Depression: A Mentor to Loneliness

Image Source: Tricia Patras

Everyone has had one of those nights where they feel overwhelmingly Lonely. Lonely within your body, heart, and mind all at once. It’s a feeling similar to living unexplainably separate from yourself. You hope it won’t revisit as often as it does.

The Loneliness lingers, almost long enough to graduate into its mentor: Depression.

Loneliness tries to impress its more overpowering sibling until, finally, Depression allows Loneliness to take shelter under its wing. When that happens, it all becomes one—one big Depression. I’ve experienced various forms of this sadness, but the Great Depression has happened twice in my life: 2013 and 2020.

As a person who always feels everything at a deeper pace, mental illness has always followed me. Not only have I battled Anxiety and Control, but I’ve let Fear drive me in my romantic relationships. I have always found a way to invert this into my creativity and luckily found my outlet with writing. Readers who have struggled with love, rejection, or the codependent weight of family history will hopefully see themselves reflected in my work. By laying bare the messy, complicated process of healing, I hope to reframe ordinary struggles as extraordinary acts of survival.

Image Source: Tricia Patras

The First Great Depression: A tale of unrequited love

The first depression overcame me when I was utterly enamoured with a love unrequited. Eventually, I started having a hard time understanding that I had to deal with my thoughts independently. I found it easier to push them aside and deal with his thoughts, instead. I willingly chose to put myself last, a choice I would take back instantly.

I desperately wanted him to love me, and I agonised over him.

My relationships had previously consisted of co-dependency that I learned from my parents and their tumultuous marriage. So, when I met someone who shared a traumatic bond with me, I latched on fast and hard. As a young and confused twenty-year-old, I couldn’t get a grasp on myself or anything around me. My family was falling apart, even more than before. We were losing our childhood home to bankruptcy, my mom’s drinking problem was at an all-time high, and I was the constant cheerleader for my sister’s life. I was trying to hide that my foundation was crumbling down, just as much as our home was.

My deep-rooted Anxiety then turned into migraines that would cause unexplainable blackouts, which led to hospital visits. I was not only mentally disintegrating, but now also physically.

My emotions consumed my body, and I had little control over stopping them. I would frequent the bathroom stalls between my college classes to indulge in my daily panic attacks.

I frequently recall myself holding my breath, crying silently, so no one would hear my pain. I kept relying on my situationship to resolve my Anxiety attacks instead of doing the work myself. As long as I was damaged, he would feel needed, and I would get his attention. Win, win.

This Depression taught me what a toxic relationship was. I later learned that love didn’t have to be this hard. Love could even be happy, if I let it. I just had to find a way to reroute my connection with love, especially since I correlated it so much with the word damaged. This type of Depression helped me understand that the two words didn’t have to go together. Depression led me to rock bottom, which gave me no choice but to reevaluate my escape route to the top. It brought me to Italy, where I did my best soul searching and discovered my value to the world and vice versa. I learned to love myself more than anyone else.

Image Source: Tricia Patras

The Second Great Depression: Navigating a Pandemic and New City

The second Great Depression was a bit different. The pandemic hit, and the streets became bare. A two-week stay at home in Chicago turned into two months. My mum was hospitalised, lost her job, and couldn’t pay rent. She was dying from a virus without a cure, and I couldn’t see her. The ups and downs were uncontrollable, so I spent most of my time just numb to avoid feeling and facing my emotions. It was a sadness that lingered. Unlike the first Great Depression, I wasn’t able to function. I had nothing to wake me up in the morning—no priorities, no job, no money, and no dream to achieve.

I watched my beautiful, safe place, Chicago, start to become a shell of what it once was. The same walks that inspired me now brought a great eeriness. Every day felt like I was losing small bits of myself, hoping that I wouldn’t wake up with nothing left.

I was addicted to the co-dependency of being with my family. As unhealthy as it was, I simply felt like a child who couldn’t eat or sleep without knowing my family was okay. I became so consumed with my family’s health and well-being that I neglected my own. I gained ten pounds, stopped going to therapy, my face broke out, and I refused to write. I felt I had nothing left in me.

When I reached this point, I had a faint memory of the life I started in San Francisco. I owed it to myself to explore the idea of going back, since I had the privilege to do so.

This decision saved me. If I had moved back home permanently, I would have become entrapped by my Depression with the fear that I’d never be able to get out.

I did not crawl out of this hole overnight. My first month back in San Francisco was challenging. My mum’s best friend passed away from COVID, and I understood that most of the friendships I had made were gone. I was back to square one. Except this time, I was more bruised and had the Depression pulling me down every time I would try to stand.

Then, my good friend, Fate, made an appearance.

The day I thought of moving home to be close to my family, I was sent a sign. My friend Rachael had asked me to move in with her, to my dream apartment in the very location that made me fall in love with San Francisco in the first place. I got another chance to keep trying. Once I moved in, each day started slowly getting better. I started writing again. I started eating better. I regained a small chunk of my confidence that I thought was gone forever.

The situational factors of the First and Second Depression were different; however, I learned over time that the Loneliness was the common factor. Once I started understanding how to own my Loneliness and turn it into something outward, or even celebrate it, that’s when I started healing.

Most importantly, I started seeking the beauty in my surroundings again. Instead of looking at the big picture, I appreciated the small ones that I captured daily. I accepted that life would still be challenging, but I was willing to fight it. I was excited to fight it.

And that is why you should never be ashamed of your Depression.

Use it to change you.

Use it to love you.

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This article has been sponsored by the Psychiatry Research Trust, who are dedicated to supporting young scientists in their groundbreaking research efforts within the field of mental health. If you wish to support their work, please consider donating. 

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