A Light in the Darkness Living with mental illness isn’t easy, but progress is possible. By Alexsenia Ralat At the beginning of my sophomore year of college, I realized I had changed. I ate less and retreated to my bed more often, and a cloud generally lingered over my head. I couldn’t find happiness. I saw it in fleeting moments when I spent time with friends or watched my favorite television shows, and its ghost loitered in the air after a particularly good day. But it wasn’t tangible—it was a ghost, after all. I couldn’t grasp it or make it stay. I noticed my depression late in the game. My circumstances had already been moving downhill steadily, and the situation was finally reaching a climax even though I didn’t know I was heading toward destruction. I realized a difference long after my friends did. They asked 16
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questions and pushed me to seek help when I didn’t see a need for it. I thought my problem involved laziness rather than depression. After many serious conversations with friends, I finally caved. Booking my first appointment with a therapist represented my first step toward rediscovering my identity and learning how to live with mental illness. I can’t recollect most of those early sessions. We talked about my problems, my therapist offered suggestions, and I returned home. At the time, it seemed unproductive. I grew impatient and skipped sessions. I now realize that missing appointments was one of my biggest mistakes because I fell deeper into depression. I switched therapists,
and I liked the new one better than the last. I began to see improvement. We talked, I gained more knowledge, and a mental health professional officially diagnosed me with major depression and chronic anxiety. By this time, I had been receiving prescribed medications for a while, but I wasn’t taking them regularly, so they couldn’t do their job effectively. I stopped using them during the summer before my junior year because I didn’t have money for appointments and medications. In the fall semester of my junior year, I started taking medication again. After starting my medication on a Wednesday, I was admitted to the hospital on Friday because of an accidental overdose. I was prescribed too much medicine.
