It was such a gorgeous day last Sunday that I decided to do the reading for my philosophy classes outside. A friend of mine walked by and stopped to chat. She asked me how I was doing. “Every day is better than yesterday,” I replied. Readers of the Chronicles of Narnia may recognize that statement as Lewis’ definition of heaven. What really caught me off guard was that I’m not supposed to have such positive thoughts, having been diagnosed with depression.

What follows in an account of my depression. Care should be taken not to extrapolate my experiences. The indications of depression are vast. I personally am more sympathetic toward viewing depression as a part of my life, not as some disease to be banished like the flu. Even medical thinking does not treat depression as a specific condition.

My depression started about 13 months ago, and was diagnosed as a biochemical imbalance. Psychologically speaking, I had the mind of the active, ambitious, and cheerful person that got me into WU. But there was a gradual, though brisk, loss of interest in everything I once considered important: family, friends, academics. I was never sad, nor was I truly happy. Quite the opposite: I was an emotional flat line. I just could not care about anything.

I stopped caring about school, my health, and even my friends. Last winter break, I saw my best friend of 13 years only three times and never got around to even speaking with another good friend of seven years. It’s not that I was angry with them; I just had no motivation whatsoever to see them. My time was spent trying to distract myself from life. I played video games, read dozens of pages of news every day, and used AIM as a surrogate for real human contact.

What made my depression even more interesting was that I knew I was depressed and I wanted to stop being depressed-but did absolutely nothing. I realize that this makes no rational sense, which is exactly my point: depression is not a rational state. In my experience, you cannot “convince” someone to stop being depressed.

There were actually points where I wanted to be depressed. Depression definitely had some upsides. My guitar playing achieved a new depth of emotion that I could not get to despite years of practice. I was constantly occupied with my own thoughts, and spent countless hours in self-reflection struggling to answer some of the big philosophical questions that we face. Depression forced me to confront these problems, rather than ignore them by staying busy with a “productive” life. Lastly, the apathy I had toward life extended toward others’ opinions of me. I said and wrote things, especially in op-eds, that I might not have without the benefit of depression. The courage of depression was a great experience.

I began treatment only to prove to my family that I was stronger than any drug modern medicine could throw at me. Fifteen years of martial arts tends to make you feel that the mind is truly superior to the body. The first two drugs my psychiatrist prescribed did nothing to my depression, bolstering my point. The only drug that has been effective, Strattera, was ironically approved not for depression, but ADHD.

In light of my Sunday comment, I think I’ll have to admit defeat. Not only am I saying sickeningly positive things, I have also regained interest in life. Heck, I’m sufficiently happy to put a positive spin on my yearlong emotional void. And all this after taking a blue pill every morning for a few weeks.

The fact that it took drugs to get me out of depression suggests that depression is a condition beyond my ability to control. Even the most optimistic outlook on life and the most supportive family could not compensate for low levels of norepinephrine in my brain. Depression is as much a part of me as happiness is: they’re both part of my biochemistry.

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