I have lived with depression for most of my life. It has often felt like a companion I could neither leave nor fully understand.
From childhood, I experienced very dark thoughts and periods when life felt unbearable. From childhood, I began having suicidal thoughts. At the age of 11, I had my first attempt. I was too young and didn’t know that taking a few flu tablets or aspirin tablets wouldn’t really harm me. As I grew older, I tried other medications I could find at home, Diazepam and other pills. I took them and went somewhere where no one could see me, usually to the cinema. Even then, the doses were never enough to make me never wake up; I would sleep a little, then, dizzy, I would go home, sad that I didn’t make it.
As I grew older, these feelings sometimes became overwhelming, and I struggled to cope. There were times when I felt desperate and alone, and I did things that I now realize were cries for help. Even so, I survived and kept going. At 17, I faced a deeply traumatic experience, and I remember feeling completely powerless.
Over the years, the weight of depression sometimes made me feel like I would never escape it. I continued trying with pills. My last attempt was at 21: I took 30 or 50 pills in intervals. I ended up in the emergency room. For a long period, about a month, I barely remember anything, just fragments.
Then I stopped. I told myself I would never go through that again. I am now 57 and will turn 58 in November. Last year, some of those dark thoughts returned, reminding me how persistent depression can be. Despite everything, I have found reasons to keep going. My grandchildren, give my life meaning and joy. Their laughter and curiosity remind me that life still holds light, even when I feel surrounded by darkness. I have also taken steps to care for myself. I started treatment again and enrolled in therapy, choosing to reach out rather than face everything alone. I have worked in psychology and integrative psychotherapy, and I know the importance of being gentle with myself and recognizing my own resilience. I have survived immense pain and trauma, and I am still here.
Sharing my story is not easy, but I want others to know they are not alone. Depression can follow us for decades, and difficult thoughts can return even after years of calm, but reaching out, seeking help, and finding reasons to live, no matter how small, are acts of courage. Even now, there are days when life feels very heavy, but I keep going. I hope that by sharing my story, I can connect with others who understand this struggle, and maybe together we can find moments of light in the darkness. I am learning that vulnerability is not weakness. Sharing my truth, even in fragments, helps me feel less alone.
My story is not just about pain, but also about resilience, love, and the desire to live with more lightness. And so I carry on, one step at a time. Some days are heavy, some days are lighter, but each breath reminds me I am still here. I have learned that even in the cracks, light can enter. Even in silence, there is healing. Even in loss, there is love that never fades. My story is not finished, it is still being written, like a river finding its way, like a wounded garden slowly learning how to bloom again.
