Depression is both cause and effect. It is this dichotomy that makes it so personal, hard to diagnose and deadly. Depression creates a vicious circle, spiraling its victim lower and lower. I should know.
My dance with this elusive enemy began at age fourteen. Until that fateful year, I was happy-go-lucky, spontaneous, talkative, intelligent and healthy, the product of a "perfect" family. To the casual observer, I had no reason to experience depression.
Contrary to popular opinion, a "perfect" environment often breeds depression. I felt an unspoken pressure to deserve my perfect world. I wanted please my generous parents - make good grades, excel in sports and help at home. As the oldest of four girls, I longed to be a good role model, an exceptional, mature little woman. Among my peers, I wanted to be pretty, as a perfect girl should be; I wanted boys to like me.
I never believed I was good enough. I was always at least second best, which in a competitive society is the first loser. Depression was the effect of my perceived failure and became the cause of an eating disorder.
"Failure. You are so average and replaceable. When you're gone, you'll never be missed. People like you are a dime-a-dozen. Why don't you at least do something extreme, something no one else will do. You can eat the least, run the farthest, be the thinnest. At least you'll be exceptional at something!"
Mantras like this marched through my head every night. Tallies of calories consumed and rattled through my thoughts every waking hour. My mind became less and less my own.
The feeling was bittersweet. There was a high from achieving what I had set out to do: be the best at something. But I had a sense of ever deepening depression; my family and friends rallied around me not with praise but with concern and frustration. As my mind sank in starvation, I grew more and more hopeless.
For myself and I believe many others, depression must be treated as what it is: both a cause and an effect. At wits' end, my parents enrolled me in an inpatient program for eating disorders. I received counseling for my anorexic behaviors and for my depression, as well as medication for a chemical imbalance.
Slowly, and often, against my will, I began to gain weight. Treating that symptom, allowed my mind to grasp the truths that the counselors were teaching me. Joy grew in proportion to my physical health.
However, simply treating the outcome of my depression (anorexia) wasn't enough. Twice, I left the program too early and slipped quickly back into old thoughts and habits. When I finally continued receiving counseling past the minimum of physical health, I addressed the issues of perfectionism, compulsion and fear that had fueled my depression and subsequent anorexia.
Today, I am almost surprised every morning when I wake up with enthusiasm and expectation for the day. I look in the mirror with a humble satisfaction in my body.
There are many disciplines which help me maintain my recovery. I read the Bible daily and spend a lot of time journaling and in prayer. I walk my dog and breathe deeply in both the sunshine and the rain. I spend time with people and focus on a few close friends instead of trying to please everyone. I have found that I actually enjoy being alone. I am happy with myself, and that it's OK.
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