Post by Toph on Aug 13, 2014 21:23:03 GMT
I've had serious issues with deep depression for a long time now. Normally alone.
I don't know about there, but here there's a pretty severe culture against depression. You get shamed into feeling you should suck it up.
But I've seen something rather wonderful though coming from Robin's death. People are now starting to really push against this culture, and hoping to add to that, i decided to share my story. I'm hoping that maybe we can finally break this culture.
So I made this post on my tumblr:
crazyjetty.tumblr.com/post/94654973234/robin-williams-and-depression
(It's easier to read in the link. The copy/paste for some reason turned it into one big block of text)
I don't know about there, but here there's a pretty severe culture against depression. You get shamed into feeling you should suck it up.
But I've seen something rather wonderful though coming from Robin's death. People are now starting to really push against this culture, and hoping to add to that, i decided to share my story. I'm hoping that maybe we can finally break this culture.
So I made this post on my tumblr:
crazyjetty.tumblr.com/post/94654973234/robin-williams-and-depression
(It's easier to read in the link. The copy/paste for some reason turned it into one big block of text)
I suffer from severe depression, and/or bipolar disorder. Please note that I have not been diagnosed with either, as I am unemployed and cannot afford to seek any sort of treatment.
I also live in Texas, which means financial help is extremely difficult to acquire, if it’s available to me at all.
I have been in a severe state of depression for over a decade, now. But it finally reached it’s head a few months ago, when while trying to draw a piece of a favored original character of mine, I screwed up. This is the story of when I hit what I feel was rock bottom for me. Drawing this character, for reasons unknown to me has continuously eluded me for close to twenty years now, and I only successfully did so in 1997. A few months ago in yet another of the endless attempts to update her, I was FINALLY making headway, and managed to capture her. Save for one minor anatomical mistake on her shoulder. As I attempted to fix this, more and more started to look off, forcing more corrections to other parts, until I had ended up erasing over sixty percent of the piece. I was then unable to redraw what I had destroyed. I hit rock bottom. I could not handle anything anymore. This was what finally broke the camel’s back. My inability to find a new job. My ailing mother. My extreme financial insecurity. Pressure from my father. Being completely useless and worthless. Boredom. Sick of sitting at home day in and day out, completely isolated from everyone, and not having a single person in the entire world that I can talk to about anything. My mother is too sick, and just needs me to be there for her. I can’t talk to my father because he is very incapable of empathizing with things he has not experienced himself. My sister never could handle being someone to just listen, and if I ever act anything less than peppy and happy, I end up being given the silent treatment, until I apologize. My brother has issues of his own that are significantly worse than mine.
When I failed that drawing, which is one of the only things I’m even remotely good at, I fully crashed. To be honest, literally the only reason I’m still alive is my mother needs me too much.
But the absurdity of a drawing, even in my state I recognized that, I realized I can’t continue like this. I was suffering from a UTI at the time, and on my next trip to the doctor, I asked him for an antidepressant (which he gave me). Since then, it’s helped me get to an emotionally stable state (though I’m far from “fixed.”).
Depression and Bipolar Disorder are medical diseases. They are every bit as valid as a broken bone, or the flu. Millions of people suffer through this in silence. Because they can’t afford treatment. Because they can’t find someone who will just listen, and let them have a shoulder to cry into. Because they are shamed. Because others will look down on them. Because reasons.
Robin Williams was an amazing man. He was a kind and wonderful man who gave himself to the world, and it seems all he ever asked for in return was to see the world smile. I am sharing the story of my depression, and how I am struggling to turn it around, because Robin can’t share his. I’ve noticed the last couple days the culture is beginning to shift. People pleading for others to seek help. Let’s make that help available. Let’s turn this culture that is hostile towards depression and bipolar disorder around. Let’s make medical and psychiatric treatment for these illnesses as accessible and acceptable as it is for the cold. Let’s change this culture. Let this be Robin’s final gift to us.
I have been in a severe state of depression for over a decade, now. But it finally reached it’s head a few months ago, when while trying to draw a piece of a favored original character of mine, I screwed up. This is the story of when I hit what I feel was rock bottom for me. Drawing this character, for reasons unknown to me has continuously eluded me for close to twenty years now, and I only successfully did so in 1997. A few months ago in yet another of the endless attempts to update her, I was FINALLY making headway, and managed to capture her. Save for one minor anatomical mistake on her shoulder. As I attempted to fix this, more and more started to look off, forcing more corrections to other parts, until I had ended up erasing over sixty percent of the piece. I was then unable to redraw what I had destroyed. I hit rock bottom. I could not handle anything anymore. This was what finally broke the camel’s back. My inability to find a new job. My ailing mother. My extreme financial insecurity. Pressure from my father. Being completely useless and worthless. Boredom. Sick of sitting at home day in and day out, completely isolated from everyone, and not having a single person in the entire world that I can talk to about anything. My mother is too sick, and just needs me to be there for her. I can’t talk to my father because he is very incapable of empathizing with things he has not experienced himself. My sister never could handle being someone to just listen, and if I ever act anything less than peppy and happy, I end up being given the silent treatment, until I apologize. My brother has issues of his own that are significantly worse than mine.
When I failed that drawing, which is one of the only things I’m even remotely good at, I fully crashed. To be honest, literally the only reason I’m still alive is my mother needs me too much.
But the absurdity of a drawing, even in my state I recognized that, I realized I can’t continue like this. I was suffering from a UTI at the time, and on my next trip to the doctor, I asked him for an antidepressant (which he gave me). Since then, it’s helped me get to an emotionally stable state (though I’m far from “fixed.”).
Depression and Bipolar Disorder are medical diseases. They are every bit as valid as a broken bone, or the flu. Millions of people suffer through this in silence. Because they can’t afford treatment. Because they can’t find someone who will just listen, and let them have a shoulder to cry into. Because they are shamed. Because others will look down on them. Because reasons.
Robin Williams was an amazing man. He was a kind and wonderful man who gave himself to the world, and it seems all he ever asked for in return was to see the world smile. I am sharing the story of my depression, and how I am struggling to turn it around, because Robin can’t share his. I’ve noticed the last couple days the culture is beginning to shift. People pleading for others to seek help. Let’s make that help available. Let’s turn this culture that is hostile towards depression and bipolar disorder around. Let’s make medical and psychiatric treatment for these illnesses as accessible and acceptable as it is for the cold. Let’s change this culture. Let this be Robin’s final gift to us.
