Introduction
I’ve heard the word ‘Depression’ being thrown around so much, but I don’t think people using it casually have ever laid on the bed wondering what might happen if they pee themselves because they have no energy in them to move. Depression knocked on my door when I least expected it—I never saw it coming. No warning, just the sudden, crushing impact. This is my version of understanding it, struggling with it, and learning from it.
Early Struggles: The Weight of Childhood
I’ve had a pretty bumpy life. Things at home weren’t easy. It wears you down when you see your only parent hustling to make ends meet—all while people around you constantly tell you you’re not good enough. My mother, believing she wasn’t doing enough, often let others decide what was best for me. That meant constantly being nudged around and nagged at. I was punished for low grades, locked in rooms for having boyfriends, and threatened to be sent to juvenile jail if I didn’t “fix” myself. I was beaten so often as a child that fear stopped existing for me; numbness turned into rebellion, and I believed I was bulletproof. Little did I know, everything I had buried would eventually rise to the surface. Like magma beneath the earth, what’s buried eventually breaks through. I was certain I was made of steel when I didn’t fall apart after so many not-great things happened to me, but we're human. We all break, eventually. My self-worth was decided early on. When I didn’t score well, I was told I’d end up being a maid. Failing a few subjects brought threats of marriage at 13. People around me didn’t miss a chance to knock me down—they kept kicking until I went still. Imagine people showing up on result day to tell you how doomed your future is because you failed Chemistry. I felt defenceless at fourteen after hearing things I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. I was treated like a puppet, pulled in every direction, never allowed to be just me.
Understanding Depression: Realisation & Impact
I thought being depressed would just be a phase, like sadness, anger, excitement, or joy. Just a longer stretch of feeling low. But it was so much more than that. It began as a small, quiet thought: What if I just ended it all? I tried to brush it off. For a while, it stayed away. But then it came back- louder, stronger, and harder to ignore. Depression for me was something I thought I was incapable of feeling. Numb. Helpless. Terrified. My hands trembled, and my legs wouldn’t stop shaking. I had palpitations and clenched my teeth uncontrollably. It wasn’t emotional anymore. It became physical.
Suddenly, I didn’t know how to live, only how to survive with it, like learning life again after losing a limb. Things I once did without thinking became strange, unfamiliar. No one prepares you for this. I remember praying to God every single day to just take me. I had no energy in me to live. And just like that, the world had lost its colour. I carried so much shame, for simply being human. I may never fully recover from that, but I’ve learned how to live with it.
Comfort, I learned, can be a hidden trap in depression. What no one tells you is that sometimes you get used to the darkness, it wraps around you like a familiar blanket, warm in its own twisted way. The pain becomes so constant that staying numb feels safer than risking the vulnerability of growth. True healing was terrifying; hope meant risking another fall I wasn’t sure I’d survive.
The Invisible Pain of Panic and Numbness
You are never taught how to live with these feelings and still move through life like everything is normal. It’s heartbreaking how easily people notice a physical injury, yet overlook this. No one sees what it takes for someone to get up, smile, and go about life like they’re fine. I kept questioning myself. I had zero belief in myself. I blamed myself for everything that went wrong, doubting my own pain became second nature. I felt angry at myself for struggling with basics, knowing others who had it worse yet managed better.
In hindsight, this is exactly why we need to take mental health seriously. It’s okay to feel this way. And it is never our fault for feeling this way. Panic attacks became my new normal. On good days there were two; bad days saw more than five. Looking back, I realise how scary it is to collapse on the floor, shivering, and clenching my jaw for minutes on end. Depression is deeply personal and looks different for everyone. For me, it meant losing all will—to eat, sleep, get better, or even live. Not even the will to enjoy my favourite dessert. That’s how far gone I was
It felt like my happy thoughts were being held hostage. Every night, I hoped not to wake up. Every morning, I hated myself for still being there. And then came the shame, for not being able to end it, and shame for still wanting help. The only time I felt anything was when I wrote goodbye letters or imagined how peaceful it might be to just disappear. Most days, I was numb. Other days, everything hit at once. I still don’t know which was worse.
