one of those pictures where you can just feel the happiness radiating out of that one simple moment. It reminds me of joy and of everything we have been through together. It reminds me how much one person can impact your life. It reminds me of him… the first reason I had to keep pushing on… the one reason that can always reach me, even when nothing else can.
You will have your moments too. You will find your joy again. Do not give up. Trust in your hope. It knows that you’ve been calling out. It will not abandon you.
Love will find you in the darkness. Hold on.
It is my hope that these last few weeks of blog posts have been able to reach you if you are struggling. I want you to remember that you are never alone in your fight. As always, your thoughts and stories are welcome. Whoever you are, know that I love you… know that I will be praying for you always.
Without the people who have walked beside me as I have made this journey, I would not have been able to write these words.
……….To Jenna…
For living with me and keeping me sane on a daily basis.
For sing-a-longs and leg hugs and conversations that only make sense to us.
………………..For proving that no matter how hard I may try to fight it, I will always be ………………..surrounded by unconditional love
To Rob…
For knowing that sometimes the best medicine is simply coloring with six- ………………..year-olds.
. For never judging and always being willing to offer guidance and support.
To Brittany…
For the quiet understanding, pints of Ben & Jerry’s, and sappy movie ………………..recommendations.
To Emily, Julia, Laura, Veronica, and Xandra… my sailor sisters…
For being my rock and my prayer warriors for the past seven years.
For being my home no matter how many miles separate us.
And to Chris…
For being even more stubborn than me and never ceasing to fight every ………………..single battle, no matter how small.
For keeping your promises, keeping me here, and giving me the courage ………………..to accept my own story and the love I deserve.
I am so unworthy to call you all my friends. But God has blessed me a thousand times over by bringing each of you into my life, and I would be utterly lost without you. I love you all more than words could ever describe.
Honestly, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I didn’t know what I was going to say or how he would respond. I knew it was a risk. It was the biggest risk I’d ever taken in my life.
I was taking a leap of faith with no idea what was waiting for me at the bottom of the fall. But, God, I am so thankful that I let myself jump.
I struggled to find the words, but he was patient. It took a while, but finally I was able to say the words out loud. I have depression. They were words that I was only beginning to fully accept myself. And yet, I spoke them to him.
Once I started, everything came pouring out, like a tidal wave. Even if I had wanted to stop, I don’t think I could have.
The more I told him, the more I expected him to get up and walk away. But that never happened. I don’t think it ever even crossed his mind. And to this day, it’s nearly impossible for me to understand why.
I fought him. When he tried to reason with me, I tried to prove him wrong. And he fought right back.
He told me I was more than good enough – if not too good – for him. He told me I was worth fighting for. He told me that I have someone who will never let me down. He told me that someone was him. He promised me… always.
And finally I told him how he had saved my life only a few days before. I told him how important it was that he had been there. And I tried to thank him, but the words seemed so stupid and meaningless in comparison to what he had done for me.
I remember hearing him catch his breath when I told him, when I spoke the words out loud. I don’t think he realized how severe my depression was until that point. And I think what stuck with me the most was that I could see that the sheer thought of that pained him, even before he opened his mouth to respond.
This time, he was the one who took a while to form the words. And then he found this picture that is now saved on my own phone as a reminder. It’s a series of photos of people holding the same cardboard sign. Written in thick black sharpie were the words: Suicide does not end the chances of life getting worse, suicide eliminates the chances of it ever getting better.
I read each one slowly and by the fourth time I read the words, I felt a pang deep in my chest as I realized their resounding truth. I handed the phone back to him and began to weep. And suddenly, his arms were around me, hugging me tight. He rested his chin on the top of my head and whispered, “I just need you to know that. I need you to never forget that.”
And as I hugged him back, I let him shield me from the world for just a few minutes. I let my tears flow freely because for the first time in my life, I felt safe, I felt loved, and I didn’t feel quite so broken.
And since that night, the night when I offered him this cracked and bruised heart of mine, he has held it close and never let it go. He has never stopped protecting it. He has never ceased reminding it how much it is loved.
Everything that had happened that night hit me all at once. I wish I had a better way to explain it. Somehow in that moment, I knew that I would never be alone again. For the first time in nearly six years, I believed the words. He wasn’t the first person to speak them, nor was he the first person to truly mean them. But, for some reason, that is still a mystery to me, he was first person to break through my walls and reach the most broken corners of my heart.
