There was a time where depression was so intertwined with my life that I considered it my identity. I was afraid to lose it, because how then would I define myself? As the young and growing are prone to do I wanted to find something that made me stand out. I did not know who I was without depression; I could not see me without it.
I lived in a world where depression was who I was, that I did not feel as if I could change it. Part of growing up is trying to figure out who you are, finding your identity. I decided that I was the depressed mentally ill kid. I envied the crowd, the people with friends to invite to party. The kids that got to go home together after school. This envy often turned to hate. I hated them for their friends; I hated them for having it so easy. I tried to imaging myself without mental illness, without depression, but I couldn’t recognize myself without it. I was scared of changing into this person, and hated the idea of him.
As I grow older I understood the childish nature I showed in myself back then. Suffering from mental illness was not unique; it did not make me stand out in a crowd. The slow change of time showed me that I am still me, crying myself to sleep, wanting to die, that was not who I was. You can’t become someone else, you are you no matter how much time has passed, no matter you current mental health. My Depression still lives on, I soon discovered there is not real cure for it, but I know how to live with it now and it does not define me.