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I don’t usually cry. But when I laid in bed on one February afternoon, I couldn’t help myself. I felt hopeless, lost and alone. There was no reason to be sad. Nothing had happened, but still, I couldn’t stop crying.

That day I made a promise to myself: I was going to get help. I had spent too long waiting for my life to change, for my mood to improve — and it wasn’t going to happen until I admitted I wasn’t OK. That day, I logged onto the Syracuse counseling website and made an appointment.

In my last semester of college, I was depressed and living alone after my roommate transferred. The roommate who replaced him lasted all of two weeks before he moved out due to his own far more severe issues.

Depression isn’t sentient. It doesn’t care who you are, and it often strikes at inopportune times. I’ve learned this lesson the hard way, more than once. But the most recent one was perhaps the worst.

I spent most of the first two months sitting alone, watching sports or completing my internship and school work at my desk in my bedroom. The only times I left my apartment were when I worked out, bought groceries or the few times that I saw friends.

Panic attacks crashed into me almost every day. Anxiety haunted my brain and kept me awake at night. At times, depression left me confined to my bed for hours. I avoided talking to friends, and my usual extroverted self decided to stay alone in my room where I felt safe.

I entered the semester thinking that I had conquered that mindset because I believed I was happy. But depression is sneaky. I felt fine, but slowly, as I became lonelier and lonelier, these damaging thoughts became more evident.

When you look in the mirror and only see the worst version of yourself, that image projects into your life. You lose confidence in your ability to complete even the simplest of tasks. You don’t trust yourself anymore. You feel hopeless.

I’d been depressed before, and I knew I suffered from anxiety, but this was different. I couldn’t find a path out; each potential road had a barrier. I had no friend living with me to seek help. Everything I tried left me alone, depressed and making irrational decisions once again.

In early April, with the help of my parents and close friends, my outlook slowly began to improve. Going to therapy and talking out my problems provided some respite, but this came from within.

I reflected on the last few months and wondered what had happened. When did this happen? How did it happen? There were no simple answers, but I knew I was the one who had to take small steps to change.

I spent two hours every day without my phone, which most likely exacerbated my woes. I made an effort to complete assignments outside of my apartment every day, even if I wasn’t interacting with anyone. I reached out to more friends, explaining what I was experiencing and how I needed their help. I soon learned that I wasn’t alone — others were going through similar issues.

Life gradually became easier. Instead of focusing on every negative aspect, I started to live in the moment. I took my issues day by day, focusing on how I would tackle individual ones rather than everything at once.

Now, graduating in two weeks, it’s peculiar to think this is what I’ll remember of my last semester of college, but I also know it may have been inevitable. I had to address the underlying issues myself, with hours, or even days or weeks, of self-reflection before I felt comfortable in my skin once again.

That’s the truth about mental health — there’s no perfect cure. You can’t take a pill to have your depression or anxiety magically disappear, and therapy alone won’t fix your problems. You have to be the one who wants to change before anything will occur. You have to decide that you’ve had enough before you’ll feel better about yourself.

And I had to hit rock-bottom before I discovered that.

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Adam Hillman was a staff writer at The Daily Orange, where his column will no longer appear. He can be reached at adhillma@syr.edu or on Twitter @_adamhillman.

Published on May 13, 2021 at 1:04 am