+
Sign up for
The Upworthiest
Our top stories of the day delivered straight to your inbox.
upworthy

the mighty

Health

30 things people don't realize you're doing because of your depression

Do any of these speak to you?


Most people imagine depression equals “really sad," and unless you've experienced depression yourself, you might not know it goes so much deeper than that. Depression expresses itself in many different ways, some more obvious than others. While some people have a hard time getting out of bed, others might get to work just fine — it's different for everyone.

To find out how depression shows itself in ways other people can't see, we asked The Mighty mental health community to share one thing people don't realize they're doing because they have depression.

Here's what they had to say:

1. “In social situations, some people don't realize I withdraw or don't speak much because of depression. Instead, they think I'm being rude or purposefully antisocial." — Laura B.

2. “I struggle to get out of bed, sometimes for hours. Then just the thought of taking a shower is exhausting. If I manage to do that, I am ready for a nap. People don't understand, but anxiety and depression is exhausting, much like an actual physical fight with a professional boxer." — Juli J.

3. “Agreeing to social plans but canceling last minute. Using an excuse but really you just chickened out. It makes you think your friends don't actually want to see you, they just feel bad. Obligation." — Brynne L.

4. “Hiding in my phone. Yes, I am addicted to it, but not like other people. I don't socialize, I play games or browse online stores to distract myself from my negative thoughts. It's my safe bubble." — Eveline L.

5. “Going to bed at 9 p.m. and sleeping throughout the night until 10 or 11 a.m." — Karissa D.

6. “Isolating myself, not living up to my potential at work due to lack of interest in anything, making self-deprecating jokes. I've said many times before, 'I laugh, so that I don't cry.' Unfortunately, it's all too true." — Kelly K.

man dealing with depressionman sitting on chair covering his eyesPhoto by christopher lemercier on Unsplash

7. “When I reach out when I'm depressed it's 'cause I am wanting to have someone to tell me I'm not alone. Not because I want attention." — Tina B.

8. “I don't like talking on the phone. I prefer to text. Less pressure there. Also being anti-social. Not because I don't like being around people, but because I'm pretty sure everyone can't stand me." — Meghan B.

9. “I overcompensate in my work environment… and I work front line at a Fitness Centre, so I feel the need to portray an 'extra happy, bubbly personality.' As soon as I walk out the doors at the end of the day, I feel myself 'fall.' It's exhausting… I am a professional at hiding it." — Lynda H.

10. “The excessive drinking. Most people assume I'm trying to be the 'life of the party' or just like drinking in general. I often get praised for it. But my issues are much deeper than that." — Teresa A.

11. “Hiding out in my room for hours at a time watching Netflix or Hulu to distract my mind or taking frequent trips to the bathroom or into another room at social gatherings because social situations sometimes get to me." — Kelci F.

12. “Saying I'm tired or don't feel good… they don't realize how much depression can affect you physically as well as emotionally." — Lauren G.

more at instagram @joshrh19

Photo by Joshua Rawson-Harris on Unsplash

13. “Answering slowly. It makes my brain run slower, and I can't think of the answers to the questions as quickly. Especially when someone is asking what I want to do — I don't really want anything. I isolate myself so I don't have to be forced into a situation where I have to respond because it's exhausting." — Erin W.

14. “Sometimes I'll forget to eat all day. I can feel my stomach growling but don't have the willpower to get up and make something to eat." — Kenzi I.

15. “I don't talk much in large groups of people, especially when I first meet them. I withdraw because of my anxiety and depression. People think I'm 'stuck up.' I'm actually scared out of my mind worrying they don't like me, or that they think I'm 'crazy' by just looking at me…" — Hanni W.

16. “Not keeping in touch with anyone, bad personal hygiene and extremely bad reactions to seemingly trivial things." — Jenny B.

17. “Being angry, mean or rude to people I love without realizing it in the moment. I realize my actions and words later and feel awful I had taken out my anger on people who don't deserve it." — Christie C.

18. “Purposely working on the holidays so I can avoid spending time with family. It's overwhelming to be around them and to talk about the future and life so I avoid it." — Aislinn G.

19. “My house is a huge mess." — Cynthia H.

20. “I volunteer for everything, from going to PTO meetings to babysitting to cleaning someone else's house for them. I surround myself with situations and obligations that force me to get out of bed and get out of the house because if I'm not needed, I won't be wanted." — Carleigh W.


This story was originally published on The Mighty and originally appeared here on 07.21.17

From Your Site Articles
More

What one mom wants to tell you when you ask if her daughter has autism.

This story was originally published on The Mighty.

I’ve seen the looks. I’ve heard the whispers. Nobody actually says it to my face, but I see them wonder. “Are you sure she has autism?”

