If you only read one thing I write from beginning to end, please bear with me and make it this one.
When I decided to start a blog, I promised myself I would be brutally honest - regardless of how uncomfortable, painful or difficult it may be. Warts 'n all. Me, out there - part therapy, a little cathartic and very occasionally, thought provoking and serious. I am most definitely no expert - on anything particularly, so I must rely on my experiences and observations to form my opinions. I happily (well, maybe not always, I am a stubborn bitch) stand corrected when I'm wrong and do not claim to be educating anyone - however, if I can start a conversation about a topic which is important to me and that I feel passionately about, I'm delighted. Time to pull up the big girl undies and get on with it.
One of those topics is depression. Sadly, I feel that it is still somewhat shameful and taboo to admit to. There is a social stigma in stating "I suffer from depression" that does not exist for other potentially terminal medical conditions. Yes, that is how I view it. I am speaking only from my own personal experience and conclusions I have come to from that experience, I have no training on the topic, so apologies if I am off base. This is not a pity party or personal cry for help - hopefully a cry for a little more understanding and compassion. I purely want to bring the subject out in the open - to discourage the way of thinking that "Mental Illness" means you're a nutter (well, I am, but that's a whole other blog for another day). To keep people thinking about something which can often be quite invisible and make sufferers feel invisible also. I hope that depression is seen more as the chemical imbalance that exists rather than seeing it as a weakness or self inflicted sulk. That in particular, men and young people feel more comfortable opening up about it, letting those in their lives know that they don't judge, but care about them and their well being. It would seem that as we get older, women feel more open to discuss all kinds of issues with those closest to them, which is a truly wonderful thing.
I'm not talking about being a bit sad from time to time. Feeling a little blue after watching an emotional movie, or having a bad day where things don't seem to be going right. I'm banging on about deep, dark, morbid periods of life which can last anything from days, weeks, months or years. I can't speak for others and don't claim to understand their personal battle. Just as we all have different attitudes, tastes and opinions, we all have different struggles to deal with.
For me, depression has been as much a part of my being as my brown eyes for more years than I'd like to count. It is an ugly beast, which I hesitate to refer to as the Black Dog, because I love dogs. It defies logic, takes apart the wiring that makes me who I am and how I feel, twists the wires in a random format and slaps them back together. It takes simple tasks which are a part of everyday life and makes them seem impossible and unbearable. It rips apart relationships, destroys dreams and aspirations. It takes the very fibre of my soul, dips it in shit and throws it on a bonfire.
I am a very fortunate person. I know that. I have a reasonably comfortable life, many people who care about me and who I care about. Some who I love deeply and without whom my life would just not be the same. I live in a wonderful country with many freedoms others lack, have not lived through atrocities as others have had to do. What right do I have to ever be depressed? I DON'T KNOW! Ask my brain that. One of my biggest frustrations with this cursed condition is that it defies logic and reason. Outwardly, things in my life may be cruising along nicely - so why do I find it so difficult to leave the house? To hold a conversation? Why does it take every ounce of mental energy I have to get through the work day, then retreat into being a hermit after hours and not face anything or anybody? Why are there times when I do nothing but sleep and when I'm not asleep I want to be asleep... then the next week I get no more than 3 hours a night? I wish there was any kind of rhyme or reason to it that I could figure out, but there isn't. I can even see how people with depression find themselves addicted to drugs, alcohol and sex. Anything which gives instant, even fleeting pleasure is going to be a temptation. A momentary high, a temporary escape.
Perhaps the most terrifying part of depression is when it leads to a person taking their own life. Let me first state, I feel that when this happens, the cause of death is depression, not suicide. That person's life has been taken by the illness, no more, no less. This is the hardest subject to approach and one which I am the most afraid of getting across in the wrong way, but I feel so strongly that it needs to be discussed openly and honestly. My life has been directly and deeply affected by the loss of both family and friends in this way. I have seen and felt firsthand the shock, horror, devastation, guilt and grief that loved ones suffer through. I have also seen and heard the deceased referred to as selfish and gutless. I cannot stress enough how much this illness can take over your thought process. My belief is that those who are pushed this far are absolutely not thinking that they will be causing pain to those they love. They are suffering in a way which makes living and breathing in itsself, unbearable. What cure is there when your pain is caused by simply living? End living. I know this is not true, that there are other avenues to help the pain... but while you are in the midst of depression, that logic does not exist. It simply does not. There is not a thought process (in my experience) which goes "I am going to hurt those I love immeasurably, but fuck it, I am more important". That is just not how it works. It may be a case of thinking absolutely everyone in this world will actually be better off without you (not in a self pitying angst way, but a 100% belief that this is the case). That people may be a little upset at first, but that won't last long once they realise what a great life they have without the burden of you in it. That if you are forced to continue to inhale and exhale every day, you will destroy everyone and everything around you, simply by existing. I don't believe the intention is to be selfish - quite the opposite. Again, I KNOW these beliefs are wrong. I am just trying to explain how the thought process may work for some people.
This illness takes things which you know are fact and removes them from your thought process completely. Even something as trivial as having a bit of a bad day and normally you know you would be cheered up by a visit or a phone call with a dear friend turns into the impossible. The fear, shame and feeling of hopelessness are overwhelming. If simple, every day life is this difficult, what about when something truly terrible happens? How can you begin to cope with an actual real struggle comes along? I don't know. I liken it to this - when you are underwater, holding your breath, your body tells you that you need to break the surface and get air into your lungs. Your body just knows what you need, right? With depression, it forgets. Nothing as simple as a thought process actually works. Sitting here right now as I am, I know - I am a moderately intelligent person - which things make me happy. That motherfucking black dog takes those things I know, runs off, chews them up and shits them all over the back lawn.
I do know that I need to make a conscious effort to do more of the things that make me feel good and less of the things which don't. That's about as far as I've made it so far, but I think that's pretty damned good.
FYI - yes, I am currently medicated and it seems to be going well. I have acknowledged and somewhat accepted my problems and make an effort - which is beyond difficult - to talk about it at times. I don't walk around with a rainy cloud above my head, Addams Family style. I don't even cry every day anymore. I am thankful to be here. I am immensely grateful for good friends (related or otherwise). I want to grow old so that I can embarrass and annoy my children more than I already do. I want to drive my husband up the wall for many years to come. Sometimes it may be more difficult than others, but I will keep reminding myself that it's worth it. I may not be able to change the whole world, but I can change mine and I'm quite ok with that. For now. Today, at least, I can say "Fuck YOU, black dog. Back in your box".
xx
www.blackdoginstitute.org.au
www.beyondblue.org.au
www.kidshelp.com.au
www.lifeline.org.au
www.mindhealthconnect.org.au/need-help-now
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