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Writer's pictureMelissa Galindo Leal
Sep 27, 20208 min read

why grief and depression isn't what they tell you.

**talk about depression + thoughts of self-harm. if you're triggered, please leave this post**


The main point of this blog for me is to be honest. I think growing up I had no way to look out for reflections of what I felt echoed in other people, and I yearned to find that so much. Lately, as I've grown older, people get numb to those feelings sometimes, categorizing them as normal, a part of life, or even a requirement for teenage years. I don't believe so.


If you've read my first post you know my mother passed away almost a year ago. If you've ever experienced the loss of a loved one, you know how it can affect you in a variety of shapes, sizes, and feelings. I found, however, that the process of grief they tell you in therapy and how depression is portrayed in social media don't always follow the 'warning signs' you read online—at least those didn't happen to me. And so, allow me to tell you how this happened for me, not because I'm seeking to be understood or to have my feelings validated, but because throughout the pandemic, these feelings also heightened for me, and they might resonate with someone. I pray it is so.


To begin with, grief or mourning doesn't only happen when you lose a person. No. When I come to think of it, it is the loss of something, yearning after something, maybe even a change (however slight) of something you'd grown used to. Whether that is moving out of your home for the first time in your life, losing a friend over an argument, breaking your favorite set of jewelry that represented something, or actually going through the death of someone, grief is felt in a spectrum I just started to become aware of. For me, yes, it was triggered mainly by the unexpected death of my mother (which I might delve into in another post), but it was also gathering momentum since before, when she was sick in bed, or I started to have extreme self-conscious thoughts about my weight, feeling insecure about my career and life in general. I realized I had started grieving almost half a year BEFORE my mother passed, and that is unbelievable.


Now, if you're religious you might say this was as a way to 'prepare' me and make the blow of losing my mother hurt less. I believe so, too, in a way, but grief, truly, is sometimes so hard to pinpoint, it lies in places you might never think of even looking for it in. I was grieving over my mother growing more and more lethargic, over a career I felt I had to choose because it'd make her happy, over people who took my presence for granted and only showed up when it seemed beneficial for them. And I never knew.


Now, the day she passed, of course I was aware everything around me had changed, too. Though I would dissent with her most of the times, she was always there for me, to look out for me. And there, waiting outside while the paperwork for her death was expedited, I knew everything I hated about her I secretly loved and I would miss. I cried like a baby. In front of my family, sitting by the curve of the hospital. But the next day, during the mass, I kept my face stoic as I walked in front of her casket. I had broken down minutes before, staring at her coffin, but my coping mechanism forbade me of crying during the mass. And I found, throughout the next days and hard-to-reconcile-sleep nights, the reality hadn't hit me yet. I dreamed of what had happened, but I still woke up thinking I'd heard her downstairs. It'd take me a second or two to realize those were just remnants of my dreams.


All this happened throughout December, but for the most part, I found myself refusing to stop my life over her death. I wanted to be happy, and I chased after my happiness, going to holiday parties and friend gatherings, just because I knew she was gone but I was still here, alive. The real sadness, or as I like to call it, 'the permeating solitude', only came to me a month later, and stayed for almost five months.


Throughout January and February, the paperwork my father had to do over her death started to wear him down. We'd get into arguments over the smallest things, arguments that had a huge toll on my emotional stability. I suppose in a way, that was his way of grieving, and I didn't hold him accountable for blaming me for her death, not really. I started to blame myself for her death, and that's how I recall it started.


Going over the past with knowledge of how things will end up is a way of self-harm, truly. Wondering about the what-ifs at the time did nothing but hurt me, and I'd lie awake, crying over the fact I hadn't spoken to her the day before she was submitted to the hospital, or the time I yelled at her for making a big fuss over a party, the time I denied her a French fry. It sounds stupid, but it's true. I was blaming myself at night and then pasting a smile on my face in the morning, saying God had had a reason to take her, that I understood there was nothing I could do because it was His will. Of course, I was already diminishing my issue, making myself believe it wasn't true. And then, just like everything else, I started to doubt my faith.


For the majority of my life, since I have recollections of, my belief in God has been an elemental part of me. Starting to doubt Him was only natural. We're human, and I was—or am, still—in pain. Little by little I started to deny my belief, saying this God I believed in couldn't make a good soul suffer as much as mom had. But I was only isolating myself. Thousands of people go through worse deaths, lead painful lives, lives full of struggle, and for the years she was alive God was merciful enough to allow those years to be full of nice memories and happy moments. I was complaining out of pain, out of confusion.


