People have often said to me over the last ten years that my life sounds like a soap opera....that if it were a story in Eastenders, people wouldn't find it believable....because of this I have decided to start blogging some of the more random things that happen to me as well as to document some of the more pertinent features of my life....
But before I start there is something important I want to share with everyone, something that I need to get out there in the world. That's right I'm coming out...
Ok, I got you all there - I'm sure you all thought "but you've had a boyfriend for the last three years". I'm not talking about announcing I'm gay; indeed in today's world there is less social stigma around being gay then there is about my issue. That's right, I want the world to know that I suffer from depression, regularly, and I'm not just talking about feeling a little bit down every now and again. I mean, full blown, suicidal thoughts and drugged up to the nines....Now the reason I'm announcing this for all the world to know is that I am fed up with all the stigma surrounding this illness - it's not a sign of being weak, it's not something that only weirdos suffer, it's very simple, my body can't produce serotonin properly so when a 'normal' person gets sad, their body compensates and gives them serotonin to make them feel better, mine can't so I need to take drugs to help it. That I am able to identify when I am struggling to cope and seek help, either medically, through diet or through forcing my friends to help give myself a boost would seem to me to be a strength and not a weakness, but there we go.
Let's go back to the beginning - I was first diagnosed after my first year of university - I wasn't myself from early on-used to being the big fish in a small pond, I couldn't cope with the chaos of the city. That's not to say I didn't love the city, it was just a bit of a shock to me. Add to that a boyfriend in Cambridge who wasn't happy, a mum who blamed me for imagined financial issues and you can understand why I was feeling under pressure. I also had a couple of old friends at Uni with me, but I was struggling to make close female friends of my own, and although I had plenty of male friends (always been the case), quite often they were hoping for a bit more than friends and I was attached. When my boyfriend and I finally broke up and I returned home for the summer, I guess it was the final straw to find that my bedroom had been turned into a dumping ground for all the crap my parents didn't want anymore. I had my first (of many), flip outs - this is something that I'm certain is not unique to me, but when it all gets too much I lose all control of reason and I get incredibly angry, then can't stop crying - I feel as though everyone is out to get me and I tend to find myself crying in a corner somewhere with no real understanding of why I had previously felt so angry and feeling a little embarrassed at the way I had treated people. I can think of at least 5 times I have done this over the last ten years - twice I ended up medicated after, twice I was lucky that the people with me understood and forgave me and once I ended up losing friends because, after all, who wants to be friends with an irrational bitch? It has only been in the last 4 years that I have come to recognise these flip outs as a sign of depression returning and so I can cope with it and deal with it.
I just want to be clear - I'm not making excuses for my behaviour here - I have been a grade A bitch when I've been struggling to cope, I'm just hoping that by writing this down, maybe someone out there will recognise these symptoms in themselves and be able to get help before they destroy friendships or before things get so bad that they think about self harm or, even worse, suicide.
Thankfully, I have only ever once been suicidally depressed - I have often had that feeling of "the world would be a better place if I weren't in it", but I have only once seriously considered doing something about it and that was the very first time I was depressed. I'd like to think that now I am strong enough to recognise when I am not well and do something about it instead of spiralling down and getting worse - I should be clear now, it was about 6 months after I first felt bad that I finally felt suicidal so if I'd only known what was wrong, maybe I'd never have had that experience in the first place.
I consider myself to be lucky - I have amazing friends and colleagues who support me - my employer knows about my history, even offered me some time off when I went back on anti depressants earlier this year, but more importantly, I am lucky because I don't feel embarrassed to admit that I have a mental illness that will probably continue to affect me my whole life. Statistically speaking, women are much more likely to be depressed than men and if you have suffered depression more than once, you are much more likely to keep suffering it throughout your life. This makes sense to me since a one off depression is caused by a lack of serotonin, whereas regular depressions suggest that your body struggles to produce it. To me, I don't have a mental illness, I have illness caused by a deficiency in my body - if you want to look down on me as weak for this, that's your prerogative, but I can't consider it to be a weakness.
Now, most of my depressions over the last eleven years have been minor - I've found myself crying at things that just aren't that sad (adverts, books, soap operas) and I'd consider that a warning and tell someone or it'd just pass by itself and I'd feel better after a few weeks, but the most recent one has put me back on the medication again for the first time since I was a teenager so I think it's important to outline how I felt:
My dad has been seriously ill for the last 2 and a half years, he was diagnosed with a brain tumour and the hospital decided to take a biopsy. There was a problem with the biopsy which led to a bleed in his brain and it is my opinion that the hospital didn't treat this properly. The bleed left my father with no balance, no proper control of the right side of his body and a difficulty in speaking. He went from being the most fit and active 62 year old imaginable (surfing and 90 minutes of football a week), to being completely unable to do anything himself. Over the past two years he has learnt some independence so he can feed himself if the food is cut up, he can transfer himself from an armchair to wheelchair and his speech is at least understandable. That said, he has struggled emotionally and is often like a tantrum-y child. And guess who gets a lot of the tantrums......? You hear a lot about people who gracefully deal with illnesses and being suddenly wheelchair bound - that is not my dad. He is rude, aggressive and sometimes, downright irrational. I found myself driving for between 5 and 6 hours each way, once a month, to help him out and it was exhausting me. Dad agreed to go into a home for a month to give us a break and after less than 24 hours he was ringing me to rant about how awful it was - unfortunately this coincided with my school being inspected and I just couldn't cope. This time I didn't recognise the symptoms, but my boyfriend did - we went to visit dad and he took me to one side and said he was worried - I was getting angry at things my dad was saying that didn't usually bother me, everything was upsetting me and I was a mess. As soon as he pointed this out to me I realised he was right, and I needed help. I went to see my GP, who was very understanding and offered me medication to deal with it - in this situation it was the right decision because I couldn't cope and I wasn't functioning in any way that I could begin to feel better. The doctor helped me to realise that I shouldn't feel guilty about not always being able to help my dad and nor should I feel guilty about wanting a break- I've now had to declare that I'm only visiting once every 2 months so that I can have some time to recover and get on with my life.
I'm in a situation whereby I can see that my life is 90% perfect, apart from my dad; I have a lot to be happy about so, naturally, I have decided to come off the medicine. Unfortunately I have discovered the fun side affects of withdrawal, which may make me think twice about taking medication again (feeling so dizzy and unable to concentrate that I break off mid sentence during a conversation as well as feeling drowsy and headachey), but I think if I was feeling as bad as I did a few months ago I probably would consider taking them because it has made a difference and did help me to cope when things were bad.
I'll finish writing now so I can drive back home, but I just want to make sure that everyone who might read this understands that depression isn't a weakness and to understand how important it is to not treat people differently because they suffer from it - 99% of the time you won't know when I'm in the depth of a depression because I'm still me and the easiest way to help me is not to treat me like I'm fragile or in need of care, but to understand that I don't have enough serotonin so I need a boost - whether that be some positive news, a fun day out, some serotonin boosting foods or, occasionally, some medication to help my body compensate. I'm not weak, pathetic or someone to avoid, I'm someone with an illness who is doing their best to fight it and to get by.
Thank you and I hope that no one thinks badly of me for being so honest.
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