Season One of the Sparkle Photo Series

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​​I am by no means an expert on mental health, but I’ve gone through some hefty trials and tribulations. This last year has undoubtedly been the hardest of my life, and I wouldn’t change a minute of it. It has made me into who I am today: an Artist, a Teacher, a Friend, an Explorer, a Philanthropist, and a Fighter.

To really understand depression you have to experience it. Its not being really distraught over a break up and hiding away for a couple weeks, or being upset after the death of a loved one. It is forgetting who you are; it is loosing every ambition you once had; it is fearing you will never have happiness again, and even forgetting what life on the other side is like.

The best analogy at which I’ve arrived is found in the children’ s movie, Inside Out. It portrays the brain as a world that’ s sole purpose is to influence who a person is and their actions. In this world there are many components, such as a headquarters that houses five personified emotions, dream productions, long term memory,  a train of thought, and very critical islands that each reflect an aspect of one’ s personality.

In the movie the ‘ core memories’  that power the islands are lost and they begin to deteriorate and some are even completely destroyed. This is depression. I began to lose my islands, and feared they were gone forever. My Friendship Island began to shut down. My Art Island imploded with a bang. The gears of Goofball Island  stopped turning. Childcare Island slammed its doors closed so hard I was sure I’ d have to find a new career path. I stopped feeling love and in turn stopped loving all the things I once cherished. But fear not, this is no longer the case.  

​After a long journey of searching for a non pharmaceutical solution, I found salvation in holistic health. I went t o a functional medicine doctor and in as little as two weeks I felt better than I ever had before. Now, three months later, I feel radiant and healthier than I ever imagined possible. I feel compelled to share my story in hopes that I can help other people who are struggling.

​Hello World, My name is Daranee Amphay and I have depression. Before I tell you that story, I want to tell you three facts about myself. 1) I love animals more than the average person 2) I am a huge family person and 3) I’ m an introvert.

So here it goes...I used to think that being depressed was something to be ashamed about. I felt like if I talked about it then I was just trying to get attention or that no one would believe me or understand. I would write down all my emotions and feelings in my journal then tear out the pages and soak them in water just so no one would even have a chance to glance at it. The one person, I first truly trusted to talk to about my depression was my boyfriend at the time and he made me feel even more insecure. We would go out and he would get drunk then tell me to kill myself because depression was stupid. I have dealt with depression for a really long time, on and off since my uncle passed away in 2007. I knew it was more than just being sad because I started to imagine myself disappearing from the world. Wondering what it would be like to “erase” myself, to cut myself.

I started to feel like I was a prisoner to my own mind. Once I grasped the fact that I had depression I was able to distract myself by excessive shopping or getting involved in unnecessary drama. I got to say that it really sucks having to force yourself to get out of bed every morning. It sucks even more to feel so alone when loved ones surround you. To feel like you are alone. Some days it hits harder and I start to feel like I’ m drowning, grasping for breath but others I just go through the motions. I hate people seeing me vulnerable so I put up this guard and pretend that I’ m okay, when it’s not. I put up this guard and don’t let anyone really in, especially to this side of me.

​When I watched Ashley’ s video I realized that there are other people out there that need help or want help, maybe someone just to talk to. I know that I could have used it when I first started understanding/dealing with depression.

I’ve been asked more than once about my depression timeline and how long I’ve been living with this constant sadness and anxiousness I carry around daily. I can pinpoint the exact day and the exact moment it all changed. The summer of my 13th year my Dad was extremely ill in the Intensive Care Unit for months. His Doctor came out to the waiting room we had been staying in every night for the summer and told us to say our “Goodbyes” because he wasn’t going to make it through the night. I went into his room gowned, gloved, and masked and I couldn’t process what was happening to us at that exact moment. After saying my “goodbye” and walking away from the man who raised me, I wasn’t ever the same. 

