...But Who Cries On Their First Day of College?

I almost don't know what to think about the fact that my first day of college made me cry.

As in, that evening I broke down in tears in the middle of a psychology lecture because the professor was describing neurotransmitters and their effect on the way our brains work, and she happened to mention that this is where chemical depression comes from.

For instance, there are certain neurotransmitters which cause our brains to react in a certain way, and a certain level of these is needed in order to maintain a healthy balance in the way our brains work, our emotions, etc. And if there is an overabundance, or lack of, certain neurotransmitters, it directly affects the way our brains work. Her example? What she called 'chemical depression'.

In her words, 'the amount of neurotransmitters (serotonin, etc) in the brain actually causes a depression', so if your brain doesn't have as much dopamine or serotonin as it needs to maintain a balance, you will be depressed.

Her next sentences went on to address the concept of treating such depression with medication, and her approach was somewhere in the middle of those who would advocate overmedicating, and those who would say that nothing is serious enough for medication.

I quote, 'There is a lot of evidence and research on neurotransmitters which directs us to understand that they can cause depression and other mental illness and therefore they need to be treated with medication'.

Perhaps I am the only one who found this astonishing, but if you look at it through the lens of the girl who's been consistently told that her depression was demonic possession, spiritual failing, genetic damage, or simply an excuse to get attention, you may understand why astounded me.

Her handling of the issue, treating medication for chemical depression as neither worse nor better than medication for any other physical ailment, such as diabetes, brought me to tears.

Because, I'll readily admit I wasn't expecting that. Not from a Christian college, at any rate. I definitely didn't expect to have this issue crop up so soon after my conversation with a friend yesterday in which I insisted that there was no way I would ever believe that taking medication for my depression didn't somehow make me damaged.

But, she treated it as though it was..normal. As normal as a broken knee or a fever, or anything else medically which required medication. Heck, it was in the middle of a lecture on how biology is essential to a correct understanding of psychology! It wasn't...psychological theory, it was...science!

And I cried.

Because I watched the lies I had been taught for so long regarding my depression crumble and fall and turn to dust.

Because every time I've broached the topic of antidepressants with my parents, I've been told that I'm fine, God and bible reading and prayer cured me and I am now depression free, even though, truth be told, I am not sure I will ever be completely free of this darkness.

Because the month in which I was on depression meds was one of the worst of my life, due to my parents being ashamed of my needing them, and their insistence that, instead of discovering, through trial and error, which medication worked best for me, what was really best for me was to be off meds altogether.

Because I was made to feel horribly guilty for needing medication, for being depressed, for being anything other than the perfect happy little Christian girl who can solve everything with Jesus and prayer.

Because I've been depressed for as long as I can possibly remember, and the thought of not constantly fighting the undertow, day in, day out, every second of every minute of every hour of every day, is oh so appealing.

And I'm not foolish enough to believe that medication is the magic cure all. I'll still feel - pain and hurt and sorrow and disappointment. The point isn't to turn you into a zombie or a happy fairy. The purpose is, well, basically Advil for your brain.

If I stub my toe, and take Advil for it, and then someone smacks me in the head, just because I took Advil doesn't mean I won't still feel the smack in the head! It doesn't cure all, but I've come to believe that perhaps it could, if not 'cure' me, at least help.

Which, at very least, is a far cry from....even yesterday.

And while this definitely doesn't mean I'm planning on walking up to my parents tomorrow morning and blurting out, 'So...I think I might need meds', it does mean that at least I don't view myself as damaged anymore even if I do need them.

And it's improvement.