He was the answer to my prayers in the chapel the week before. He was my sign from God that I had not been abandoned, nor would I ever be. It was as if as he spoke the words to me, they weren’t just from him, but also from my Heavenly Father.
Sometimes the Lord works in mysterious ways and sometimes He opens your heart when you least expect it. And that is exactly what He did that night. He brought me this absolutely remarkable person who was able to reach the deepest desires of my heart… to be enough, to be loved unconditionally despite my brokenness. There is no doubt in my mind that God knew what he was doing when He led me to this person.
A lot changed for me after that. I was more open. Little by little, I began to let more of the people closest to me in. I wasn’t so ashamed anymore.
By knowing that I could be cared about so deeply by him and the Lord, in spite of everything, I began to recognize the other people in my life who loved me and were trying to let me know.
Trust me, that one night didn’t solve everything. The things that happened as a result were not immediately visible. And the road I have traveled has not been smooth.
There are still times when I feel worthless and unlovable… when the depression takes hold and tries to pull me under. But now I have more ways to fight back. I have the most incredible support system that never lets me down.
Some days the battle still leaves scars, but I know that I can heal – that I will heal. And when I can’t do it on my own, I know that someone has a light on for me, a beacon of hope when I fall and need to be rescued from myself. I know it will shine brightly for me. Always.
…
So let yourself take the chance… because you most certainly are not alone. Someone out there loves you, even if you can’t see it right now. You are so worth it. Even if you don’t think you could possibly be enough for that person, they wouldn’t be there if you weren’t.
Be prepared. Some people won’t respond as well as others. And that’s okay, too. You don’t need everyone to understand, you don’t need everyone’s love. You only need one. And if you find that one, don’t you ever let them go. They are rare. They are the ones that will turn your world upside down and help you see the sun again.
Maybe you’re on the other side. Maybe you know someone who is struggling… whether it’s with depression or another mental illness. Remind them how important they are. Maybe you do all of the things that should prove how much you care, but sometimes you have to look them in the eye and pierce through their pain. Tell them what they mean to you. Tell them how much you love them. Tell them how that have shaped your life, how you’re better for knowing them. And not just on the bad days… but the good days too.
Surround them with love. Because love can heal… it can transform. If you don’t give up, neither will they. Be their reason until they can create their own. Love them though the rain and the thunder. Love them when the sky is cloudless and the sun is shining. Because one day you will reach them and they will still be there… they will still be yours to love.
I know it isn’t easy. I know it’s scary because the path is foreign and you don’t have a guide, but trust yourself. Let yourself feel loved. Let yourself believe you are enough. Let yourself accept that you deserve happiness. You are worth so much more than you know.
We are in this fight together. We are not alone. We survive together so that one day we can truly live together.
I thought the chains had been broken and the fog had lifted, but that was simply wishful thinking. The reality was that my shoulders had simply grown used to the weight and my eyes had adjusted to the constant haze.
My innate fear of failure and my stubborn refusal to depend on other people gave me enough motivation, enough energy, to mask the pain for a few years. But sweeping my problems under the rug could only work for so long. And then too much had built up and the things I was trying to ignore began to escape their hiding places, returning to their familiar spots in my mind.
Before I knew what was happening, I was surrounded by the quicksand that my depression had become. The harder I fought, the faster I began to sink.
It was too much to bear. I had watched as my career as an athlete slipped through my fingers. I survived the times that had tried to tear my family apart. I had endured so much already… I was finally in a place where, every so often, I could see the sun. And now it was being taken away. It wasn’t fair.
The little hope of something good that I had let myself begin to feel was ripped from my hands. I let the pain in, let it fill up every inch of my soul. I was tired and worn. My heart was broken… seemingly beyond repair. It was a struggle to simply keep myself breathing.
So one night I stopped believing in fairy tales and happily ever afters. I broke the promise… I let the darkness consume me once again. I let my depression make its mark, tattoo itself on my arms and even deeper in my heart.
…
Depression is not a choice. Depression is an illness just like a cold or the flu is an illness. I think the part that throws people off is that it’s a mental illness. It has symptoms just like any sort of physical ailment, but they can’t always be seen. That doesn’t make them any less real.
