The Beauty in valleys

authentic Eagles Submission; Piece originally published in The Gavel on April 4, 2015

I struggle with depression, which means some days I wake up and find myself in what I’ll call a deep “valley.” The thing is, nothing pushed me down there. I wasn’t kicked off by that Road Runner character or by a hard test or by a tough break. Nor did I tumble down the hill because I was too tired to keep climbing.

That was difficult to understand when I first started to struggle with the symptoms and signs of depression about two years ago. That was the hardest part — that the incredible numbness I felt and suffocating weight I carried wasn’t linked to any triggering event. I’ve always been incredibly blessed with a supportive family, inspiring friends, and amazing opportunities. And so there seemed to be nothing to which I could rationally attribute this nameless darkness that was gradually consuming my thoughts and feelings, eroding away at what made me me.

Depression eats away at what you’re passionate about, what moves you to laugh and to cry, what gets you to eventually stop hitting snooze and get out of bed. Depression isn’t the absence of happiness; it’s an inflicted indifference, a sobering numbness. Responding to calls and text messages from those you love becomes painful. Food loses flavor—everything does for that matter. And anxiety becomes mixed with the depression until eventually you can’t distinguish one from the other nor identify the greater source of pain.

I was ashamed of what I was going through a couple of years ago because there was no logical explanation for it. I thought of myself as too sensitive, too weak, and even crazy at times.  Because when the illness is in your head, there is no distinguishing reality from the unrelenting flood of toxic thoughts. And so I was turned inward for a long time, which in turn was extremely isolating. I hesitated to spend time with friends because I felt like my mood and demeanor was a burden. My mind was everywhere except present in those moments with the people I most cared about, and that hurt because being an attentive listener is what I’m most proud of.

This went on for a long time and I hated that I was missing out on beautiful moments. Running the 2013 Boston Marathon, studying and traveling abroad in the most beautiful places, returning home to my loving family and then back to BC to my incredible friends and taking part in all senior year has to offer. From my home in Yonkers, NY to Granada, Spain to Mod 10A, I felt like depression found its way to wherever I was. Seasons were changing but I wasn’t. And so I knew I had to start talking because, despite my strongest attempts, I couldn’t “shake” the depression or reason myself out of it.

Now, I describe all these details not to make a case for my struggle as being more significant than another’s or to assume that it’s even unique at all. To the contrary, there’s an expansive community of people quietly suffering from depression right now that simply aren’t ready to talk. For me, the most liberating thing above all else was to hear my experience spoken through the words of another — to realize that many individuals close to me also carry the weight of depression. And so, I write this in hopes that my experience resonates with someone else in the “valley,” anxiously pacing the circuitous, dark, and lonely path depression ensnares people in.

I also write this because my story with depression is a damn good and happy one. It’s one I’m still writing and rewriting. Because for better or for worse, depression is still a part of who I am. How I felt sitting in the depths of the valley continues to shape who I am today as I stand on the highest peak I’ve hiked in my lifetime. This past year has been the most significant for me because my journey up to this peak has been both the most challenging and the most beautiful. I’ve learned that friends lighten the load and make it bearable. And counseling and medical consultation is a godsend. I’ve realized that I don’t, and won’t ever, have control over the illness, but my faith gives me the strength to determine how much I let it affect my life. In fact, I’ve chosen to interweave my depression with the other aspects of my identity--daughter, sister, artist, awkward dancer, average runner, strong listener, aspiring entrepreneur--because I’d be a very different person if I didn’t struggle with this mental illness. And this is a person I’ve grown to love.

There is beauty in valleys, in lows, in darkness that can’t be seen when you’re standing on a high peak. I believe it’s when you get dragged down to the depths that you emerge a truly different person. The upward battle against depression is one in which you fight to restore vitality, energy, and hope to your life. I’ve come out with the ability to feel so much more deeply—to look into another’s eyes, to see their humanity and love them for it. I’ve learned to be gentle with myself and with others. Depression has taught me to live more authentically—to do and say the unpopular thing, to trust my intuition, and to embody my values in everything I do, or at least strive to.

Kevin Breel, a young comedian famous for his TEDTalk on depression, said during his visit to be BC, “To be happy is to be truly loved. To be loved is to be fully known. To be fully known is to be vulnerable and to be vulnerable is to admit that you have imperfections.” What I’ll be most grateful for upon graduating in May, is that I’ve been surrounded by people who know all of me. It is in being vulnerable that I’ve found love and have been able to give it back to others. I’m leaving feeling proud, happy, and fulfilled-- incredibly grateful for the chance to be at school here living on “The Heights” but equally blessed to have experienced the depths.