My Dad didn’t die that night but some of me did. I struggled a lot growing up with anxiety and my depressive state; so much that people didn’t notice because it was the person I had always been to them. For most of my life I thought that everyone felt and struggled the same way I did and it wasn’t till I was 16 or so that I realized what I was feeling wasn’t normal. A multitude of negative thoughts running through my head constantly, the idea that there was nothing for me in this life. The only thing that got me through most days was laughing with my friends and knowing that my family needed me. When I was 12 my Aunt told me that I was “the rock” of my family and that I kept everyone and everything together. The pressure that I constantly felt and still feel to take care of everyone took over my life, so much that I stopped in entirety taking care of myself. 

When I went away to college I thought it was going to make me better and it did the exact opposite. I kept seeing in my head in all these different ways I could end my life. Like it was the only option in that very moment and I fought it with Nyquil. I would sleep for hours and skip class and just drive around running red lights. The recklessness drove me home and it’s like I was better there then I was anywhere else. I struggled here and there for years after but felt like I was ultimately better. In early 2015 my Father killed himself. He left me. And the following months after that was the most confusing time of my life. I was on both sides of depression; the side where all I wanted to do was crawl in a hole and die there and the side where I couldn’t’ grasp why my Father left me the way he did. I was in constant self-doubt that I wasn’t worth anything because the one man who was supposed to love me forever left me empty.

The worst part is that no one understood what I was dealing with, no one could see the things inside of my head. No one could understand what he was going through or see the things inside of his head.  It’s been 10 months since I got that call and majority of the time that has passed I have no memory of. I still struggle every single day, some days much more than others. Some days I don’t even get out of bed because it feels as if I physically cannot move.

​Every day is different but I’ m stronger than I was yesterday and I’ m using every ounce of my being to continue being strong. I created Sparkle in hopes to save lives and spread awareness, please be a part of this movement with me.

This was my struggle, and is my struggle. I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety at the ripe age of 8, and it was completely earth-shattering to my "butterflies, 'everything is sunshine', Powerpuff girls, and Lizzie Mcguire obsessed" world. The moment I first discovered my condition was in 3rd grade. We were getting ready to dissect a lamb's brain, and "out of the blue," something completely irrational, and manic happened,...my chest fastened tight as if I had cinched up a corset right onto my rib cage, my heart began to flutter like a bajillion trapped butterflies, my breath turned into a marathon runner's, my hands became a puddle of sweat and my mind was screaming, I am going to die! My heart is going to burst!" This is what we like to call "fight or flight" mode. I was fighting to abandon ship. To race out of there and never come back. Why? I don't know. I. don't. know. And that is the sucky part. That is how a panic attack works. There doesn't necessarily HAVE to be a rhyme or reason.  Just something "chemical." And it's brutal. And scary.

Looking back now, over time, I have come to put the puzzle pieces together with my family, friends, doctors, mentors, etc....and we've come to find out that due to my parent's marital separation over addiction, having to relocate and move in with my grandparents, all while only a few months after 9/11 occurred,....it took a toll on my 8 year old brain in ways I never suspected and made that "out of blue" moment make a bit more sense. That panic attack in GT class my 3rd grade year, was the first symptom of many symptoms to come that revealed that my normal was not "normal," but in fact, "traumatic," and "hard," for a girl my age. 

Shortly after my first panic attack in the GT room, Depression settled into the pores of my soul like a nice, warm, suffocating, filling me with worry, doubt and erasing my happiness. My anxiety and my depression became a nasty, diabolical duo...best friends...both in love with taking me down, time and time again. In the psychological world, doctors say they go together like peanut butter and jelly... my luck. And thus began the journey of living and walking in my new, messed up, lovely reality that is a mentally sick "PB&J."  Over the next few years, me and my family immersed ourselves in the psychological field visiting doctor, after doctor, after doctor. There were tons of appointments, tons of medication trials, tons of side effects, thoughts of suicide, tons of tears, irrational thinking, tons of "episodes" in class, tons of hurtful words from fellow students either still living in their "peppy pink bubblegum land" and or were having to wobbly walk through their own new, messy worlds and just didn't know how to be nice to others in the process. I remember a girl going around and making fun of me and talking bad about my illness, calling me "drug girl," and "she has to take medication in order to be able to function right? What a weirdo!!”

