According to the World Health Organization, there are 121 million people in the world suffering from depression. I am one of them.
Admitting those five words to myself, let alone The State Press’ readership, has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do in my life.
However, it’s something that needs to be done. I can no longer make excuses, brush aside feelings or dismiss the cold hard facts.
More importantly, we as a society can no longer dismiss the ever-so-prevalent role depression plays in our nation.
We see or hear these statistics every day, but we never truly understand the scope of them because they’re just that. They’re numbers.
Numbers are not people in our mind. It’s hard to make the distinction that one of those 121 million could be our sibling, our parent, our child, our boyfriend, our girlfriend, our coworker or our friend.
In order for society to truly recognize the prevalence of depression, those suffering from this disease need to stand up and let their voices be heard.
I should be the last person to be instigating such a revolution. After all, I have only recently admitted to myself that I suffer from depression. I still have not found the courage to tell my parents, the two people I admire the most; I can barely find the ambition to get out of bed each day.
Why is that? Why is it that we have such a hard time admitting to those we love that we suffer from depression?
It’s because society has dictated that depression is a bad term, a derogatory term. To be depressed is shameful and humiliating. It’s like wearing a scarlet “A” on your chest.
Depression is listed as a mental disorder, so people associate it with words like “crazy,” “loony” and “nuts.”
It’s time for such stereotypes to stop, and the best way to do that is for ordinary people to stand up and let their voices be heard.
The most critical factor in this scenario is that society needs to welcome those strong enough to admit they suffer from depression with open arms.
The terror associated with “coming out,” for lack of better words, is indescribable. Writing this column is the first of many steps for myself. In order to truly practice what I preach, I need to tell my parents, my classmates, my childhood friends and my co-workers. The thought of their belittling faces, their skeptical words or their unsupportive actions is horrifying.
I still want to be treated just the same. I don’t want people to treat me like a glass doll or hold back words in fear of hurting my feelings.
I just want to be a typical 19-year-old who spends time with friends, goes to classes, and by admitting her own depression, slowly changes the stigma associated with depression, and eventually finds happiness.
I imagine I express the same sentiments of depressed people across the nation.
So let our voices be heard. “I am depressed, but I am not ashamed,” I will say. Should you suffer from this as well, will you join me? If you do not suffer from this, will you support me?
Emilie can be reached at eeeaton@asu.edu
