I am one of millions. I am a part of a group of people who are numerous, widely functional, and important to society. I have a mental illness.

My particular illness is depression. Now before you a.) assume I’m a whiny anxiety-ridden teenager or b.) think something like, “oh, and here I thought you had a real problem!” let me tell you a little bit more.

I’m not a teenager. I’m a married adult with a life I’d think of as pretty “normal.” I’m educated, and I have a resume full of promotions. I’m productive sometimes, and lazy sometimes. I have good days and bad days, just like anyone else. I have hopes and dreams and frustrations and disappointments, just like you. The only difference is, in order to stay that way, I take a tiny little pill every morning.

When I don’t take that tiny little pill, the bad days become the good days, and the good days disappear. Then the bad days get worse. Then days, themselves, disappear, because getting out of bed seems utterly and completely useless. When I do get out of bed during those days, my partner doesn’t let me drive, and I start thinking things about the subway that I know I shouldn’t. These are the things that, after years of being terrified, finally convinced me to ask for help. And, lo and behold, I am one of the lucky ones – the help helped! And fairly quickly as well!

My mother’s day this year was spent listening to a barrage of advice from a parent with whom I shared this information. ( Big mistake. Ugh.) Even as I tried to turn the conversation to friendlier, brunch-y topics, the lectures would come. Sadly, none of it was anything I hadn’t heard before. “Just think happy thoughts”; “why not try reading a happy book?”; “maybe you should exercise more”; and my personal favourite, “You shouldn’t be on medication.”

I grant you this: psychology/ psychiatry is full of debates and theories, and the idea that medication is a temporary measure is not necessarily a bad one. Nor are the ideas of positive thoughts or exercise. But the idea that you are suggesting something I couldn’t possibly have thought of is ridiculous. Sorry, but yes, I did consider trying to be happy – my depression isn’t going to go away because I just needed a reminder to smile.

I am me. And right now, at this time, what works for me is what works for me. It may not work for you, and that’s fine, but you’re not me. Everyone has an opinion about mental illness – even those who try their darnedest not to let the stigma get to them. I understand that. For the most part everyone means well. It’s also exactly why the stigma remains, and why the multitude of mental illnesses out there are all so misunderstood.

Or, to put it another way, it’s why I can only say something like this through an anonymous blog. Please remember, I am struggling yes, but I am a person. Not an illness, not a statistic, and not an opinion.