My freshman year of college, I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder. Because I was a fool1 who was afraid of her own shadow, I decided to instead refer to each depressive episode as a battle fought in The Great Bug War.
I imagined two armies of ants, perpetually in conflict with each other. It made the whole thing less personal; it wasn't really about me, I just happened to be the battleground. You’re usually supposed to do something about mental illness, so, mainly to make sure my mom had one less thing to worry about, I started scheduling bug appointments (seeing a therapist). When things would get better, I’d tell my friend Jackson that the bugs had declared armistice.
Today, I’m here to deliver breaking news from the front that the bugs have violated their peace treaty once more. I’m fine, to be clear, but I can finally confirm that this is a chemical issue, not a situational one, because I (inconveniently) am having the absolute time of my life abroad. So, Mom, if it was bad, I’d tell you. Please don't worry. I’m just writing this in case somebody trying to go abroad is worried about how their bugs will fare in a new hemisphere.
My overall thesis is: You will still be mentally ill. It will be okay.
Take your Prozac and take your time. Squeeze somebody’s hand and let them refuse your apologies for breaking open like you always do. What’s lovely about a depressive episode is that it removes comfort from every situation—it wouldn’t be all that different if I was back at home with the people who have always been in my life. In fact, it might be a little better being away from the familiar things that are supposed to help, because in the end, they rarely do. It’s as lonely as it always is, and getting out of bed is just as hard as it is back home. If you’re anything like me, you’ve never really let go of the idea that this is something you can just outgrow or outrun or, better yet, vanquish. It’s a lovely story: plucky underdog defeats intangible force of evil, returns home with elixir, greeted by parade of loved ones, celebrated as the master of both worlds. But this isn’t the hero’s journey. It’s spring semester. So, if you don’t have the energy to move when you wake up, try watching this from bed.
Or if you don't have the energy to watch that either, here's the reason I share it. After plotting several stories on a X-Y grid, "X" representing time and "Y" representing a spectrum of good to bad fortune , Kurt Vonnegut attempts the same with Hamlet, and is unable to draw anything coherent. He says: “I have in fact told you why this is respected as a masterpiece. We are so seldom told the truth. In Hamlet, Shakespeare tells us we don’t know enough about life to know what the good news is and what the bad news is, and we respond to that. Thank you, Bill.” There is no objective good or bad in this world, there just is. Joan Didion says that "we tell stories in order to live." What if we made that story a more honest one? And in making it an honest story, what if it became a masterpiece?
The truth is that, thanks to The Great Bug War, I’ve lost a lot of days. I’m sure I’ll lose many more. So, on the days I do have, I live as loudly as I can. I encourage you to do the same. Loudly, slowly, foolishly. Don’t take yourself too seriously. The bugs will do that for you. Ask for help, even when it feels like torture. As the great Instagram philosopher Aleah Black recently wrote: “...embarrassment is not an excuse to hide. It is an invitation to be clear about who you trust.” I am nothing but a collection of all the people who have ever loved me. It’s a real gift to feel that collection growing here, even when I feel my insides are spilling out of me. You may think you’re big and strong for pretending to be okay all the time, but I promise: letting yourself be loved is much braver.
1 I am still a fool. I mean that with love. Deciding to be a jester is one of the best things I’ve ever done. It’s just that my shadow and I have made amends. She’s a fool too, I think.
Anya Jiménez
Anya Jiménez is a Screenwriting major with a minor in Environmental Studies. She got scuba certified before learning how to drive, but as a New Yorker, she never thought she’d need a license. Anya was wrong and pays for this act of hubris daily.