If you can’t see it and if you haven’t experienced it yourself, I suppose it’s easy to be scared of depression or mental illness. It’s something that you can’t really understand if you haven’t actually been there. That doesn’t mean you should dismiss it. That doesn’t mean you should ignore it because you’re more comfortable not talking about it.
Every single day is a battle – a brutal and never-ending fight that uses you up from the inside out. Some days you feel too much… others you feel nothing at all. Some days are good days and you can catch your breath and feel almost-normal. And other days you’ve never been so low and you don’t know how you will make it through the next five minutes, let alone the next five days. Some days you want to be surrounded by people to distract you, and some days the mere thought of interacting with another person is unbearable. And you wish you had some sort of control over what was happening, but it’s out of your hands and you don’t know why.
The plans made but not followed through on… she wasn’t blowing you off, she couldn’t will herself to get out of bed to face another day. The bloodshot eyes and disinterest in your favorite hobby… he wasn’t hung over or rude, he was exhausted from lying awake all night fighting an unseen battle. The long sleeve shirts in the middle of summer covering up scars… she doesn’t want attention, she was trying to feel something other than the pain inside that she can’t put into words.
Self-harm isn’t something that we want. It isn’t something we are proud of. It isn’t something we want others to know. Sometimes it happens because we want to feel physical pain instead of the emotional pain that is slowly draining the life from us. Sometimes it happens because we want to feel something… anything to distract us from the numbness in our own minds. And sometimes it’s a cry for help because we don’t have the words to tell you the things burning inside of us.
…
For a long time, I didn’t have the words. I was spiraling out of control with no way to slow down. I was crying out for a long time, but it didn’t make any difference… no one could hear me.
That is, until I came across that Albert Einstein quote about insanity one day as I scolled through my twitter.
Insanity: doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
As hard as it was to admit, that seemed like a good description of how I had been trying to handle my depression. I desperately wanted different results. So I did something different. I made a phone call. I punched in some numbers and a week later I sat in a beige waiting room with a vase of fake sunflowers and a stack of Time magazines on a table in the corner. I was terrified. I was anxious. But I was also ready.
I was there for nearly two hours. I told her everything… everything that I hadn’t been able to say out loud for almost five years. As I was leaving, she told me she was proud of me. She said I was courageous for having the strength to ask for help. And while I felt relieved that I wasn’t trying to do this completely on my own anymore, I didn’t feel very brave as I got in my car and found I still had tears left to cry.
…
There isn’t a quick fix for depression. Going to a counselor or psychiatrist one time won’t be the answer. It won’t solve all of your problems. It won’t be enough.
You have to commit. You have to try. You have to put in a lot of time and effort. You have to be willing to fight. Because it will help. It may take a month. Or six months. Or a year. Or maybe more. But you can’t get discouraged if it takes time. Everything worth having takes time. I know that’s hard to grasp in today’s society when time is the only thing that seems to matter and we are bombarded with the instantaneous gratification of technology 90% of the day. But it is going to take time.
And if you’re on the outside looking in as a friend or family member tries to get the help they need – the help they deserve – you must be patient too. They are trying their best. They are fighting their fight. And some days are going to be uglier than others. But let them take all the time they need. It will be worth it in the end.
…
One thing I was still missing at this point was someone outside of those four beige walls that knew what I was going through.
I did tell two of my closest friends that I was going to counseling… but they didn’t need to know the details. I still didn’t want anyone to know just how terrible things were. I still felt like a burden. So I barely skimmed the surface… that was enough for them.
Throughout the years, my faith had been on quite the roller coaster ride. But this time around, when things got bad again, it became nearly non-existent. I remember one particularly rough night, I went to the chapel and prayed for God to hear me. I was angry and questioned His goodness and His mercy. I sat there for nearly three hours… begging and crying and pleading for some sort of relief, for some sort of escape. But the answer that I was hoping for did not come as I sat there in the chapel, and I became more certain than ever that I was alone.
I got back to my room with every intention of giving up. Of breaking the promise for the last time. Of finding a way to leave all of my pain and darkness behind, no matter the cost.
I made a cup of tea and pulled out my journal and tried to think of something to write… something to describe what I was feeling, why I wanted to go. But I couldn’t. It was like I was stalling. I guess I was trying to find a reason to stay.
