My Experience with High Functioning Depression
I’m well-acquainted with Anxiety. We met in third grade. There was no meet cute, no “wanna play with me?” on the playground, not even a “Do you like me? Check yes or no” note. Anxiety just showed up one day and never left. That unwanted house guest that can’t take a hint and GTFO. It almost disappears sometimes, only to come roaring back. It might show up while driving to work in the form of “did I unplug my straightener?” (You know, the one I didn’t even use that morning…) or while hanging out on the couch as a sudden intense worry about something I said or did two weeks ago. It loves to show up when I get a Slack from my boss saying “got a minute?” and sometimes it’s ugly sister, Health Anxiety, manifests in the form of “hmm, that’s a new ache, must mean I have a deadly disease and I’m on my way out.”
Like I said, Anxiety and I are old friends.
Depression though?
Didn’t know her.
I know plenty of people who do know her. Friends. Family members. I know too many people who have taken their own lives because of the deep depressions they fell into. Depression wasn’t a guest in my house though – Anxiety more than filled any spare room I thought I had.
Except, as they say, hindsight is 20/20.
I moved to Los Angeles during the heart of the pandemic. California as a whole was slower to reopen than the rest of the country. That didn’t matter, though. I loved being so close to the ocean, and even though I had to wear a mask everywhere and later, show my vaccine card, I liked exploring my new city.
Film school was high up there on my list of favorite things. I loved learning from brilliant professors, being surrounded by like-minded creatives. As I progressed through the program, the more sure I became that I was going to go into development, be a big time studio executive. And of course, write my own stuff, too. I was going to do it all – including get married, have a family, and own a house in the Hills.
January 7, 2022 marked one year living in Los Angeles. Looking back, it was also a turning point. That was the afternoon I sat at my desk and wrote out my goals for 2022. I finished writing a travel goal for the year and intended to move on to a financial goal, but a clear, crisp voice said out of the blue:
Huh?
I’ve learned to listen to that voice, so I wrote in my journal:
- Move to Nashville – I don’t know why I’m writing this, just feels like I’m supposed to.
I moved on to the rest of my goals without much thought.
Something changed.
Between January and March, something slipped inside me. That’s the best way I can explain it. I became less and less enchanted by L.A. School was a struggle, despite how well I was doing. The feedback was good, but the classes sucked my soul and I found myself listing all the things I didn’t want to do with my career and no longer daydreaming about all the things I wanted to accomplish. I liked my job well enough, had a great boss, but I was bored out of my mind most days.
And I couldn’t find connection. I tried everything. I asked people to coffee, said “yes” to most invitations. I tried meet ups and gyms and UT alumni events. I tried out churches, found them to be more like TED Talks that referenced the gospel versus actual worship. I did a lot of swiping on dating apps, went on the occasional date, left still looking for the right guy.
At some point, I gave up.
I stopped trying to find a church and started watching services online. I stopped bothering with coffee/friend dates, only did a few half-hearted swipes on dating apps. I taught a lot of barre classes not just because it was the one thing bringing me joy and some sense of connection, but because it was a way to fill my time. I fell out of my healthy habits like moving my body most days and meal prepping healthy options and gained ten pounds. I loathed the weekends because after teaching barre classes in the morning, there would be nothing for me to do, nowhere to go. It would be hours spent alone in my apartment, writing and watching TV. I would try to force myself out of my apartment, go sit on the beach for a while or work at a coffee shop or do a little shopping. But that felt like a chore.
I cried, too.
There were times when I would sit on my couch and just – cry. I couldn’t pinpoint a reason, couldn’t get to the bottom of what had me so upset. I could only cry it out, sleep on it, and trust I would feel better in the morning.
It got worse before it got better.
After my trip to Nashville in March and my subsequent decision to start searching for a job that would bring me back to Music City, I had more not so great days than good days. The job search was exhausting and frustrating. I was hit with two rejections right off the top and then weeks upon weeks of crickets or else an automated “thanks but no thanks” made me question everything. Having realized how miserable I was on the west coast, I couldn’t shake the jaded filter I had about all things Los Angeles. I spent a lot of my alone time praying, journaling, going on long walks, often at the beach. I had the ability to recognize that I was struggling and I had the tools and resources to navigate it.
High functioning depression.
I was having a phone consultation with a potential therapist when that phrase bubbled out of me. I had been through a period of depression in my early twenties that was more in line with what I thought depression was – lots of crying, unable to get out of bed, loss of appetite, apathy. Just like you see in the movies.
High functioning depression was different. I was still doing all the things. I was working forty-plus hours a week and excelling in my role. I was teaching upwards of ten barre classes a week and always showed up at the studio smiling and happy to be there. I was doing well in school. “On paper,” I looked like I was doing great. No one knew I was sitting alone in my apartment, often in tears. I was the very definition of high functioning depression.
I realize how fortunate I am to not only have the tools and resources to seek help, but to also have the self-awareness to recognize I needed help, not to mention the courage to step up and say as much. For me, getting out of Los Angeles and back to a place I feel more “in my skin” was paramount. I know that’s not an option for others and again, recognize the privilege of being able to take a new job (that I love) and move across the country.
I have been open about living with Anxiety and Health Anxiety and wanted to continue that transparency and share my tussle with High Functioning Depression for the better part of this year. I get a surprising number of DMs on Instagram commenting on how together I look, how I seem to “do it all.” I think it’s important to counter that with the truth – a look behind the highlight reel, if you will. Every personality test I’ve ever taken has resulted in whatever type is high performing, ambitious, goal-oriented, driven. There’s another side of that coin though, and I want to be honest about that. There are too many stories out there these days about the person who seemed to “have it all together” taking their lives because of the mental health struggles they had in private.
I’m doing well these days. Nashville has been good for me on a number of levels. To date, I’ve been able to manage my anxiety (and high functioning depression) with talk therapy and tools like journaling, meditative walks, and cognitive behavior therapy. I want to be clear that if I needed medication, I would take it. That’s something else that bothers me – the stigma around needing medication to regulate your moods. Sometimes those meds are life-saving and no one should ever be shamed for needing them.
If you’re struggling with your mental health or thinking of harming yourself, there are resources. I’ll leave you with a few:
- National Suicide and Crisis Lifeline: 988
- Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration: 1-800-662-HELP (4357)
- The Trevor Project (LGBTQ): 1-866-488-7386.
- Veterans Crisis Line: 988 then Press 1
And you can always – always send me a note as well. ❤️
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