I forgive her, for I know she was just trying to understand it all like I was, but I don’t forget the words. They still reside in the back of my mind and pop up to mock me from time to time. That whole season of my life was a very dark one. To be honest, 4th-8th grade, was just an ugly, raw, blur. Not to say that there wasn't beauty, hope, love, and all the wonderful things that make up this life...but it was all being filtered under a film of sadness and fear, unfortunately.  But thank the Lord for Jesus. Jesus held me through it all and still does. He is my salvation, my comforter, my strength, my portion forever. He has gotten me through some of the most terrifying moments where I truly saw my life flash like vicious lighting in my eyes, blurry, saline-drowned eyes. He is my sustainer, my TRUE LIFE. He has held my hand, has filled my heart with a deeper sense of all things pure, good, and right amongst the CRAP. By His scandalous love, and amazing grace, He has given me eyes to see past the BAD and to zone into His GOOD. And for that and so much more, I am forever grateful. Continuing on over the next few years, He has led me to the right doctors, the right prescriptions, has walked with me through the fires of this illness, has taught me so much more about people, compassion, understanding, patience, perspective, showing grace to others and myself, all while reminding my restless heart to trust in Him when it would all feel completely hopeless at times. He has surrounded me with amazing family and friends to help me along the journey, to hold me when I can't hold myself, and to lift me up when my depression is pressing down heavy flat. And I do. I still struggle DAILY with this illness. It's hard. It's heavy. It's REAL. Not "just in my head," but IN MY BRAIN.  IN MY CHEST. IN MY HEART. IN MY LIMBS when all I can do is convulse after the attack is coming to an end. It's just as PHYSICAL as it is MENTAL. You’re "mental" is your control center. Your brain is the Head Honcho...gives directions to all the other parts. If the Head Honcho is out of whack. You be whack. JK! Lol! ;) But for real, there are still days where it is a prayer and a challenge to get out of bed because you didn't get any sleep the night before due to your anxiety keeping you up till 4-5am. BUT STILL in those hours of sadness, of terror, of weak, bleakness, there is HOPE. Joy DOES come in the morning! 

​A PEACE that surpasses ALL understanding. A STRENGTH when I am WEAK. A SHELTER I can SEEK in times of TROUBLE. And His name is JESUS. And I can smile because He lives.  I can LIVE because He LIVES. And I will continue to walk in all this uncertainty hanging tightly onto His faithfulness. Because He has never failed me, and never will. If you are ever in need of someone to talk to/share your story with, please don't hesitate to reach out! You are not alone, and we want to help Thank you SO much Ashley Caballero for asking me to be a part of sharing my story. Thank you for your BRAVERY in sharing yours, and paving the way for others to step into that same boldness and honesty....Thank you for letting me know, and others know that we are not alone in this. And that there is HOPE. LIGHT. LIFE at the end of our dark tunnels!

​Did you know that 44% of rape victims are under 18? And that 4/5 victims know their assaulter personally. Or how about that 68% of rapes AREN'T reported because of the other 32% that are, only 2% will spend time in jail. That's 98% of rapist that will NEVER pay for what they did.  I have lived with "trauma depression" since I was 13 years old. Get that "trauma"...at 13 I had hit rock bottom...I couldn’t handle walking around school pretending to still be that peppy, outgoing girl that got a long with everyone. It was exhausting lying to everyone including myself. I didn't tell anyone what had happened to me for FIVE months. Nobody.

I walked around carrying this secret and guilt until I just couldn't take it anymore.  Two months after telling my family what happened I tried to end my life. I told my mom that I wasn't feeling well and didn’t want to go to school. Everything was still so fresh and hurtful so my mom decided to stay home with me. About midday I told her I was going to take a shower that was my escape place. So I sat in the shower with the stopper in, letting the tub full with water, and listened to one republic's "dreaming out loud" album. Just as I was contemplating on how to take my life quietly, my mom knocked on the door to check on me asking if I was okay. That little question brought me back to reality and I knew I couldn't put my family through that kind of hurt.  I sat there for a few minutes longer before getting out and going down stairs to tell my mom I needed more help than I thought. 