So for some reason, I picked up my phone and texted a friend. I apologized profusely and told him I just needed someone to talk to for five minutes. Nothing else. I was certain that I would be ignored… he and I were not very close. He owed me nothing.
He proved me wrong though… he was there within minutes. And although we didn’t talk about why he was there, I think he had an idea. So instead, we just talked and laughed about stupid things until the early hours of the morning.
He kept me from breaking the promise, without even knowing it. He didn’t have the slightest idea that he had saved my life. He didn’t know that for the first time, I didn’t feel completely alone.
And so a few days later, I sat beneath the glow of the city lights and waited. And this time I was ready to reach out my hand and entrust him with even the most shattered pieces of my heart.
If you are struggling with depression, self-harm, or suicidal thoughts, please contact someone. If this is a crisis, call 911 or the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255 for someone to talk to. You can also chat with someone online 24/7 at IMAlive Online Crisis Network – http://www.imalive.org/index.php.
You can also check out the great resources for yourself or for someone you know provided by National Alliance of Mental Illness at http://www.nami.org/ or To Write Love On Her Arms at http://twloha.com/home.
“So, this is my life. And I want you to know that I am both happy and sad and I’m still trying to figure out how that could be.”
–Stephen Chbosky
I don’t recall exactly when it started. Maybe it had always been there, lying quietly in the shadows, waiting patiently for the first sign of weakness. I wish I could pin point it for you – one glaring moment that is burned into my mind… narrow it down to one hour or day or even a week. But the truth is, there was no one defining, life-altering event that triggered this thing in me. All that I know is that somewhere around the end of my sophomore year of high school, I was not the same person that I had always known myself to be.
It started off slow – a dull, lifeless fog… like after a summer thunderstorm just before sunset and you’re driving home and the colors around you start to fade away. At first you don’t notice it, but then suddenly you blink and your world has gone from Technicolor to a desolate sepia.
There was exhaustion… I didn’t like to sleep for fear of my own mind and the monsters that had taken up residence there. The things that I had always loved became something almost unbearable to endure.
I was good at hiding it at first. I kept telling myself to snap out of it, to get a grip. I blamed it on my own teenage angst. I was just stretching my fifteen-year-old self a little too thin between school and sports and work. I was being overly dramatic and hormonal. That’s what I told myself over and over again, night after night, staring blankly at the ceiling, trying not to slip into the terrors that my nightmares always brought.
The only thing I could think to do was continue to pretend – to keep trucking along, pushing forward more forcefully and with more determination than ever before. I convinced myself that if I could just reach x-amount of goals that were swimming around in my head, I could be okay again…
So I made lists and crossed things off. And I made more lists to cross off more tasks. But even when I had done all of the things that I thought I wanted – the things that I thought could make me happy again – the fog just continued to grow thicker, absorbing the last of the color that remained in my world.
When my plan didn’t work I began to withdraw… from my friends, from school, from life. I felt like a failure and that was something I was not allowed to be. I wasn’t supposed to be weak. I wasn’t supposed to need help. I was supposed to be able to handle everything on my own. So even though it wasn’t working, it was all I knew and I didn’t change.
I was alone and broken and scared. The fog began to take a new form… it grew blacker and more threatening. Its presence was palpable in every minute of every single day. I was chained to its weights, unable to break free. I hid from the world. Locked away whenever I could, I let the depression take full hold, gripping me tighter with each passing moment.
I cut off my friends because this wasn’t their problem – they had their own lives, their own troubles to work through. Who was I to need them for something so irrational and self-centered? So I blamed myself. With the blame came the self-loathing and anger. I could feel myself crumbling piece by piece under the weight of everything that I was trying to hide. I told myself that I deserved it, all of it… the pain and the emptiness and the fear. That’s the thing about depression, it can consume you – it can find a way to take even the good and twist and distort it until it is ugly and unrecognizable. It whispers in your ear in the dead of night that this is what you are, all you ever could be – worthless and alone.
I remember the night clearly. It was warm for the beginning of March. It had been raining and the streetlights were reflecting off of the pavement As I stared out my bedroom window, I felt everything and nothing all at once. I remember leaning against my bed, clutching the old stuffed Pooh Bear that I’ve had since I was two, and finally letting myself break down. I remember being filled with anger and throwing the nearest breakable object across the room. I remember the splintering sound it made crashing against the wall. I remember getting up and going into the bathroom and staring at the reflection in the mirror looking back at me. I remember not being able to recognize the worn and tattered girl with the tear-stained cheeks that I saw there. I remember picking up the razor. I remember my trembling hands as I pressed metal to skin. And I remember crumbling to the cold tile floor where I stayed for I don’t know how long.
