Almost every day was a battle. I dragged myself no matter what I did and I couldn't shake the feeling of not being good enough. I didn't know at the time that depression is a real illness and needs to be treated just like a broken leg. How could I have a mental illness? I must just be lazy and unmotivated. I made myself push harder and harder and kept sinking into the black. It seemed I had no interests, pep, or love for life. My memory was shot and I would go days without sleep or speaking to anyone. My mind was a minefield of dangerous thoughts and that's where I spent most of my time. With the frightening ideas swarming my mind.
As I got older, my depression grew even more dense. I couldn't hold a job. I was sleeping for upwards of 18 hours a day, and when people did see me they were looking at merely the body of Yannie. I had no spirit. Finally, when I was eighteen years-old I met Michael and it seemed that for a while my depression had subsided. At least a little. I was going on dates with this amazing man and was able to talk to him for hours. We became married and I turned into a monster. I forced this dear man to conform to my ideas of how life had to be, even down to how he hung up his clothes. I then became pregnant with my gorgeous daughter and became an even worse monster. (Yay hormones!)
When Emily was born, I had postpartum depression before we left the hospital. Taking care of a new child, cleaning, and being a wife was too much for me. I would often make Michael do more than his fair share simply because I couldn't do much. I felt like I was a horrible person and Michael would have been better marrying someone else, although I didn't do anything about those feelings until May of 2012.
May of 2012. I had officially been diagnosed with depression for eight years. I knew I had depression and I told people that I was doing the best I could. (NOT!) I kept feeling worse and kept thinking that my daughter and husband would be better without me. I acted on these thoughts on the 20th of that month by attempting suicide by overdosing. I texted Michael's father and told him what I had done and both Michael and Carl found me and had an ambulance take me to the hospital. I didn't stay at the hospital. I came home and still didn't do anything for my depression. I think, at least a small part of me didn't want to get better. I liked the attention. Carl spent many hours the next couple weeks talking with me and at one point he told me that I was trying to do to my daughter what my father had done to me- leave them wondering what they did wrong, what they could have done better, blaming themselves for me leaving. That hit me. I swore that would be the very last suicide attempt I would ever have.
At the beginning of this year, I started slipping down that slope again and by April I agreed to be admitted to Provo Canyon Behavioral Hospital for a week. It was really hard for me to be away from my family so long, but it was good at the same time. I finally had become serious about getting healthy. I learned a lot while I was admitted and was able to start some medications that have been helping and I have been able to not abuse them. When it was time to be released I started feeling anxiety. I wanted, desperately, to go home but I was unsure of how I would handle myself. That is when it hit me that I needed to be serious about my recovery and had to take an active part in it. Nobody else can make me well and the medications are just tools to use for a good starting point.
When I came home it would have been easy for me to stop taking the medications and to let depression take over again, but I couldn't. I saw the love a lot of people have for me and decided to not give in. I did a Google search for depression groups that I could attend in Utah County, and I found several. I started attending these groups and found one that really hit home for me. Recovery International. This a group that studies the teachings of Dr. Abraham A. Low and teaches you how to apply his method to your life. Right away, I noticed a drastic difference in my behavior and attitude. I don't complain, I don't give in to my temper nearly as frequently, I'm able to shake off disturbances, even major ones, quickly, and many more. Michael, and others, have commented how great it is to have Yannie back. My interests are returning and I am feeling quite passionate about things again. (Including Recovery International. Seriously, you should check them out!)
Right now I am focusing on getting healthy and being a wife and mom, and you know what? I'm on a good path with that right now. I know that the maintenance of health is a life-long task and sometimes I'll want to quit putting the effort in, but I won't. I don't like having the symptoms of depression and the tears it places in my family. I will continue fighting for my health and will continue to explore myself. I am genuinely excited to be returning to school in the Spring of 2016. I am hoping to become a psychologist specializing in working with rape victims. It will be hard but I feel that with my experiences with not only rape, but with my own mental illness as well, that I will do a lot of good in this field. I am a capable lot and am able to do a lot of good in my life and help my family do well in theirs.
I have depression but I am not depressed. It is not who I am. My illness does not define me.
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