That day I was emitted into spring wood hospital. I started out in an inpatient program were I stayed overnight and had 3 -4 therapy sessions every day for a week. I colored a lot lol. But that was when I was diagnosed with not only depression but bulimia as well. I finished the program out with as an outpatient followed by group therapy sessions. I was out of school for a month and when I came back I wasn’t the same. I was better but I was still battling all of these demons.  Depression never goes away. For me it's this nagging voice that tells me I'm no good, that I don't deserve what I have. I'm not pretty or smart. Every day I deal with this voice. It has caused so many insecurities within myself that have affected my relationships with significant others as well as family. I let it rule my life for so long.

​Until I recently found MY voice. Mental illness has become a big topic in today's society and these discussions have helped me realize that I'm not alone. When I feel these demons taking over my mind I can fight. I have decided to take back MY life. I want to thank Ashley for starting such an awesome organization to help bring awareness, more  people who don't suffer need help understanding that this disease has no "cure" it is always there; but it takes faith and strength to get up and fight every day, and it's not something we can do alone. "

Depression and anxiety aren’t easy things to live with. No kind of disorder that is known to man is.  I’ve been depressed for as long as I can remember. Not a lot of people know because I tend to do what everybody else does that deals with it; smile. Just put on a smile and pretend that everything is okay. I never want to burden anyone with my problems because I know that others have problems of their own. I don’t open up to anyone because who really cares? I don’t let people in because I don’t trust many people. 

Once depression makes its way into your life, it’s there. It’s not going anywhere. Even when you have “good days” and think that everything is fine, there is always something that triggers it and it just opens the flood gates and you all of a sudden feel like you're drowning again. You might not even know what triggers it, but something always does; at least that’s how it is for me. 

Growing up I’ve always felt more responsible for other people’s well-being than my own. I was never a care free child. I was always the “man of the house” with my dad always being deployed. I was always trusted to do what I wanted when I was in school. I made good grades, I never was involved with drugs, and I always checked in with my mom. She was always there if I needed her and she trusted me as much as I did her.  I’ve never really had a “father-son” relationship with my dad always being deployed in the military. Even when he was home we never saw eye to eye. We always butted heads because he tried to set limits on me when I was already an independent person. I guess that’s one thing that caused me to be as depressed as I am. I was always held responsible for his duties when he wasn’t home. I felt more like a “dad” than a teenager, and I’ m sure my siblings hated me for acting like it.  I remember calling my grandma every time something happened that made me upset. I’d call her and just cry because I didn’t know what to do or because I didn’t want to be “home” when my parents argued. My bedroom was right above my parents and I could always hear what they were arguing about.

Depression has always made me feel like the places that I call "home" aren't really my "home." Yes, I lived in Fort Worth from the time I was in kindergarten up until I graduated high school, but everyone knew that I referred to Alvin as my home.   Only two people knew I was depressed up until I moved out. My mother and grandma. The two people that I was closest to.  I was always ready to move out and be on my own. I was ready to get away from the nonstop arguing between my parents, the “I need some air” from my dad that turned into a trip to the bar and coming home drunk to argue some more, being told that I need to be out of the house “the day I turn 18” from someone who’s supposed to be a father, and always feeling like I'm being interrogated. I thought moving out and doing things on my own meant that I could start over. I could finally be in the place that I called home. I could finally do what I wanted and I wouldn’t have to answer to anyone. I wouldn’t have any problems which meant I wouldn’t be depressed anymore. I was wrong. That’s when it hit the hardest. I remember the day I got my keys to my first apartment I sat on the living room floor and cried to my mom because I was scared. I didn’t want to fail and prove my dad right when he told me the day I left that I “would be back in a couple months when you can’t pay the bills. “I felt guilty for leaving my mom when she was going through a tough divorce with my dad. I felt like a lot of things were my fault.  Granted, I made some really great friends since I’ve lived on my own, but I started doing the same thing that I did in high school; smile. That’s all it takes. Just smile and people won’t ask you “what’s wrong?” Even when people do ask me “what’s wrong?” I just say “I’ m tired” or “I just don’t want to be here today. “It’s a lot easier to say those two things than give them a long sob story about my problems that they wouldn’t care about anyway. 