Somehow though, I picked myself up and swore to myself never again… never would I be that girl. Because at that point, I had truly failed and that wasn’t something I knew how to deal with. So I swore I wasn’t going to let myself lose. Failure was not supposed to be in my vocabulary.
With this new-found will power I did what I could to fit the pieces of my life back together. It worked for a while… the fog was still there, but every so often I would get a glimpse of the world in full color, without blurry edges.
I convinced everyone, myself included that I was okay. The darkness came and went, but I had become so good at faking the smile, I began to believe it myself.
I was living a lie. No one knew what had happened, and I thought it was better that way because in my head, I still wasn’t allowed to need anyone else.
So months passed. And then a year. And then another. Life went on. I graduated and started college and hit a few bumps in the road, but ultimately I ended up on a good path, doing something that I love. I hoped that could be enough.
I began to feel happier, freer, lighter. And while it lasted it was wonderful. But then one day I woke up and realized I had been running for years. So I stopped to take a breath and just like that… the world turned cold and black.
I realized the other day that I have never actually explained the title of my blog…
The Walking in Between
The phrase comes from one of the sweetest songs I’ve ever heard by one of my favorite singer/songwriters… Ben Rector’s “I Like You”.
If you’ve never heard the song before, I strongly suggest that you give it a listen. I promise you won’t regret it. I’m almost certain you cannot listen to it without ending up with a smile on your face.
Aside from trying to connect all of my readers to the wondrous talent of Ben Rector, I mention this song because of its lyrics and the special place they hold in my heart. My favorite lines of the song come from the bridge…
Cause life is not the mountaintops
It’s the walking in between
And I like you walking next to me.
Ever since the first time I heard this song, those words have resonated very deeply with me – probably because of the countless times I have seen their truth in my own life.
The things that make life so crazy and magical and beautiful and worthwhile are all of the little moments when you’re not standing triumphantly on top of the world. And it’s the people that you get to experience all of those perfect, tiny moments with that make life truly amazing. Because as human beings we need one another… to walk with us, laugh with us, cry with us, and live with us.
But that space in between the mountaintops is not all sunshine and rainbows or fields of wildflowers with prancing unicorns. Sometimes the walking in between means you have to ford a river, trudge into the depths of a valley, or push on through a raging storm. I’ve been through my fair share of rivers and valleys and storms… and I am sure there will be many more in the future, but that is what life is.
There is one story of my own journey that I feel compelled to tell. Honestly, it’s a bit of a journey in itself. I’m tearing down all of my protective armor for a bit to let you inside my head and my heart.
This is the hard stuff – the things that are kept between me and my diary and my most trusted friend. But this is something that I feel that I need to share. Because I know that I am not the only one who has ever felt this way, and I know from experience that it is far too easy to feel completely alone in those times of darkness. So this is for anyone who has ever felt like they could never be enough, like their life is meaningless, like they would rather disappear completely than have to endure another day inside the prison of their own minds. You are not alone in your heartache.
This is me… Julie, unscripted. This is my truth. The next few weeks, starting tomorrow, I will be posting parts of my journey… and I hope that some part of it can reach you if you’re hurting.
I’m sharing this because we all need to recognize that there is always hope. I’m sharing this because I am tired of the stigma that comes with admitting the words “I have depression”. I’m sharing this not because I think my story is special… it isn’t. But I’m sharing this because I’ve finally found my voice and I want every soul that has known such suffering to be able to find theirs. Find your voice and your strength… because there is a fire inside of you that cannot be extinguished, and it is waiting for you to let it be a brilliant, inspiring light for the world.
One was already curled up on the floor in a sleeping bag, another was in the bathroom brushing her teeth, two were already on their way home, and I was washing dishes, covered in soapy water. That’s how we rang in this New Year.
Before the ball began its flashy and widely-televised 60-second decent, there was a fancy dinner served on fine china, festive-smelling Yankee candles, and refined conversation. There were mocktails concocted from last year’s leftover grenadine that made our stomachs a little queasy. There was laughter and embarrassing dance moves set to music circa 2008.
