Not All Disabilities Are Visible By: Gizelle Koontz

 

My name is Gizelle Koontz, and I am a woman in my fifties currently residing in Belleview, Florida, a small town outside of Ocala. I was born in Canada and moved to Florida as a child. I graduated high school in Florida and eventually became an American citizen. I have worked in healthcare for a few decades, mainly as a Phlebotomist and Laboratory Technician. However, I have also worked as a Medical Assistant and have had employment outside of the medical field, such as working for the post office as a mail carrier. I am currently studying medical billing and coding and working in home healthcare, which is how I met my current client (and friend) Jason, for whom I am honored to write this article.

Many of Jason’s blogs discuss the physical side of disability; however, this piece will discuss a hidden disability. I am an individual who has struggled with depression and anxiety for as long as I can remember. When I first started experiencing depression, I was a teenager. Needless to say, my high school years were a little rough and not my fondest memories. Back then, I blamed my depression and anxiety on the fact that I had two very strict and controlling, “old-fashioned” European parents with high expectations of us kids. The kind of parents that you knew loved you, but they were hard to please. My dad had a short temper and yelled a lot, and we knew we would be in deep trouble if our grades weren’t up to their standards. Don’t get me wrong; my parents weren’t horrible. I didn’t have a relationship with them where I felt I could express my feelings or tell my parents what was bothering me because it would be dismissed. It wasn’t until later in life that I realized that my depression stemmed from something a lot deeper.

The first time I became suicidal, I was in high school, and my parents were not very understanding—especially my dad. I remember him telling me, “I had no idea what a hard life was”; he made me feel as though I had no right or reason to feel sad or unhappy. I remember going to a family therapist a few times, but my father thought it was a complete waste of time, and we eventually stopped going. What he didn’t understand was that when someone is dealing with depression or anxiety, it isn’t just dealing with your garden variety sadness. It is as if you are missing a key part of yourself or something inside is broken. I could never understand why I felt the way I did. It was a feeling I couldn’t shake. Once I moved out on my own, my depression and anxiety followed me into adulthood. That is when I realized this wasn’t just a result of living at home with two overbearing parents but instead a mental illness that needs to be paid more attention to by society.

Only through self-reflection and growth have I come to this realization. The sad thing is that most of society does not view depression the way I believe it needs to be viewed. They see it as a crutch and do not fully understand that this is a serious problem that needs further study and research. Apart from research, the one big thing that I think society could do to understand depression is to be more compassionate and humane overall. We are only human, and not everyone is born with the same makeup and/or coping skills. Depression is a lifelong illness, and it does not simply just go away. While the medications help, there isn’t a “magic pill” one can take to make the depression and/or anxiety disappear.

In closing, depression is not a new part of humanity. Still, as we move forward, if we treat it for what it is, people may eventually have a better quality of life and develop the skills to manage their depression with the proper support in place. Finally, it is essential to remember that just because you can’t see someone’s disability, it doesn’t mean that their hidden disability isn’t just as valid as yours. We are all members of The Voiceless Minority in one way or another.