It’s hard for me to open up about my depression. It’s hard for me to trust people and let them in and talk about everything that’s on my mind.  I’ve gotten better about talking to people when I get bad, but there used to be only one person I would talk to about everything that went on in my life; now I don’ t have that person.  I’ve been to the point where I have sat on the bathroom floor and cut myself because I just didn’t want to feel anything. I wanted to be numb. I have cried myself to sleep because I’ve felt like shit. I have been called things from someone who’ s supposed to be a friend that has made me feel even worse than what I did the day before. 

Depression has made me lose a lot of things. I’ve lost my best friend. I’ve lost time. I’ve lost opportunities that were given to me but I passed them up because I didn’t feel like getting out of bed that day. I’ve gone through it all. I’ve lost a family that considered me to be one of their own, and I’ve lost so many things and so many people because I just don’ t have the energy to do anything.  I started losing weight when I got really bad. It wasn't just a few pounds here and there; it was a little over 50 pounds in a short time span of a month and a half. It's not that I starved myself, but when I get depressed I just don't want to eat. I don't want to do anything. Everyone asks me how I lost so much weight that fast, but what am I supposed to say? I never exercised or did anything intentionally to help me lose weight. I just stopped eating because I was never hungry. Even when I did try to eat when I wasn't hungry it just made me feel sick. Now I only eat about one meal a day because I can't stomach anymore food without feeling sick. Everyone knows how much I love food and like to try new things, but that's just another thing depression has taken away from me, my appetite. I know a lot of people don’t understand what it’s like to live with something that weighs you down every single day. I know people won’t understand why I don’t want to get out of bed some days and just not talk to anybody. I know people make jokes about suicide and people that have depression or other mental disorders. That’s why I don’t talk. That’s why I’m quiet. People wonder why I don’t talk much or why I only have a few close friends. That’s why. Why am I going to try to explain the way I feel if all you’ re going to tell me is “go see a doctor” or “you need help. “No. I don’t need to see a doctor. I don’t need professional help. I can do this on my own. I can be happy without having to depend on medications. I’ m not saying that medications are a bad thing, but I want to do this by myself for myself. I want to prove to myself that I don’t have to take a pill to be happy. 

I can’t help the way I feel or think. I know this is something that I will live with for the rest of my life, but that doesn’t mean I will allow it to take over my life. Depression is something that I am learning how to defeat one day at a time, and with the support from my family and the few friends that I do talk to, I can. I will. I’ m glad to see that Ashley has started this to allow people to tell their stories. To help people see how prominent mental disorders are in people whom you may not think would suffer from. It helps us who do suffer from the numerous disorders that there are out there see that we aren’t alone and that nobody should be alone when going through something as difficult as this. 

I'm blessed to have the family and friends that I do have to fall back on for support. I have my wonderful mom and step-dad that I consider my dad, my aunts, uncles, cousins, siblings, and especially my grandmother. I now have another family that has taken me in as their own when I learned that I have a half-sister that I couldn't not be happier or more excited to meet. I have the most kick ass friends that I can trust with my life. And even though I may not have that one best friend that I talked to about everything, that doesn't mean that just a negative impact was left because the good times definitely outweigh the bad. Thank you to my family, especially my mom and grandma, my friends, especially Michael, Joyce, Tina, and Billie (this list could go on and on but you guys know who you are), and for everyone else who has helped me see that I can be happy with what I have right in front of me. I love you guys. "

From the voice of Ashley:
“A couple of months ago Kiri and I got in touch because I heard her story from a mutual friend of ours and decided I wanted her to be a part of this fight with me. She agreed to share her story and to spread a message. A message that silent illnesses are taking over the world in the sense that whether its depression or suffering from something like epilepsy, you never know what others are going through; so be kind. 

On February 9th, 2016 I drove to Parkland Hospital to meet Kiri Trotman. Kiri is 31, a Skin Therapist, and a Mother who would do anything for her gorgeous seven year old daughter, Kinli. Kiri is an epileptic and if there is anything that I took away from meeting her, it’s that Kiri is a fighter. Brain surgery may be the only option to help her fix anything or she will live the way she is living now for the rest of her life.

