The first time I was depressed The first time I was depressed and anyone noticed was when I was 24 years old. I was working at a flaky job in a flaky workplace with an even flakier boss and not being paid nearly enough to scrape by. I had been dragging myself into work absolutely miserable for months when the flaky boss and a flaky coworker confronted me and told me I was depressed.

Now, you’d think that an intervention on your mental health would be a compassionate thing, right? Not so much. Here’s how it went down:

Flaky Boss: You’re depressed.
Savia: I know. I am.
Flaky Boss: What kind of exercise have you been doing?
Savia: None.
Flaky Boss: Not even walking?
Savia: No.
Flaky Boss: Why not?
Savia: I’m exhausted. It’s hard to do anything.
Flaky Coworker: Have you been eating right – lots of organic vegetables and fruits?
Savia: No.
Flaky Coworker: Why not?
Savia: I don’t know.

They then proceeded to tell me it was my own fault that I was depressed because I wasn’t taking care of myself. If I had been eating right and exercising, I wouldn’t be in this position. Flaky Boss recounted some time when she was depressed for three months but then snapped out of it, proving that “she knew what it’s like.” They told me I wasn’t allowed to come to work anymore because, as Flaky Boss said, “You have no idea the effect that your energy has on other people in the workplace.”

I left and never went back.

I do believe that physical health and mental health are connected. However, what “healthy” people don’t understand is that when you’re severely depressed, you can’t take care of yourself. You know there are things you could be doing to make yourself feel better, but you simply…can’t…do…them.

Every day that you get out of bed in the morning and make it to work is a great accomplishment. When your entire body hurts and you feel exhausted and heavy, you’re not going to go to the gym. You’re not going to go for a walk. You’re going to curl up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around you like a cocoon while you eat chips and watch TV.

You’re not going to take the time and effort to go grocery shopping and prepare something healthy. You’re going to order take-out. Something greasy, something that will slide down nice and easy. And you’re going to feel proud of the fact that you’re eating at all, because mustering up the energy to dial that phone, answer the door, and lift the food to your mouth is no small feat.

Thus is the nature of the disease. You’re depressed, so you don’t take care of yourself, so you get more depressed because you feel like a failure for not being able to do the simple, rational things that you know will help make you feel at least a little bit better.

This is something I’m struggling with right now. I know I eat crap. I know I’m inactive. But I’m not at the point where I can do anything about either of those things. Yet I know that if I just made some little changes, they’d make a world of difference.

I did make a small step, though. Last week, I had an appointment with a naturopath. We talked for two hours about my medical history and the depression I’m currently dealing with. Then, she gave me an elimination diet to follow. I looked at the sheet and I looked at her and said, “You’ve got to be kidding me.” This piece of paper said that I wasn’t allowed to eat dairy, meat, gluten, shellfish, eggs, corn, tomatoes, sugar, chocolate, soy, peanuts, salt, caffeine, alcohol, and the list went on. What the hell was left?

“You don’t understand,” I said. “I can barely get out of bed in the morning. I’m just now starting to cook and eat borderline healthy meals after months of take-out and eating chips for supper. There is no way I’ll be able to handle doing this.”

“Just try it. Even if you’re just taking this powdered vitamin and protein supplement every morning and trying to avoid some of these foods, it will make a difference,” she said.

I looked at her skeptically, took the sheet and supplement and made it home before I burst into tears. The entire weekend, I stared at the sheet, told myself there was no way I could do this for three weeks and cried my head off. I felt that by taking the sheet, by telling her I’d try, I had set myself up for failure.

And then, something weird happened. After three days of crying, it felt like a switch went off in my head. I just stopped. Stopped crying. Stopped beating myself up. Stopped making excuses for why I couldn’t do anything. For the first time in months, I felt…normal.

I don’t know what happened. If the Wellbutrin finally kicked in. If three days of eating fruits and vegetables and the protein/vitamin supplement had given me the nutrients I had been sorely lacking. If the very act of going to that naturopath appointment made me feel empowered and in charge of my health. Or a combination of all of those things. I don’t know why; I just know that I’m feeling better. I’m finally feeling like I’m starting to claw my way out of that dark, dank hole.

And that’s all that matters.