People have a narrow view of autism. They seem to think they would be able to spot a child with autism a mile away. They envision a nonverbal child lining up his cars. They envision a child who can recite statistics about Mars.

But that isn’t the reality of my child. That isn’t the experience in my house.

My child will greet you. She will say hello and make eye contact. She can be quite social and has no trouble answering your question of, “How are you today?” with a response of “fine.”

But she may not be feeling “fine.” It takes effort to muster up that response. She would likely much rather be in her room with her headphones on and her heavy blankets.

When you are asking her how she is, her brain may be latching on to sounds, and it can take effort to quiet them in her head. The feeling of the seam on her sock may start to send an overwhelming sensation pulsing up her body, causing her skin to itch and tingle. The lights in the room may seem too bright, making her head pound. But while all of that is going on in her body, she manages to look you in the eye and muster the words “I’m fine.”

So how does she do it?

Autism in girls like my daughter can look quite different.

She has distinct instincts, so she learns to model and copy, but children with autism can have difficulty transferring information from one situation to another. She learns her friend Jane thinks it’s funny when she says a certain phrase, and she may expect everyone to think it’s funny. So when Suzy starts to get upset by the same thing, the world becomes a confusing place.

The strain and stress of holding it together can become a huge weight to bear. It can become too much to contain. It needs a release. It needs an outlet. This can be where aggressive, demanding, or oppositional behaviors come out — or at least that’s how it appears to the outside eye. The reality is that underneath is likely confusion and isolation and anxiety.

Autism is a spectrum. It is not a one-size-fits-all diagnosis.

While the spectrum includes some general traits, those traits do not present themselves the same way in all individuals. So people will wonder and whisper and question our diagnosis.

I won’t carry around my assessment papers to prove to the skeptics my daughter has autism. I shouldn’t have to.

There should be less judging and more acceptance. There should be less questioning.

So please don’t question if my daughter really has autism. Trust that she does. Trust that she is working hard to find her place in a world that can often be difficult to understand.

Family

What one woman with bipolar disorder wants you to know about taking medication.

This story was originally published on The Mighty.

I have Bipolar 1, the most severe form of bipolar. I was diagnosed almost 10 years ago. It took me about three years to get on the right meds.

Throughout those three years, I cycled through episodes of mania and depression. It resulted in three hospitalizations. Once I was on the right medication cocktail, I stabilized — at least, I became as stable as anyone with a severe mental illness can be. Despite the five medications I take for my mood disorder and anxiety, I still deal with symptoms.

I am a high-functioning person living with mental illness, but this doesn’t mean I’m totally asymptomatic.

One of the things I struggle with most is impulse control. I have horrible impulse control. When I want it, I want it now. I have such knee-jerk reactions, and I make decisions without thinking them through. I get so stuck on an idea that I just can’t put it to rest until I do something about it.

Illustration by Carlos Foglia/Upworthy.

A lot of people I’ve talked to with bipolar seem to experience the same thing, even if they are on a good medication regimen.

I stick to my routine. I take my meds every day. I get enough sleep. But still, my mood disorder is there, underneath the meds, the routine, and the sleep.

It took me a long time to realize that even though my bipolar is well-managed, it still affects me. I seemed to think for a while I was doing so well that I was “cured.” I know there is no cure for bipolar. It is a lifelong disorder, with episodes coming over the years. I am extremely fortunate to be as stable as I’ve been for the last six years. Many people with bipolar don’t get that lucky.

Most people with mental illness struggle for years, trying to get the right diagnosis or trying to get access to appropriate mental health care. They try medication after medication, and it doesn’t work or the side effects are so bad we can’t tolerate it.

One of the biggest problems with people diagnosed with bipolar disorder is they fall into the same trap I did: When they get on the right medication, they feel cured.

Illustration by Carlos Foglia/Upworthy.

They think it’s over; everything is better, so I can stop taking my medication. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

I applaud people who have learned to deal with mental illness in natural, holistic ways. However, for me, and for most other people with severe mental illness, we need medication. We need to keep taking our medication. I have accepted I will be on medication for the rest of my life for my mood disorder. Do I like it? No. Yet, I don’t like my heart medication, and I still take that.

There is such a stigma around taking medication for a mental illness.

Recently, Olympic gold medalist Simone Biles' medical records were hacked, revealing that she is taking ADHD medication. She has come out and been vocal about the issue, and she has brought attention to the fact there is no shame in taking medication for mental illness. It is the same as any other illness.

So why is it different when we need to take psychotropic medication? Why is that shameful? The short answer is: It’s not. It’s not shameful.

It’s not for everyone, but for people who need medication for a mental illness and choose pharmaceuticals as a treatment option, there is no shame. The shame comes from the stigma. The shame comes from ignorance, from people who don’t understand.

