Depression Is
The day you realize you have a problem is the day when it stops being one.
If there is one common term that is used across both positive and negative descriptions of Latinos it has to be the word minority. And because of that, the Latino mentality is often one of strength. This is a good thing, but not one when it comes to acknowledging weakness.
I remember the first time I told my parents that I thought I had a problem. Growing up constantly sick with everything from the common cold to a thyroid disorder, they were used to me telling them I needed to go to the doctor. When I mentioned something I thought was not physical however, the conversation changed.
“Oh, well we’ll pay for the therapist,” my mom would say. “Depression isn’t real,” would echo my father. But for me it wasn’t something about asking for money. I talked to them about my struggle because I wanted them to understand what their daughter was going through. After constant communication with them both, our relationship became distant. I grew angry that instead of doing research of their own or inquiring more about what I was going they turned more to my cousins and uncles to tell them I was struggling instead of asking them what they think they or I should do because I was struggling.
And that’s another thing. In the Latino culture news spreads easily. In its early ages my depression diagnosis was something I only shared with my father and my mother. I did not feel comfortable sharing it with friends or even my brother and sister. Suddenly, my more than 15 uncles and aunts and even more cousins knew about it. It made it even harder.
Because I am Latina, I wanted to prove them wrong. I stopped going to therapy because I felt that I had some sort of strength inside of me that came from being a Latina where depression was something that was nonexistent. My culture had showed me that I needed to surpass any hurdle that came from me.
Depression however, is something no one can teach you to go through.
It’s been almost five years since I was diagnosed with depression. In my eyes depression is like a drug addition. It never goes away. You have the chance to relapse and have to fight everyday not to do so. Along the way, the path is not going to be easy. But it’s something you have to learn to live through. Depression is never over.
That’s something I wish everyone in our culture would understand. Depression exists and we have to open our minds to admitting it exists in order to help people get the help that is needed. I could have easily continued not going to therapy. I chose to listen to my inner self however. And I hope that through this essay you choose to listen to yourself also. Sometimes the people closest to you won’t understand what you’re going through. But as long as you understand it, that in itself is everything.
