Mental health issues affect over a billion people worldwide, with depression standing as one of the most prevalent. Depression—a term thrown around lightly—is deeply misunderstood. My experience with it has been both isolating and enlightening. Diagnosed six years ago, I now realize that depression had been part of my life long before that moment.

Understanding Where It All Began

Pinpointing when depression took root is no easy task. It doesn’t announce itself loudly; instead, it quietly grows, weaving its way into your life. Looking back, I now see that my depressive episodes began in my early teens. I lived in a fog of apathy punctuated by bouts of tears. Triggers surrounded me: relentless bullying at school and a tumultuous relationship with my father. His temper flared at the slightest provocation, and I bore the brunt of his frustration.

In my naivety, I thought leaving home and finishing school would rid me of the burden. But depression doesn’t stay behind; it travels with you. It reemerged with vengeance during my second year in journalism school, a place I had once dreamed of attending. I lost all interest in my studies and felt like a hollow version of myself. Every task—attending lectures, speaking to friends, even walking—felt mechanical, devoid of joy or emotion.

These episodes returned with cruel regularity, lasting weeks at a time. During these periods, I struggled to focus, experienced a foggy memory, and suffered vivid nightmares. Sometimes I’d cry uncontrollably; other times, I would sit motionless, staring at the wall, waiting for time to pass.

Seeking Help in a Broken System

When I first sought help, I didn’t have the luxury of affording private therapy. My only option was the public healthcare system in St. Petersburg. But my initial encounter was disheartening. The psychologist I saw dismissed my condition outright. He told me I was overreacting and prescribed baths with chamomile. Reflecting now, it’s shocking how such dismissive advice could have worsened someone’s state. Had he been competent, he would have referred me to a proper therapist.

Eventually, I found a lifeline at a psycho-neurological dispensary. By that point, I was barely functioning—sleeping 18 hours a day yet still feeling exhausted. Self-harm tendencies resurfaced, and a small, sharp voice in my mind told me I needed to escape this cycle.

The psychiatrist I met diagnosed me with depression and started me on antidepressants. Those medications became a vital crutch, balancing the biochemical disruptions in my brain. Alongside therapy, they became part of my journey to understanding and healing. Therapy became the tool to confront my past traumas and rebuild a sense of normalcy in the present.

The Reactions of Those Around Me

Mental illness is often misunderstood, even by those closest to us. My mother, having experienced her own struggles, has been a pillar of support. She checks in on my therapy sessions and reminds me to stay consistent with my medication. My father, however, epitomizes an older, deeply ingrained mindset: mental illness isn’t real, and hard work is the cure for all woes. This Soviet-era attitude, rooted in stoicism and fear of psychiatry, still echoes loudly in many households.

Among peers, reactions are mixed. Some dismiss therapy as unnecessary navel-gazing, while others conflate depression with ordinary sadness. Comments like, “You don’t look depressed,” or “I’ve been down for weeks too,” betray a fundamental misunderstanding. These misconceptions hurt more than people realize, reducing a debilitating condition to a fleeting mood or aesthetic stereotype.

Living with Depression Today

Depression has forced me to confront some harsh truths and, paradoxically, taught me invaluable lessons. The most important one? Self-care isn’t selfish; it’s survival. Monitoring my condition, knowing when to rest, and staying committed to treatment are non-negotiable. And let’s clear a common myth: antidepressants aren’t addictive. They are tools, not chains.

Talking openly about mental health is vital. Depression claims lives, often invisibly. High-profile cases like Chester Bennington’s remind us that even the happiest appearances can mask profound despair. The viral phrase “Depression has no face” encapsulates this reality. By sharing my experience, I hope to chip away at the stigma surrounding mental illness.

Why Sharing Matters

Every conversation about depression brings us closer to understanding and acceptance. It helps dismantle outdated stereotypes and encourages a culture of empathy. Some friends have told me that my openness inspired them to seek therapy. One even received a diagnosis and began their healing journey. These stories warm my heart and reinforce why I share.

Depression isn’t just a personal battle; it’s a societal one. Every step we take toward normalizing mental health discussions is a step toward a healthier, more compassionate world.