The Turning Point: Acceptance and Therapy
Coming to terms with the fact that I needed help to feel like myself again was hard. I was firmly against taking medication. I even begged my doctor not to prescribe any. In my head, meds were for people who had completely lost control. But when things got dark, I had no choice. Accepting I needed meds to survive broke something in me, yet slowly it began to heal. Maybe I wasn’t broken, just scared of life. Like crutches for broken limbs, medicines and therapy became the support I needed until I could walk on my own again. I remember when my friend dragged me, quite literally, to therapy. I was terrified; it felt like there would be nowhere left to hide. I felt nothing can change how I feel. Fortunately, I was wrong.
Therapy was one of the biggest pieces that helped me out of that pit—one of the best decisions I ever made. I used to want to escape all the time—sometimes by sleeping, sometimes by wishing I did not exist at all. But in therapy, I started to feel again. Anxious, angry, sad, even happy. I’d walk out with something new to reflect on, about myself, my patterns, my relationships. The shift in perspective changed everything. I loved how my therapist questioned me. Why did you feel that way? What hurt you so much? Are you sure you’re right to blame them? Where did you go wrong? Gradually, I realised self-talk was non-negotiable. In the chaos, it became my anchor, making things less difficult, reminding me this was a bump in the road, not the end.
Living with Depression: Juggling between Growth, Guilt and Fear
There is a huge amount of guilt that comes with it- guilt over the cost of treatment, guilt for worrying your loved ones, guilt for feeling unbearably low even when people try to lift you up, and guilt for hurting them anyway. And guilt rarely comes alone. It brought fear, of being labelled unstable, of hurting someone during a panic attack, of my scars, of losing loved ones, even of living another day.
Some of those fears have faded. Some still linger. But now, I hold them, most of the time, in my hands, instead of letting them hold me. I don’t think I’ve mastered how to deal with depression. Maybe none of us really ever do. It’s a way of life now. Part of it lives inside me. The other part can be scary at times. I take things as they come. Of course, I talk about the good things it taught me. Not because it had to teach me something. But because depression does that, it forces growth. You rarely leave it without learning something. But would I prefer some other way of learning? Absolutely.
There are so many relationships that are either made or broken when depression is sitting quietly in the corner. But how you treat yourself sets the tone for life. I had such a weak relationship with myself. I always felt like a burden, and my self-hate was so strong that it spoilt my relationships. We’re sometimes taught not to respect ourselves. Being kind to yourself, standing up for yourself, can be so gratifying. You stop apologising for existing, and that changes everything.
That’s what I learnt, the journey to self-compassion isn’t about becoming perfect. It’s about accepting your flaws and telling yourself, ‘You’re enough.’
The Strength of Sharing
Sometimes fighting alone feels like the easier option. Silence can be safer than the burden of trying to explain something others might never understand. I get it- sharing is hard. It takes energy, and not everyone will see or hold your pain the way you need. I confided in my mother, who fought her own silent battle with depression, I thought she’d judge me as mine was too loud to hide. I underestimated how understanding she was. I made it because of my friends. And as hard as it was, letting people carry the weight, even if it didn’t make the pain disappear, it made it bearable. And realising we need help carrying this weight is half the problem solved. Things people suggested, dance class, walks, yoga, weren’t what saved me. My friends did, my mother did. They pulled me back when I couldn’t have done it alone. Fighting a battle this hard can’t be done in isolation. Healing starts when we let someone share the load.
Conclusion
Even now, recovery isn’t a straight path, some days are bright, others unexpected setbacks, but every small win counts. I learned that progress can be quiet and slow, and that healing includes falling. Surviving isn’t easy, some days giving up whispers louder than hope, but you keep going. Stop letting others dictate your feelings; lean on the right people, stay grateful for the small things, and treat judgment as nothing but noise.. After all, I am like bamboo, I can bend but I won’t break. I’ve been at the darkest part of the tunnel and still held on for the light at the end. I stood at the edge and almost let go.
Between letting go and fighting on, I chose trying. I chose uncertainty. I chose the hope of another day. That was the hardest choice, and the bravest one I ever made.