It was a perfect evening with the people who mean the most to me, the people who I could not get through this life without. Even if in those final seconds of 2014 there weren’t fireworks or popped bottles of champagne, I wouldn’t have wanted to spend those moments with anyone else.
Honestly though, for me, New Year’s Eve seems a little overrated. The older I get, I find myself caring less and less about Ryan Seacrest and his glitzy celebrity friends counting down the final seconds of the year. And while I am all for the “fresh start” and “clean slate” that everyone looks forward to as another year ends, if you aren’t going to at least try to do anything differently, you’re setting yourself up to fail, with no one to blame but the person staring back at you in the mirror.
Because guess what, the digits changing at the top of my calendar are not enough to make all of my wildest hopes and dreams come true. It’s not going to turn my life around instantly. I want to be constantly striving to be my best self, but simply making a list of resolutions… a list of arbitrary things that I wish would happen or that I hope I accomplish isn’t going to get me there. The key is the effort. The little things every single day, they all add up. I decided a long time ago that I was sick of sitting around waiting for things to change. I was the one on the other side for far too long – I was waiting and hoping and wishing, not doing anything to change. And let me tell you, the festive and hopeful New Year’s Eve shine wears off all too quick, leaving you with only a piece of paper and words that will soon be tossed aside and forgotten – at least until next New Year’s Eve.
I still don’t have all the answers, not by a long shot. I’m still putting in the effort day in and day out. I’m still chipping away at the mountains in front of me that I have yet to conquer. And sometimes I get weary and my heart grows heavy. Sometimes I take a few steps backwards before pressing on, and that’s okay. That’s what being human is.
And sometimes, being human means that you need a reminder to get yourself back on track. You need that little voice in the back of your mind to yell and scream rather than whisper. You need it to give you a hearty kick in the pants rather than a tiny nudge. My reminder comes in the form of a blue floral notecard, covered in nearly illegible scribbles, tucked between the pages of the Bible next to my bed. It’s the place that I document all the things that inspire me, keep me moving forward. It’s the thing that tells me why I can and must keep pushing forward, even after I stumble and fall….These are some of the most recent wake up calls that I’ve left for myself.
Tear off the rearview mirror.
You know that person, the one who says she wants to be there for you, but never really is. The one who talks a good game about your shared values and beliefs, but then ends up doing the exact opposite and lying to your face about it. Move on. Don’t completely shut them out and don’t be cruel, but be more careful about how much you let them in. The wound is still fresh, she wasn’t the person you thought she was, but it wasn’t your fault. Stop playing it all back – the endless rerun isn’t going to give you the answers, it’s just going to cut you deeper. You can’t keep dwelling on the past, figure out how to let it go… because this will not be the thing to defeat you.
And that boy, you know the one… you’ve been crushing on him for months and if you’re being honest, he has never given you any real indication of wanting to be anything more than your friend. It doesn’t matter that your friends keep trying to convince that… of course he was totally trying to kiss you in the car that night on your birthday. Guess what, they don’t know him like you do, they don’t know the whole story… respect their opinions, but stop letting them convince you to believe something that you know better. And maybe one day he will be worth the heartache that he is causing you, but not now… right now you aren’t his. So stop trying to figure out where you missed something – where you should have flirted more or played harder to get. It’s silly to think that you can somehow change the way he feels about you. It’s even sillier to think that you can do so by wishing you could go back and do it all differently. So turn off all the other noise and just trust the sound of your own heart because it’s telling you that you will be just fine.
Stop playing it safe.
You can make as many lists as you want. You can order an absurd amount of color-coordinated office supplies. You can plan and dream and plan some more. But you have to wake up eventually. There is a great big world out there, right in front of you. Sure, it’s a little bit terrifying, but it’s also the most exciting thing to ever come your way. The plans and the lists are only going to get you so far. You’re scared. You’re used to playing it safe. But you can’t achieve everything that you’ve been hoping for without taking a risk. It’s time to jump in, head first, without any reservations or fears. That’s what life is all about – don’t leave yourself with room for regrets.
You’re allowed to feel beautiful.