I stand loud and proud that I take medication for my mood disorder, and I have never gone off it. It allowed me to complete a bachelor’s degree and a master’s degree. Without it, I truly believe I would have died due to suicidal thoughts, which I was close to before getting on the right medication.

Mental illness is more prevalent than you think, and someone you know most likely lives with a mental illness.

Let’s take the stigma out of mental illness and medication.  Let’s continue the conversation around mental illness. Let’s get people the help they deserve. Whether it’s a veteran struggling with PTSD or an Olympic gold medalist with ADHD, we all deserve to live the best life possible, and sometimes that requires medication.

If medication  makes our quality of life better, then that should be the most important thing. If it means we can hold a job, have quality relationships, and function in society, then that’s what it takes. There’s no shame in that. It’s not a crutch. It’s a disease. We are not less because we take medication.

Illustration by Carlos Foglia/Upworthy.

We are people. We are humans. We happen to have a disease. We are resilient. It means we haven’t given up. So don’t give up on us.

Author’s note: I wanted to acknowledge that bipolar II or any of the bipolar spectrum disorders can be just as destructive, debilitating, and devastating as bipolar I. I was speaking more in a clinical sense, where on the spectrum of bipolar disorders in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, bipolar 1 is at the top as the most severe on the spectrum, then bipolar 2, cyclothymic, NOS.

From Your Site Articles
Family

This woman explains the frustration of having to prove her mental illnesses are real.

This story was originally published on The Mighty.

“Huh. Must be a women thing” was said with a dismissive shrug and a grin.  This was my supervisor’s response when I tried to explain how my brain works differently with its multiple anxiety disorders.

The problem was apparently not with my brain chemistry, but with my ovaries. Give me a fainting couch and some smelling salts because here comes the female hysteria.

It wasn’t the first or last time someone dismissed my disorders, though it was the first time someone attributed it to a gender problem.

I’ve been diagnosed with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), generalized anxiety disorder (GAD), and panic disorder. They first appeared in my life around the age of 4, and they have been my constant companions ever since.

Unfortunately, because my illnesses are mental, I’ve had to deal with people who think they aren’t real.

I’ve had more conversations than I want to defending the fact that disordered anxiety exists.

“But everybody gets anxious” is the most common refrain. It’s like telling someone with depression that you’ve “been sad, too.” Cell growth happens, and when cell growth becomes disordered, it’s cancer. Nobody argues against that because you can show it on an X-ray or MRI or point to a visible tumor. But there is a certain group of people who believe because they’ve never experienced mental illness and there are no medical tests for it that it couldn’t possibly be real. It’s made­-up, a cry for attention, or just plain weakness.

Image via iStock.

I used to get into long discussions with these people, trying to put them in my shoes and make them see how my brain works. I’ve described vividly the sensations of a panic attack or the deep need to unplug all of my appliances before going to bed because if I don’t an electrical fire will start in the walls and my house will collapse around me while I sleep (obviously). I would endure a painful back-and-forth that invariably ended with them refusing to accept anything other than what they had experienced themselves.

What makes me respond so fiercely to these people is the fact that I used to question the validity of my own experiences — not so much whether I had anxiety, but whether it “counted.”

Because my illness was not physical, I felt as if I didn’t have a right to claim illness or seek treatment or take care of myself. After all, I managed. I survived. I eked out successes in school and life.

But I fought tooth and nail to do so. I fought the obsessions that made me afraid to do anything and the anxiety that left me deeply depressed on more than one occasion. Everything was a struggle in ways it wasn’t for other people.

Eventually, I reached a point where I realized these illnesses were “real enough” for treatment. Their effects were intense and overwhelming, and I deserved to be taken care of. I deserved to name what wracked my mind with fear and even migrated to my body in the way anxiety can.

I can’t see my illness on an X-ray, but it is real and powerful.

After one particularly frustrating conversation about the validity of my illness, I asked myself why I bothered — why I spent so much time and energy to get these people to admit I have these disorders. I realized I was sick of convincing people and sick of their questions making me question myself (yes, I even get anxiety about my anxiety). I don’t owe anybody an explanation.

It was then that I decided my experience is enough; my diagnoses from professionals in the psychiatric field are enough. I won’t lower myself to try to convince strangers, or even friends, that what’s going on in my brain isn’t just a character failing on my part. I’m done debating whether I get to call myself ill and whether I need to be treated.

If someone comes at me with honest curiosity and a desire to learn, I’m open to talking. I’m not ashamed of my disorders, and I think being open about my struggles will help with the stigma of mental illness. But usually if someone questions my disorders, it’s an accusation. Prove it, they’re saying.

I won’t do that again. My word should be proof enough. Among the many things I’m doing to take care of myself, I refuse to argu​e about my disorders anymore. I have no doubt taking those arguments off the table will make me healthier. I finally learned not to question myself. I will no longer allow others to question me either.

Trending Stories