What You Don’t See

Having a mental illness is a daily struggle.

Some days are easier than others, but sometimes the smallest of tasks requires a herculean effort: getting out of bed, showering, brushing my teeth, and even deciding what to wear.

My brain fights against logic and reason.

For example: my first thought and/or reaction to any conflict or constructive criticism is THE BIG BAD.

They hate me. I am stupid. I can’t do this job. Will I ever get ANYTHING right?

Would you know this by looking at me? Absolutely not.

I’m “happy”, “energetic”, “outgoing”.

I’m good at masking, and I have been since childhood. A “high functioning depression” human.

Could I unmask? Sure.

It did happen, not by my own choice, when I had my mental breakdown in 2011.

My body took over. I hurt, physically. I slowly slipped into a broken mess. My compartmentalism blew back in my face.

No longer could I say that I was “fine”.

I have been extremely lucky to have had my family doctor since my early 20s. She delivered my daughter, and was there as I went through my tumultuous separation.

The day I made the appointment was not an easy one. What was I going to say?

Turns out I didn’t have to say anything. When she asked me what brought me in, I fell apart. She grabbed a box of Kleenex, pulled her chair up to mine.

She looked at me and said “You’re done pushing through”.

I was put off, and seen weekly.

My daughter was in junior high. I told her the doctor said I needed time off “to rest”.

I got up every morning and when she left to walk to school, I got back into bed.

I didn’t want to see anyone. I didn’t want to talk to anyone. I was angry, frustrated, and was short with those who reached out to me.

You see, depression isn’t necessarily “sadness”. It’s an overload of powerlessness, fear, anger, exasperation, anguish (add your experience here).

It took me weeks to be able to function. Weeks for the medicine to begin to correct the chemical imbalance.

The amount of times I heard how “physical activity” would “cure” my depression was unreal, because here’s the thing, I was in the best physical shape of my life when this illness brought me to my knees. I ran my first 10k weeks before my breakdown.

Mental illness is not just mental. As I have said, it affects you physically. You seize up, you hurt, and it takes time to regain the energy level you had previously been used to.

With medication and support, I was able to go back to work.

I have trialed coming off my medication a couple of times, which did not end well.

For a time, I was on low dose antipsychotics to help with my anxiety (I was chewing the skin around my fingernails).

I have been on Ativan.

I am currently on a different antidepressant than the one I was prescribed all those years ago. It has kept me stable.

What has also helped is the support I have at home, and those of my colleagues.

I have been transparent about my illness. I know that there are others who cannot be, for reasons that are their own.

I guess want people to know that there are those of us out there who struggle daily, even though is not outwardly apparent.

We are overachievers.

We are people pleasers.

We find it hard to ask for help.

If you do catch us unmasked, sit with us. We may not need conversation.

Sometimes, just knowing that someone is THERE makes a difference.

I often wonder if I had had someone say “Hey, I’ve noticed that you haven’t been yourself lately. Is there anything I can do to help? Anything you wanted to share?” how I would have responded.

It’s easy for me to respond “Fine”, “Great”, “Okay” to a general “How are you doing?”

It is harder for me skirt around a more direct question. And, this may not work for everyone. You may get a “No, all is good”. The thing is that the effort may be noticed. It may shift a mindset.

I am hope that by sharing a small bit of my experience, that we can all take a moment to “see” people in those vulnerable moments.

To notice that person sitting alone.

To notice the misplaced anger.

To reach out.

When mental illness shows up at work, at home, people often retreat into silence – both the person struggling and the people around them. Being noticed matters. A small gesture of care, a quiet check in, a moment of presence can make someone feel less invisible.

Human connection doesn’t solve the struggle, but it often softens the edges.