Treatment-Resistant Depression — It’s Okay, I Don’t Know How to Talk About Suicide Either

I’m writing this because I hope it reaches someone who needs it.

On Friday, I overdosed. There’s no dramatic buildup, no poetic lead-in — just the truth.

Earlier that week, my psychiatrist asked me, “Is there anything you want me to know?” And I answered with the most honest thing I could: “Yes. I need help, and I need help now.”

He adjusted two of my medications, which was probably the right clinical move, but anyone living with treatment-resistant depression knows the cruel timeline: two weeks before anything shifts. Two weeks when you’re already holding on by your fingernails.

For a long time, I’ve been overlooked in my treatment because my depression doesn’t match the stereotype. I don’t collapse. I don’t miss appointments. I don’t stop functioning. I keep showing up even when my depression is an 8 out of 10. I follow every instruction, every protocol, every “try this” and “come back in a week,” even when I can barely stand being inside my own head.

People have commented more times than I can count:

“You’re so strong.”

“You push through so well.”

“You seem fine.”

But here’s the truth no one sees: sometimes “pushing through” isn’t strength — it’s camouflage. And sometimes that camouflage becomes dangerous.

A smile doesn’t mean someone is okay.

Productivity doesn’t mean stability.

Showing up doesn’t mean safe.

Depression doesn’t have one face. Some of us keep fighting publicly, quietly, mechanically — and it ends up hiding how bad things really are.

If you’re reading this and your depression presents differently too… if you’re the one who “looks fine” until suddenly you’re not… if you’re exhausted from being strong in all the wrong ways… I want you to know this:

You’re not invisible. You’re not dramatic. You’re not alone.

And you deserve help the first time you ask for it — not after a crisis.

I still don’t know the “right” way to talk about suicide or suicidal thoughts. But I do know this conversation has to happen, even if the words come out rough, messy, or shaking.

If you’re still here, still fighting, still trying to get someone to take your pain seriously — I see you.

And I’m glad you’re here.