This story isn’t easy for me to write due to the fact that I can’t fully grasp what Kiri has gone through but I am going to do my best.  When I met Kiri she was under observation for her seizures and had a number of monitors that she was hooked up to. She was admitted on Monday the 8th and was then taken off of all of her meds and the following Tuesday she had already had 3 seizures and was clearly exhausted. Her Doctors have decided that surgery was the best option to stop the seizures that were once a mystery to Kiri and her family. “I live with this in the back of my mind 24/7 that I am going to lose control of whole self. My mind and my body, and that can’t happen. I have a child and that’s the hard part.” Kiri told me in tears talking about the love she had for her daughter. Kiri, Her Mother, and I sat in her hospital room for 2 hours talking about our lives before her husband arrived with her daughter.

I met Kinli that afternoon and she was as vibrant and weird and beautiful as Kiri told me she was. When she saw her Mother she lit up with joy and I hoped that one day I would have a child who is as proud of me as Kinli is of hers. Still hooked up to a multitude of cords and monitors struggling for words due to the seizures she told me, “I’ m very stressed out. I feel like though the further we get into this the more stressful it’ s going to get...I do want Kinli in all of this to know that she is my number one reason that I am doing this completely for her. That I’ m not sitting up here in this hospital room for fun all hooked up. I’ m here because of her."

I am blessed to have met and know someone as special and kind as Kiri Trotman. She’s a model, a skin therapist, a daughter, a friend, a sister, a wife, she is a mother, and she is a warrior. She is everything that Sparkle is as is everyone else who has been a part of this photo series. Her story has continued to inspire me and I hope it inspires you to fight. Living with this silent illness her entire life she has learned to adjust to the cards she has been dealt and she hasn’t stopped fighting for her to get her life back. “It’s hard when you have an illness that people can’t see.

It’s hard to explain yourself when people expect you to be able to. I’d love to pull out a picture for everyone and show them this is what’s wrong but I can’t. I get doubted a lot because nothing looks like there’s anything wrong with me. But then I go to sleep and I start having seizures, it’s a battle.” Keep fighting Kiri, you sparkle.

Epilepsy awareness day is on March 26th

Discussing my feelings has always been challenging for me. For as long as I can remember I've constantly been told that I was over reacting or that I needed to calm down. My feelings have been invalidated over & over again so I bottle things up. Numbness became second nature because I was constantly worrying my feelings were inappropriate in every situation no matter how small or how big.
 
When I first thought I might be depressed, I was a freshman in high school. I told someone & they told me that I was just a hormonal teenager & id get over it. It was just something teens claimed now to get attention. They probably should've listened. Maybe then I would've gotten the help that I needed & been more successful in adulthood than I am now. It took another 6 years before I tried to tell anyone again that I was depressed. I've spent the last 2 years off & on in therapy but fighting my parents & many others who think like they do, the whole way because they don't think depression & anxiety are real. Despite their being a measurable imbalance in my brain or the proof that was in my falling GPA. You can't keep up at college when you can barely get out of bed to get your teeth brushed & shower. When breathing is a burden how am I supposed to find it within myself to get even the smallest of papers written. Sure some days were better than others but the numbness, the rain cloud over my head, the constant anxiety that came from not being the person everyone thought I was or thought I was going to be. Depression is dark & it's scary & when someone tells you that they think they might be depressed, that's a huge step. It's a huge thing because our society today doesn't believe that depression & anxiety are serious disorders.
 
Many don't believe in the importance of mental health care being more easily accessible to the masses. People are killing themselves. Jumping off of bridges & roofs & tying nooses around their necks not because death seems suddenly appealing to them but because their invisible agony has reached an unendurable level. It's the same reason a person in a burning building will jump instead of being burned alive. They can't take it anymore. When there's no one willing to help you & no one that will listen, people seek an escape. That's why Sparkle & the organizations like it are so important. Because they give a community that has been told they're struggle isn't real a voice, a platform, & the ability to get access to the help that they need. This is a conversation that's been long overdue. It's time we have it.