Depression for me didn't give me any signs. I didn't cry all the time, didn't feel the need to stay in bed the entire day. Rather, I found I could go through the day feeling wounded and in pain, and just pretend everything was alright. Do my homework, work out, eat, but something inside me wasn't okay. And the nights for me were always the hardest.


Depression and self-harm thoughts don't stay there 24/7. At least in my experience. They are like an actor for me. They wait for the green light, those confused thoughts, those pained thoughts, and then they start acting up. They fill your head with notions and thoughts of 'Well, nobody would miss me.' 'I should've died with her.' 'I'm just wasting oxygen.' 'I do more harm than good.' And I would cry. I thought of ways to do it, possible dates, I even started to feel peace thinking there was no heaven or hell, now that my faith was shattered. But come morning, those thoughts would be gone once I had to don my mask again, and I'd think 'Surely I was just faking'. 'I wasn't that sad, I'm okay.' 'It couldn't happen to me.' But they'd come back the next day, and I started to realize those morning thoughts were only me dismissing the issue, seeing that deep sadness as something to be ashamed of. I was afraid to aspire pity from others.


During the beginning stages of quarantine, things began to look tougher. I felt caged inside my house, mourning the loss of normal life that made me 'okay' throughout the day, and being my senior year of high school, I began to grieve such experiences, too.


Around May, things began to look better. My thoughts of mother were no longer assaulting, my life started to look bright as I applied into my dream college for a career I truly wanted, and at home, if nothing was forgotten yet, it was all peaceful. I got help from a psychologist, as well, and this person I cherish so much gave me many things to look forward to. This person (if you're reading this) changed my life for the better.


What I'm trying to say is, those periods of time, those never-ending nights, they seemed eternal to me. I truly thought I'd never be over such sadness, that everything was destined to get worse and worse because mother was gone. That nothing would get better. I am a believer, and I feel like that stage in my life solidified my faith, God used it to lead me to where I am now and inspire others along who were going through different kinds of pain. That stage, just this year, has taught me a lot about acceptance, courage, self-care, self-appreciation. But, almost six months after, I can tell you things did get better, and I have things to look forward to, little pleasures that make me happy, and I definitely believe I have a purpose here.


Now, if you're not a believer, those things still hold true. The moment you're going through, whether it might last longer than mine or not, will end, and I'm sure you'll find things to make life worth the while. My whole purpose with this post was to share a light on things people don't really talk about on social media, and make clear that though sadness is valid, and depression is a real thing, so is the other side of the coin, and nothing lasts forever.


Overall and in a sort summary, I always thought the concept of self-harm and depression was so impossible for me, so far removed from my reality. Maybe I even considered it a hoax, but I had no idea what it really could get to be. I was really happy growing up, I felt everything around me was meant to contribute to such happiness, and I was always in a loving

home, surrounded by people who cared about me. That's why, when it came, I was too unexperienced and lost to actually identify it as it was: suicidal thoughts, self-harm, depression. I wish someone would've told me this because I'm not trying to gloss over the depression or painting it as a set of steps people go down to and find themselves in deep sadness at the bottom of said stairs. For me, it was unequivocally harsh, unexpected and confusing. Depression is a real thing, so is suicide, and it can affect everyone, no matter your current life, financial situation or environment.


While I acknowledge this period in my life had a relatively happy ending, the tumultuous times for me are still hard to reminisce on, and I'm even scared of people thinking I'm posting this out of wrong ideas or intentions. Truly, hearing songs and videos of people going through some level of what I went through helped me, and I hope that might be the case for someone reading this, too.


If you're struggling with quarantine, self-harm or depression, please seek the help of someone else. Whether that's a professional, a friend, a parent, a priest, even people online, even if it's just to vent. I'll leave below a list of resources for depression if you aren't as lucky as me to have all those resources at hand.


Please, stay here, know your life matters to those around you, and you're infinitely loved and appreciated. I'm always here, on instagram and my mail if you need someone to talk to. My heart goes out to anyone going through this.


Mental health hotlines (and resources):



Thank you for reading. If you're going through something like this, get informed, seek help. Your close ones will thank you. I hope someone resonated with this!

Profuse greetings, Mel.


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