“I feel… different. I feel like… myself again.” I wasn’t entirely sure what “different” meant, or even what I was trying to convey by saying “myself.” I just knew that it was true — something about my emotions had shifted, and it was a positive change.
“Yeah,” my friend responded with a knowing glance. “The spark is back in your eyes. I was genuinely concerned about you for a while there.”
That caught me off guard. “Concerned”? Why would they be concerned? I started reflecting on the past few weeks and months, trying to figure out what might have triggered my friend’s worry. Had I really been acting so out of character that it would cause someone to feel uneasy?
Looking back, I had indeed faced a lot in the last year. I had come out as queer and separated from my partner — a hefty load for anyone. But isn’t coming out supposed to feel liberating? Shouldn’t it provide a sense of freedom and authenticity? Living my truth should have been enough to ease the stress of divorce and the heartache of missing my kids, right? I had a charming little house, and no one I cared about had rejected me after my revelation. I even found a wonderful person who accepted me for who I truly am. All of that should have been a source of happiness, shouldn’t it?
Yet, I had to admit, I was sleeping more than usual, often yearning for an afternoon nap and struggling to shake off the drowsiness. But I always managed to get up. It wasn’t as if I was lying in bed all day sobbing into my pillow. I was getting things done, albeit at a slower pace than before. My productivity had undeniably taken a dive, and I often complained about how I felt busy without achieving much.
I also realized I had been experiencing a lot of anxiety, a tight feeling in my chest that lingered. But isn’t it normal to feel anxious during a divorce? Even in amicable separations, which mine was, divorce can be incredibly tough. I worried about my children, as any caring parent would. I also questioned my own ability to navigate this newfound independence. Was I strong enough?
That tightness in my chest had been my constant companion for months, sometimes feeling heavier, like a damp blanket draped over me. Little things would send me into tears. My eating habits had turned strange; I found myself reaching for bread instead of my usual healthy meals. My memory was slipping, especially short-term. I would take my kids to the skate park, watching them enjoy themselves while I felt a fuzzy disconnection. I knew I should feel joy in their happiness, but it felt as if I was waiting for a switch to flip inside me.
During that time, my primary feeling was that of waiting for something to change. I thought my low mood was just a response to stress, and I assumed it would pass once things settled down. It never occurred to me that I might be going through a genuine depressive episode. I had dealt with depression before coming out, but I didn’t think it was possible to feel this way afterward.
But that day with my friend, it dawned on me: I had indeed been experiencing a depressive episode. I wasn’t suicidal, nor was I crying constantly or refusing to leave my bed. But undeniably, I was depressed. The difference between how I felt that day — when my friend remarked on the light returning to my eyes — and the previous months of hazy apathy was stark.
I hadn’t felt particularly remarkable in that moment. I wasn’t euphoric; I was simply… myself. The contrast between that state and my previous apathy made me wonder if I had slipped into mania. I had been in such a disconnected place for so long that ordinary contentment felt almost overwhelming. But the reality was, I had started to feel better.
This improvement didn’t happen overnight. A few important things lined up, some intentional and others coincidental. My divorce was nearing its conclusion, and after an allergic reaction that seemed related to gluten, I eliminated wheat from my diet and incorporated more fruits and veggies. I visited a doctor to discuss my fatigue and “fuzzy brain,” and she encouraged me to exercise regularly, take my vitamins, and maintain a consistent sleep schedule. She also ordered blood tests to rule out any physiological issues.
By the time I returned to discuss my lab results a few weeks later, the changes I had implemented made a significant impact. That’s when I had the conversation with my friend about feeling like myself again. Although my lab results were normal, I believe my brain chemistry had been off during those gloomy months. I was fortunate that the lifestyle changes I could manage were sufficient to help me feel better.
If you find yourself in a similar situation, feeling like you’re just waiting for a switch to flip — know that you don’t have to be bedridden or contemplating self-harm to seek help. I went to my doctor because I believed something was physically wrong with me. It wasn’t until I emerged from that dark period that I recognized the signs of depression. If my adjustments in nutrition, exercise, and sleep hadn’t worked, I would have considered medication, and that would have been perfectly acceptable.
Remember, you don’t have to “hit rock bottom” before asking for help. Don’t wait for that switch to flip. Reach out to a friend, contact a doctor, and seek support. You deserve to feel like yourself.
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Summary
The author reflects on their unexpected depressive episode following significant life changes, including coming out as queer and going through a divorce. Initially unaware of their mental health struggles, they realized the difference in their emotional state only after feeling better. Through intentional lifestyle changes and seeking medical advice, they were able to improve their mental health. The piece encourages others to seek help and not wait for a crisis to take action.