It was over a decade ago.

It started with me not being able to finish a page in a book. I love books. I love them so much that when I start reading them, I cannot stop. Still, I noticed that I couldn’t get past one page.

Eventually, I couldn’t even finish reading a sentence. I would repeatedly attempt to read a sentence and still not get what it said.

Then I tried cross-stitching, and I couldn’t even finish an inch-square of stitches.

I tried something else—watching comedies. I couldn’t feel anything. I wasn’t laughing, or smiling, nor was I even irritated by corny jokes. (I usually would be.)

I soon felt frustrated and started crying.

For weeks, all I did was cry. People kept asking me why I was crying, but I couldn’t answer. I even asked myself so many times why, and I still couldn’t find the answer.

I wailed whenever I heard people talking, dogs barking, or vehicles passing by; I would even cry when I heard utensils being placed on the table.

Tears would rush down when people came near me to attempt to talk to me, and the same would happen when no one visited me in my room. Yes, I didn’t want to leave my room.

I had all the mirrors in my room removed. I didn’t like looking at myself. I didn’t even realize that I had turned skin and bone already.

The lights also made me cry, so I never wanted the lights on. I also had a thick curtain covering my windows to keep the daylight out.

I couldn’t eat. I would try a spoonful, but I would vomit. I craved food—fruits, burgers, pizza, even steak! Still, when my parents would buy me any food that I wanted, I could only stare at it.

I would just be lying down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, and crying.

I wanted to see my kids, but when they came to my room, I cried.

The crying was so painful. I felt pain in my chest, my eyes, and my throat.

I felt so sad and alone, even when I lived in a home with an extended family.

Finally found the name for it

Of course, I’ve heard about depression, but I know nothing more. It never even occurred to me that I would develop one.

Then my brother came. Perhaps he was the only one I welcomed. For days, he taught me to meditate even when lying down. It was hard to focus on it.

I think, without my noticing it then, my brother was already gradually introducing the idea of depression and that I needed help. It was just weird because when he finally asked if I wanted to see a doctor, I actually felt relieved. I instantly said yes, of course, while crying.

My brother soon accompanied me to a psychiatrist, who simply talked to me. She asked me what I was feeling, and surprisingly, I was answering her. I never answered anyone. With her, words just came out of my mouth in between sniffs. Yes, I was crying again!

I remember speaking sadly, then angrily. I remember my emotions shifting ever so quickly.

After I was done talking and left her tissue box empty, she softly explained that what I am feeling has a name—depression. Yes, I remember her saying she suspects it’s depression.

After a lengthy explanation, which I’m no longer going to tell you because it’s going to be boring, she called in my mom and my brother. She also explained my condition to them.

I remember my mom crying, forcing my doctor to tell her why I felt so sad, and if she did something wrong. I remember my doctor explaining that it was not her and that there was really no reason for the sadness; it was a chemical imbalance in the brain.  My mom did not accept that, but she calmed down when my brother started talking.

Long story short, I was booked for a series of psychotherapy sessions. Yes, I was given medication too.

Being aware of my emotions

Back then, I could not believe what was happening to me. I felt so frustrated that I couldn’t explain how I felt then.

Eventually, after finding someone I felt comfortable talking to, I started discovering things that comforted me. Food Channel, Korean Drama, and my kids bragging about their day

When depression first hit me, or at least, when I started being aware of the deep sadness I felt, I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t even have the energy to try to figure out what it was.

All I knew back then was that I was lonely. I knew it was a different kind of loneliness, but who would have thought it was depression? At least one in my family (oh yeah, except for my brother, since he’s a doctor).

I thought it was just plain sadness. Everyone feels sad, so there’s nothing to fuss about, but it worsened as every day passed. The loneliness felt like an abyss from which I couldn’t get out. That’s when I realized it was no ordinary sadness.

Now, I am aware of my emotions. Whenever I start feeling sad, I don’t try to find a reason for it. I go straight to doing what makes me happy: calling my kids and hoping they notice me (kids are always busy) or watching K-dramas to keep my mental health stable.

Each time I look back to a decade ago, I feel how people around me were probably exasperated with my seemingly never-ending wailing.  I always feel like I need to make it up to them for being so patient with me.

One important thing I learned is that when loneliness hits, it’s not necessarily depression. Still, it is best to be aware of that emotion. By that, I mean, try observing it. If it doesn’t go away quickly, if it deepens and starts to really hurt, you might need help—professional help.

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