Depression Narrative Essay

Merriam-Webster defines depression as a state of being sad. Notably, it also states depression can be “marked especially by sadness, inactivity, difficulty in thinking and concentration, a significant increase or decrease in appetite and time spent sleeping, feelings of dejection and hopelessness, and sometimes suicidal tendencies.” And that great dichotomy lies in the fact that being depressed and feeling depressed are just as related as they are differentiated.

Everyone has been in a dark mindset or phase at a certain point. It usually occurs in times where reality clashes with your deepest fears; be it infidelity, death, or bankruptcy. In response, we tend to break down in this state of emptiness, confusion, and bitterness. The first time

I didn’t really visit my friends anymore. I was fairly quiet in my room. In fact, I didn’t do anything in my room. I didn’t watch my favorite shows. The books I always liked reading outside in the summer were pretty dusty. I was just laying in bed...thinking about time. It came to a point that I wouldn’t answer to my mom’s calls for dinner. I didn’t shower at one point unless my mom forced me to get into the bathroom. My mom would ask me for what seemed like days why I was sad and I wouldn’t answer. Two weeks later my mom decided to take me to shrink. Funny thing is at the time I felt insulted for being sent to what I thought was “the crazy room.” I may have been young but even then I had my negative associations with shrinks. Plus, to me, my two weeks of solitude did not feel like two weeks. I would always tell my mom,” I just am sad that’s all...everyone gets sad.” In response, she would tell me that I’m allowed to be sad but if I stop eating, talking, and leaving my room there is something else going on. My dad during this time could not get it through his head that I was sick. He was an old-fashioned man, and as such the thought of his daughter being depressed seemed too peculiar. But, after time he agreed with my mom’s pleading and she took me to my first visit. The waiting room had fancy wallpaper, and I remember there was a bowl of candies on a little resting table. There was also a little tiny machine in the corner near the vent that made ocean wave sounds; this was so that no one could hear what was going on on the other side of the door. Once the door opened I came inside with my mom and we were greeted by a comfy room. It had a little sofa with two chairs at its side; one that was the psychologist’s special chair as I ended up calling it. I remember that by the end of the session I was diagnosed with what was called major depressive disorder. And for every Wednesday my mom