That’s that me, Depresso – Semi-Serious Reflections on the State of my Mental Health

I could say a lot about my history with depression and anxiety. I HAVE said a lot about my history with depression and anxiety–they are inexplicably a part of me, after all. I used to analyze it all in depth, chronicling the recovery highs and lows, wondering if I was getting better at all.

There was a time when I thought I was better, and I was so sure. I considered depression something I had, past-tense, and that, at that point in my life, I was just occasionally experiencing depressive episodes. Of course, I was naive (and a measly twenty-one), and I didn’t know all the tumultuous emotions I would be feeling in one of life’s great transitional periods: graduating college and entering the real world. [to note: I know not everyone goes to college and that’s FINE, and it’s a privilege that I got to be there at all, but you know what I mean. I was leaving the proverbial nest! Anyway, don’t come for me lol]. Needless to say, I felt pretty stupid thinking my twenties were going to be a breeze.

I’m coming at you now in my Schmidt year (twenty-NOINE–soon at least, still twenty-gr8) to give a probably-still-premature take on the state of my mental health. I’ve been reflecting A LOT lately, as I have been the last five or so years. I’m one of those people who kind of feels like a new person every other year; not so much that my personality or overall self has changed, but my perspectives, wants, needs, and opinions have bubbled and burst.

Growing up, I had this idea of what my life would be like by now. That changed a lot when I got to high school and then college and realized I wasn’t going to be the cool, collected woman I pictured myself being. But then at the end of college, I got into this relationship that pushed me back into the mold, and I thought, wait, maybe I can still have what Little Me imagined.

L O L. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

Getting out of that relationship at the same time I was diving into a new, very adult job was the weirdest and most wonderful and most terrifying freefall I’ve experienced thus far in my life. I spent the next five years on a rollercoaster of feeling like my life was never going to settle (in exciting and nauseating ways), that I’d end up as your-incredibly-fun-but-secretly-kind-of-lonely wine aunt, and rejecting all the life milestones I set for myself as a kid. At the time (and probably even now looking back), I didn’t see that as such a bad thing. Actively not having a plan allowed me to explore myself a little more—because what was I even doing????

For the first time, I felt like I might actually be happy? I was scrambling and flailing, but it simply didn’t matter. It occurred to me periodically that maybe that was a bit self-destructive, not freeing, but I couldn’t bring myself to care much. (If that feels like a red flag to you, it kind of is! But I think I needed it).

Lockdown in 2020 changed a lot of things. I had approximately three caterpillar to butterfly moments, give or take. I went through a lot of mental and emotional transformation, in good ways and bad ones. And often, unfortunately, it felt like I would never escape depression and anxiety, even though I once thought I’d “beat” it. I was desperately trying to at least coexist with it, but I still felt overpowered and overshadowed. To be honest, thinking about when I thought I’d overcome it humiliated me. What a fucking failure, you know?

BUT!!! Yes, there’s a but! I tried really hard to shift my focus in the last year or so. I have a job that I genuinely enjoy and am learning A LOT from, even when it’s stressful. I put a lot more effort into my friendships, fostering relationships instead of just desperately trying to have a social life that didn’t drain me. And I moved! It all allowed me to start to feel like I truly was getting a handle on myself and my life. And maybe, just maybe, I could revisit wondering if I was “getting over” my depression.

Of course, it’s hardly that simple, but it donned on me in the last couple of months that…maybe? I could be some imperfect version of better. I don’t feel like the same person that thought this way before, and while I am delusional, I’m not unrealistic enough to believe it’ll never come back to bite me in the ass.

And I know this is true, because, for reasons I won’t disclose, I’ve been happier than I’ve ever been in the last handful of months. Things in my life, while not perfect, are so, so, so good. They feel pretty perfect, ya know?

But, as this thing does, it sure has come back to bite me in the ass a little. Juuust a little. The last few weeks have hit me in a weird way. For example, I’m incredibly sleepy. Not just normal Ash-is-sleepy sleepy, like really, really exhausted. I’m a bit irritable, and I’ve gotten upset about things that don’t normally bother me. I considered PMS might be at fault, and then I thought, hm…you know what hasn’t reared its ugly head lately? You know, that looming shadow you thought you’d gotten mostly rid of? This irrational spiral you’re going through is pretty on brand, you might want to consider this a blip in your healing journey.

I’m somewhat joking about that last part. Blips are part of the healing journey!! Since when is recovery from anything perfect? It’s hardly my first rodeo in that way. And this little blip has been a bit difficult, I’ll be honest. It’s certainly not very fun. I know how to handle the beast far better now, though. It can creep in and try to settle, but I know who I am.

And, corny as it is, I do believe it, that this is the best I’ve felt since I was a kid. Other than this overwhelming sleepiness and occasional icky feeling that’s snuck up on me recently, I am doing good. I don’t have a sinking feeling about things, I love my friends, I still like my job despite overall entertainment industry morale being garbage, my interests still interest me. I’ve probably been over-exerting myself a bit, but that happens periodically (the October birthday party nausea debacle of 2023 comes to mind).

Mental illness is a bitch, and I’d be lying if I said with my whole chest it didn’t affect me anymore just because I’m living my life better. It’d be disingenuous to say I don’t still sometimes get desperately sad for seemingly no reason sometimes. And I think it’s important for formerly-unhappy-happy people to be upfront about that.