Happiness is NOT a Choice

No, it certainly is not, and here's why:

Depression isn't just sadness. I think one of the most common misconceptions about depression is that it makes you feel really sad for a while and goes away eventually, however it is so much more than that. Depression is a diagnosed mental illness. It is a full body paralyzation of one's emotions. It makes you feel numb, worthless, meaningless. It overpowers your entire existence and makes you feel small and helpless. Simple day-to-day activities become pointless. You realize nothing is worth the immense pain you feel daily, and wish the prolonged emptiness and loneliness would just end. Finding those things that make living even a tiny bit easier, however insignificant they may seem, becomes a huge challenge. When life feels so inconsequential, you lose yourself. You lose your sense of self-worth and purpose and ultimately, you to yourself are nothing.

I began to suffer from depression and suicidal tendencies in junior high school. Most days, getting out of bed and finding the strength to get through the day was an immense challenge. For the first time, I truly hated my life and found myself contemplating a way out. I wanted to die. I had planned my suicide and thought almost daily about executing my plan. It sounds grim I know, but when you feel that lost, one of the only things that makes it all seem okay for just a second is the thought that the pain could end in an instant, you just have to make it happen. I along with my parents made the choice seek to different forms of therapy -- be it one-on-one sessions with a psychiatrist, or group therapy with other teenagers suffering the same way I was. It was cathartic to sit and talk to someone about how I felt. It made me feel more normal; like what I was experiencing was valid. After going to therapy for a few months, I began to "feel better" and decided to end my visits with the doctor because neither of us felt like I needed therapy as regularly as I was going anymore. However, I understood there would be good days and bad days and when I was having a bad day I could seek help if necessary.

For a while things calmed down. There were off days here and there but nothing like what I had experienced when I first started receiving treatment. I had days where I didn't want to move, days where I wanted to die, days where I cried for hours on end, but the episodes I experienced where short. I slowly regained my sense of self worth and meaning.

Senior year of high school was when I began to fall back into a depressive state. I was experiencing all of the same feelings of self-hatred and emptiness I had in previous years. I managed for a while on my own. I wasn't thinking about suicide as often as before, although knew it could be an option. It wasn't until my final year of college that I truly spiraled into a worse place than I had ever previously been. I lost control. I was abusing drugs, I was in a toxic relationship, and ultimately I became a different person. I was not myself anymore, I was a walking zombie; an empty shell of a woman who was once so full of love and life. I also began experiencing severe anxiety. I would have panic attacks regularly -- crying uncontrollably, unable to breathe. Life was absolutely meaningless and I found myself wishing for death again.

In January of 2018, I almost took my own life. I cried (more like screamed through tears) to my mom about how meaningless life was. My life was so pointless, meaningless, lonely, empty, and I didn't think I could go on living a life like that. I had no job, no friends, I was living at home, I had escaped from my abusive partner, I was high all the time, and I was about to graduate college. What was supposed to be one of the greatest achievements of my life, almost turned into what ended my life. The future was so vague. I had nothing to live for, nothing to look forward to. I had completely lost myself and I turned into someone I never thought I would be. All the pieces of myself that my family loved, everything about me that made me who I was had been stripped away by the drugs and the abuse. I was nothing. I was empty. And I was supposed to venture into the world after college an incomplete, scared, shadow of a woman. I was not me anymore. And honestly, I don't think I will ever be "me" again. After that night, I sought immediate psychiatric help. I was in a therapist's office the next day, and began sessions weekly.

I talked to my doctor about how uncertain everything felt, about how my past relationship had stripped me down emotionally and made me fear for my life. How everything would be so much easier if life just ended. I would be finally free from the emotional pain. I realized it felt good to talk to someone again. That first session helped me more than I ever thought it would. I stopped smoking pot and started taking anti-anxiety medication to keep the panic attacks under control. I started painting and writing this blog to keep me busy and keep my mind focused on positive, constructive things. I wanted to been in control of my life again. I didn't want to let the depression win. I wanted to find my happiness and work towards becoming a better, stronger version of myself.

Happiness is not a choice. We don't wake up in the morning and decide to "be happy." Happiness is not the easier option. When you suffer from a mental illness, all you want is to be happy. To be free from the weight of the thing that makes you feel so insignificant and empty. But it's just not that straightforward. It would be fantastic to hop out of bed everyday with a huge smile on your face, thankful to be alive and ready to take on whatever the day has to offer. It sounds so simple, and so easy, yet for many so far out of reach. Happiness is not a choice. However, the choice to seek help; the choice to get out of bed everyday DESPITE waking up wishing today was your last; the choice to face another day with strength and courage; the choice to do the hard things, rather than opt for the easy way out; those are the choices worth celebrating that make us better, stronger versions of ourselves than before. Sure, our individual sense "happiness" is the ultimate goal. But achieving that happiness, finding those things that make you feel contented takes effort and hard work and strength. Whether you need that extra help, or you already know exactly what it is that makes you feel satisfied in life, it takes work to find absolute happiness. Happiness is not a choice, the same way depression is not a choice. The choice comes in wanting to find those things that make life more bearable, and seeking help when needed, which may in turn lead to happiness.

Think about this the next time you hear or read the phrase "happiness is a choice." Do you feel like you chose to be happy, or were you fortunate enough to not have to struggle to find it?