Depression Tried to Break Me, But I’m Stronger Than It

The Day I Decided to Fight Back

The Loss of a Pillar

Five years ago, it was the sun’s turn to set, and along with it, everything that mattered to us, including the man who was our rock.

The disease, which had been merciless at the expense of my father, won the battle over his indomitable strength and silent love.

He left us with a huge void that rang in our chests the same way an unimaginable future would if it were to happen to us.

We were four as a family, a tight group where the music of laughter went round and round and responsibilities were taken on with no questions asked.

I could hear his voice in my head, but it was not the same as before, for the melody had become a sorrowful tune. My sister who is my elder by four years became the focal point of the family.

Her youthful spirit had to grow up in a wink. I, the youngest one, was the one that struggled with a grief so deep and so heavy that it wanted to drown me.

The burden of the duty made me feel drowned in a cloak of air that was not enough to breathe. For all his life, my father had been the breadwinner and his work ethic had been the subject of legends.

The three of us were the only siblings in the house, no brothers, and this was a fact that pressed on me every time I saw a bill unpaid and my mother’s worried look.

Sacrifices and Shame: The Price of Loss

College, a thing I have dreamt about since I was young, all of a sudden felt as though it was a joke played on me.

How could I even think of continuing with my education when my daily life comprised of struggling to put food on the table?

Every class skipped, every assignment that remained unfinished, all of them were like a chisel that was taking my shaky spirit away.

The much cherished campus, a place of endless learning, degenerated into a never-ending reproach of my incompetencies.

Shame has become a constant companion of mine, it talks in my ear all the time how I’m not good enough, not strong enough.

Time was so relentless that days blended into weeks, and weeks into months. Every daybreak made me feel as though it was another punch in the face from a never-ending fight I was fighting.

Sadness, which was tho gigantic and dark as a shadow, would always accompany me. It sucked the color from the world, and what was left was a bleak place where hope no longer lived.

The things I used to adore, the friendships that were so critical, now they were of no interest to me. And the bright colors of the sunset, which in the past would have captured my glance with awe, now appeared pale, as if they were reflecting the grayish dull ache in my heart.

The very place where I was supposed to find rest and recuperation, turned into a battleground. The nights were full of worry, no way to see through the blurry future, no exit to the storm. My childhood memories turned into a colorful kaleidoscope of splintered recollections — my dad’s kind smile, his arms around me, the sound of his laughter, a melody of happiness that will never be heard again.

She was my mother. A strong, straight-backed woman. But her eyes mirrored my own pain. She was my lifeline.

Without words we communicated with our silent understanding soothing our sorrowed hearts.

Her silence became a symbol of her strength, her unbreakable presence was my courage and I held on to it with all my might. Although my sister, who was never ready for that role, had to bear her own burden and protect me from the severest realities of life, she never complained.

She was the one who was fiercely in love, a current that we could not see, but it was an invisible thread that kept our family from falling apart.

Finding Strength in Unexpected Places

The turning point, like a ray of sunshine penetrating through a thick cloud, showed up much to my surprise. I was lucky to find a half-time job at the nearby bakery, the position was given to me by a kind neighbor.

This became my salvation. The ode of freshly baked bread, the beautiful music of kneading dough, friendship with my fellow workers, and all that contributed to a gradual shift that crushed the darkness.

A little money, I know, but I was proud that I was able to contribute and that I wasn’t a burden.

It wasn’t easy.

The exhaustion was always there, and the guilt for not having studied consistently was nagging me. However, the flame of hope which was tossed out of the window, was slowly picking up.

The Healing Power of Tears

The darkness still linger in the periphery but the light at the center keep on spreading wider.

And there were fails, days when I couldn’t find a way out, and the weight of grief stared me in the face. However, the shipwrecks in my emotions were the hardest things I had to learn to steer across.

Therapy, a lifesaver thrown by an understanding relative, became a sanctuary where I discarded the armor I had created and dove into the agonizing core.

At last the tears which had been kept hidden for a long time could not be held back, and the flood which came was a cleansing one that took some of the burden away.

Now as my present, my road is neither completed nor finished.

The Survival

Just like the scars of that last fight with depression, the darkness I went through remind me vividly about that experience.

At last, we see the sun again.

My degree which I earned through hard work and steadfastness not only adorns the wall but also shows my ability to withstand the challenges I encountered.

The financial struggles are still there but with each pay check we move closer to the future where we can slowly breathe without the fear of worry suffocating us.

This isn’t just my story; it’s a testament to the resilience of the human spirit.

It’s a story of loss, of unimaginable grief, but also of love, unwavering support, and the profound healing power of hope.

It’s a story whispered by countless others who have walked a similar path, a testament to the strength we find within ourselves and in the arms of those who love us.