Scars

Most people have at least one or two scars. I have several. I have a few on my hands from horsing around. I have one on my left forearm I got in a fight when I was a kid. I have 3 part scar on my stomach from an appendectomy. I think stretch marks count as scars and boy did my kids give me plenty of those! I have four on my right ankle/leg. One I got when I was a little girl, the other 3 are the result of surgeries to repair a broken leg/ankle. I have scars on both my shoulders and one on my right arm. All of my scars have a story.
But I also have scars that you can't see from the outside. Places where things have been broken and have healed. I've been seeing something go around Facebook the last couple of days about "invisible illnesses." This is really about invisible scars.
For most of my life I have struggled with an invisible illness and it has left many scars on me and those around me. When I was a teenager I was diagnosed with depression. When I was 18 I was given an official diagnosis of dysthymic disorder (http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001916/) and major depression. I went to therapy for a little while, took anti-depressants, and none of it really helped (funny, since I now want to be a therapist). When I was 19 I attempted suicide and spent several days in a mental hospital. There's a fairly large scar there and I can honestly say I don't remember a whole lot of what went on. I can recall one incident from the ER when they were going to put a tube into my stomach to get the charcoal in and they were talking about restraining me and my mom said no, that I would hold still and I was strong enough to do that. I had never felt so weak and my mom was saying that I was strong enough, that I was stronger than this. I have never forgotten that. Even now when I feel overwhelmed I remember that even at my weakest, I was strong enough.
The funny thing about this scar is that in the long run is has done a lot more good than harm. It was an ugly, terrible, awful thing. I hurt a lot of people, and I hurt myself. But it has given me a passion. I am driven to help people who feel as helpless, hopeless, lost, hurt, angry, confused as I was then. I have never once since woken up and felt that the world would be a better place without me in it. I used to wake up every day and wish I hadn't. I appreciate my blessings more. I am kinder. I have more compassion for people who are hurting. It was a true blessing in disguise.
I will never be entirely free from depression. I may not struggle day to day anymore, but I was told that I will likely suffer at least one more major episode during my lifetime. Maybe I won't, but I could. The day to day depression is gone, although I do occasionally still feel a little blue, particularly when I am overly stressed. But I have learned to listen to myself better, to know my limits and what I can and cannot do and to respect that.
And why have I written about this? Because depression is an invisible illness. Because the person sitting next to you might be depressed, or the guy who made your coffee. You don't know. But like any other illness it can kill you if it isn't treated, and so few people get the treatment they need. Societal stigma, lack of resources, fear, shame. I always avoided talking about my depression because I was afraid of being judged, because I was ashamed. I am not anymore and while I don't intend to take out a billboard next to the freeway about it, neither will I hide it away. It is simply one of many scars and it has a story like all the others. The real takeaway from this is, for me anyway, be kind. You don't know what people are going through. So spend a little more effort and be kind to those around you. Even when you don't want to, you never know when you might make a difference.