Candy Barzola Candy is a student at NCTC in Texas and is studying business management. She is a Social Media Director and Staff Writer at TFP.
It was around 10pm on a cold night on February of 2016 when my mom started to realize something was off about me. I knew for 2 years that I was struggling with some sort of mental issues, but I didn’t want to believe it. “Sad” wasn’t the right word to describe it, but something more severe and constant than that. The next day, my mother made an appointment at the doctor’s so I could take a test for depression. I was shaking with nerves, already knowing what the results were going to be. The lady was nice and gave me a brief explanation of what the test was going to be over, gave me an ipad that already had the first question popped up, and walked out of the room to give me time. I answered the never-ending questions truthfully, and waited patiently for my doctor to tell me the results. When she came back, she sat down and carefully explained to me that I was diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. I know what I was expecting, but I didn’t think it would hit me that hard. The kind doctor proceeded by giving me cards on recommended therapists and physicians. Once I walked out the door, I told my mom everything, and she started to blame herself for it. None of this was her fault, and I told her that, but I know she feels like she let herself down for not knowing earlier. I hope she knows that this was all on me, not her, and I appreciate her for all the support she’s given me. As time passed by, I have been going to a physician who has prescribed me the right medication that thankfully has worked. Although I don’t believe there’s a “cure” for depression, I do believe that it’s possible to have it under control. My therapist has been the most loving and supportive woman, and I am grateful to have her in my life. She has huge hope for me in the future, and I couldn’t have possibly lived an easy year without her. It’s been almost a year since the news, but I have made such huge progress. Although all the panic attacks, the suicidal thoughts, the self harm, the stress, the episodes, and all the self doubt that I’ve been through, there is a fight to win. My mental illness does not define me. I am not ashamed of my mental illness because it has made me the strong woman that I am today. I know that hearing the words “it will get better” gets exhausting, but I believe it. My life has been getting better since I’ve started to manage my mental health, and I couldn’t thank the people who have helped me with this more. Take my advice, don’t reject those who are there to help you, because they are truly there for you to guide you into a happier life. I’m not cured, I don’t think I’ll ever be, but I am at a good point in my life. That’s the closest thing to content that I’ve ever had in years, and I’m grateful for still being alive today for it.