You’re not going to “snap” out of it. It’s going to take work. A lot of work. If you are in a depression as deep as the one I was in, it might be the hardest thing you ever did, in some ways.
To me, there is a three-legged stool that helps get us out of depression. Meds are the first leg. I don’t know why people are against them. I understand there can be horrible side effects (my fingers shake to this day—not such a horrible one, but annoying none-the-less), but you can keep trying different ones until you find one that works and has tolerable side effects.
The second leg of the stool is therapy. This is the part you have to work hardest at, because you need to find a therapist (and a psychiatrist) if you don’t already have one, and then you have to work it. You have to be as honest as you can be. You have to trust the HIPPA regulations—that this person will never breathe a word of it to anyone else. You have to work hard on learning coping techniques.
The third leg of the stool is your support system: family and friends. In my case, it was my wife and a friend I met online who did most of the heavy lifting in saving my life. I worked hard, too, just as you are, by asking this question. You should see some of the questions I was asking when I first got here. fluther can be part of your support network.
My test for a true friend with respect to depression is this; they need to understand depression (most likely because they’ve been there), then need to not be afraid of talking about everything—including suicide, and they need to have a sense of humor. My friend rescued me… actually, we rescued each other… one night when I was really ready to throw in the towel on life. We were talking about how to do it and somehow, it started to get more and more absurd. At the end, we were laughing so hard, we couldn’t breathe.
No one wants to kill themselves. It’s just that the pain is so bad, you can’t imagine anything that could ever stop it. I know I couldn’t. Sometimes even now, I’m not so sure that person back then didn’t kill himself, and some kind of dopple-ganger replaced him. I mean, I was that certain it would never end until I died.
But we got the meds right, and I learned mental techniques in therapy, and I found a support group, and my wife (who doesn’t really understand, but really cares) kept me together, and my friend held my hand, and I worked and worked. I didn’t think I was working at the time. I denied that I was doing anything, but that was another symptom. I did work. It took me three years, but I am back to where I once was.
I feel very lucky and very grateful to have survived. What worked for me won’t work for everyone. Some people seem to be able to do without the meds. Some people use different therapies from what I use.
Anyway, that’s what I did. If I ever fall back there again, I hope I’ll remember it’s possible to get out of it. I get so self-destructive when I’m down there. I have no sense of self-worth. It’s horrible. But it’s over with. Right now, it’s wundayatta time. Just for today, I can remain stable. Just for today. I don’t have to do it any longer than that.
You don’t either. Just for today do you need to stick it out. Just today. That’s all.