Why I Begged for Chicken Pox

In September 2013, I was on my third doctor’s visit of the month. This was after two months of convincing my mom that my lethargy, delayed motor skills, and extended sleep patterns weren’t just symptoms of teenaged laziness. My doctor checked my thyroid. Normal. Then he checked it again the week after. Also normal. On the third visit, the nurse handed me a clipboard with a list of statements and a 1-5 scale to rate how much I thought the statements applied to me. I knew that I was holding a depression test, but I bit back the desire to answer the questions with numbers that wouldn’t break my mother’s heart.
Out of a possible forty, I managed a whopping thirty-nine. Unfortunately, this wasn’t the kind of test score that would make my mother jump for joy. She sat in stunned quietness, nodding as the doctor explained that he was going to put me on a low dose of Lexapro, a common antidepressant. “Well,” she said as we walked out, prescription clenched so tightly I feared for her fingers, “at least you have medicine. Then you’ll be fine. Right back to normal.”
Her belief that my mental illness would be helped by medication wasn’t unfounded; since being on the drug cocktail of Prozac and Gabapentin, I’ve never felt better. The idea that I could be cured, though? That was another story.
Depression, though often manifested in physical symptoms, is not a strictly physical disease. It contains both mental and physical elements. The intensity comes and goes, stronger when I’m wrestling with difficult emotions and weaker when I’m maintaining a healthy lifestyle. Last year, after missing a friend’s birthday party because I was particularly low, I sat on my bed and lamented the contradiction of any invisible illness: knowing that I was sick, but knowing that no one could look at me and see that. In that moment, I wished that I had chicken pox. I wouldn’t have to confront the inquiring faces of my friends and acquaintances when they asked why I couldn’t make it if they saw giant red bumps coating my entire body.
More importantly, chicken pox could be cured. After a few soaks in an oatmeal bath and a couple of weeks chicken pox goes away and skin returns to its relatively bump-free status. Years of trying various combinations of drugs can cause little to no change in one’s mental illness, and in severe cases, medications can worsen one’s condition. Yet too often depression is compared to a broken leg or a common cold—with the right treatment, the sufferer is cured and will only have to change their routine until the cast comes off or the nose stops running. While some may find this comforting, the implication that depression can heal in the same way as a broken leg is a painful mistake.
Depression is more like a broken vase or an amputated leg. In the same way that a broken vase can be put back together with glue and a little determination or a person can be fitted with a prosthetic limb, depression can be alleviated by a strong support group and the right combination of medications. However, even if the vase is put back together or the limb is the most advanced technology can offer, it is unlikely to retain the same abilities it once had—the vase may have cracks that keep it from holding water or the limb may have a restricted range of motion. Similarly, a person with depression is never “fixed”. Though they may appear to be thriving externally, they may not be functioning well internally.
Mental illness has to be endured—just like a vase unable to hold water, a person with depression may not be able to resume their former lifestyle even after treatment. Just as most objects are broken by accident, rather than with the intention of destroying property, people with depression do not typically decide to become depressed. Like a child’s bumping into the vase during a game of tag, an imbalance of chemicals in the brain that kickstarts depression is often no more deliberate than being in the wrong place at the wrong moment.
The most frequent complaint about this “no cure” line of thinking comes from both the depressed and the healthy: “If we stop stressing that depression can be cured, doesn’t that eliminate hope?” However, one must look at the alternative. In stressing that there is a cure for depression, those who have been afflicted for years will be forced to take blame for not getting better. If there is a cure and the cure doesn’t work, obviously the depressed person isn’t trying hard enough. This is something that I had to face when I found the Lexapro that I was initially prescribed (and then got a larger dosage of) wasn’t working and, in fact, made me physically ill. I confided in my therapist that I didn’t think that I was trying hard enough to get better and that the pills couldn’t be at fault, so I had only myself to blame. Truth be told, the first medication that someone is prescribed for their mental illness is rarely the one that someone finds works the best for them: 60 mg of Lexapro made me irritable and miserable but 30 mg of Prozac has me well adjusted. Even though I still go through depressive episodes, the medication helps to curve the emotional downward spiral into something I can handle.
The second criticism comes from the loved ones of a person with depression: “Well, if we can’t tell them that they can beat it, what are we supposed to do?” Be there. Give them support and never make them feel bad for being unable to push themselves. One of the physical symptoms of depression is tiredness and occasionally sleeping too much. A person with depression may not have the energy to cook or even want to eat, so prepare simple dishes that they can eat easily. The best support group isn’t always the one that advocates trying to beat the disease, but rather the one that offers compassion and safety in times when someone can’t find solace in their own thoughts.
When dealing with mental illness, one must not undermine the fact that the depressed person is facing a disease. However, just as with any other chronic illness, a person cannot “get over” depression, no matter how stable they may become over the course of treatment. With this in mind, hopefully the attitude toward mental illness from those with mental illness can shift, and no one will have to wish for chicken pox ever again.