So maybe you’re not a size 2. And maybe you don’t have a glowing, flawless complexion. And when you laugh too hard you snort a little bit… or maybe a lot, depending on just how funny that joke was. You’ve spent far too many hours of your life trying to fix everything that the world tells you is not desirable. Stop apologizing for everything that you are, frizzy hair and all. You are beautiful. You need to feel beautiful, in your own skin, on your own terms. Don’t let everyone else define you. Love yourself just the way you were made, because you are loved more deeply and unconditionally than you can possibly fathom. In the eyes of your Creator, you are perfect, and if you’re enough for Him, you’re more than enough for the rest of the world.
Ease up on the guilt trip.
You can’t fix everything. You can’t save everyone. And that is okay, I promise. You don’t always have to be the hero. That burden isn’t meant to be yours all the time. Not everything is in your control, but that doesn’t mean that you failed. It’s noble to want to help the ones you love. But sometimes loving them means that you have to let them fight their own battles. Loving them means letting go. Your support as they confront their own monsters is more important than taking the reigns from them.
Never let yourself forget the reason why you’re here.
Take a few minutes every single day and just breathe. Whatever seems to be falling apart, whatever seems to going terribly awry… in five years, or even three months, is it really going to be that important? Chances are you’re blowing things way out proportion – you know that you have a tendency to do that. You can achieve so much more than you will eve give yourself credit for. But still, no matter how successful you become, no matter how much money you make, in the long run, it’s not going to get you to the one place you really want to be. You know the still, small voice within you better than anyone else, and it tells you that you were made for more than all of this. It keeps your heart restless and yearning. You already know the only place that it will find peace. Don’t lose sight of it, because that joy will more than make up for any pain in this life. The Lord knows your heart, He knows His plan for you, and He will not let you fall. If you keep your faith in Him as steadfast as His everlasting love for you, you will have nothing to fear.
Sometimes it feels like yesterday. Sometimes it feels like it’s been forever. It got easier, just like they said it would. But I don’t miss him any less. How could I?
We knew it was coming, but we refused to believe it. Imagining a world without him – without his crooked smile, without his ever-twinkling eyes, without his loving embrace – was impossible.
I remember the last words I spoke to him. I remember trying to hold myself together as I said goodbye. I wanted to be brave. I had to be. So I rambled on about school and the basketball season and the colleges I had been visiting. And taking his hand, I told him how much I loved him – how I would always love him.
I remember leaving that night knowing that I would never see him again – not in this life. But despite knowing that, I still prayed and pleaded and begged. I offered up all sorts of bargains, crying out desperately into the night.
I was asking for a miracle, but it never came.
Instead, what I got was a phone call that ripped me into pieces and broke my heart.
The next few months were a blur – losing him changed me. There were tears of sorrow. There were days without meaning. Then the pain gave way to anger. I didn’t understand. How could he just be gone? How could he be taken from me? It wasn’t fair. I tried to find a silver lining. I tried to see the bigger picture. But I failed and my anger grew while my faith wore thinner every day.
The thing is, sometimes prayers go unanswered. Sometimes God’s plan is meant to be a mystery to us. Sometimes you have to endure the seemingly endless night to find the light at the end of the tunnel.
It took sleepless nights and pillows filled with salty tears. It took letting go of the pain and recognizing that I had never been abandoned. It took accepting that the miracle I wanted wasn’t meant to be granted.
I already had my miracle – it was him.
It was knowing him, loving him, and being loved by him. The miracle was that for however brief a time, he had been mine. I was changed because of his love. He is not one that can be replaced… No one loved as unconditionally. No one was a bigger cheerleader. No one was as selfless.
He lived his life fearlessly. He lived each day knowing what a blessing it was. There was never a time when he let the precious, beautiful moments of his life go to waste. And now, even though he is gone, he will never cease to be an inspiration to every person whose life he touched. He is my guardian angel, and I know I will see him again one day. I will forever be thankful for the privilege of knowing his friendship and his love.
When we lose those dearest to us, they are taken all too soon. We can’t take even the briefest seconds for granted. Our time on this earth is fleeting. Losing him reminded me of just how little time we have. And now, I choose to live as he lived. I choose to love the heart and soul of each person who crosses my path. I choose to use my God-given talents without rationing, because I would rather use up everything I am than play it safe. I choose to move forward – thankful for the miracles I am witness to every day, never forgetting God’s unfailing promise of hope.
The Walking in Between 