Depression doesn't just go away

I've written about my depression a few times, and mention it more often.
Depression and Me
Feeling Like Shit
Why don't I like myself?

So, this is going to be another honest/frank/tell-it-as-it-is post.  I do need to add at this point a

**TRIGGER WARNING: discussion about suicide**

and also a note for friends in real life that I'm ok; I'm not feeling these things any more; and I did have friends to help me through, and will be talking about it again on Wednesday with my therapist.

So, I had a bit of shit time at the end of last week.

On Thursday in my local paper, there was a horrific story about animal abuse - a man is going through the courts because he has neglected a load of dogs.  These dogs live in his mum's home as she used to run a kennels and these dogs were her pride and joy.  However, the paper went on to say that the woman now has dementia, and was left in her house with no food for her nor her dogs.  The dogs were starving to death, many had illnesses and sores, and some were left dead on the floor of her home.  There was even a dead dog in the freezer (which I found weird that that was the thing that tipped many of the FB commenters over the edge, whereas that was the least of my concerns).

Anyway, it turns out that I know this woman.  I used to live 3 doors down from her, before I moved 4 and a half years ago.  I said I'd keep in touch, and though I tried phoning a few times initially, I lost her number.  I do send her a Christmas card each year with an update of my girls (she's one of only 4 Christmas cards that I actually send regularly), I cannot say that I have kept my promise to keep in touch.

So on Thursday I was wracked with guilt.  My logical brain knows it's unlikely that I could have done anything, as it turns out the people who live next door didn't know what was going on, but I still think that I could have been a better friend.  If I had kept in touch, I may have noticed something sooner.  Having relatives with dementia, and seeing the state their lives get in (without outside help), it is horrendous to think that she was living amongst dead and decaying dogs, with no food, and presumably didn't have the capacity to either know anything was wrong, or worse, did know something was wrong, but couldn't do anything about it.

Either I coincidentally got a cold on Thursday night, or the stress lowered my immune system.  I couldn't sleep and had throbbing headaches (not quite a migraine, but really painful).  Thursday night, this lady's other son got in contact with me, so now I do have her phone number again, as did one of the people who live next door to her - which I thought was really considerate of both of them.  I did say to the son that I would phone his mum on Friday afternoon - well we're now Monday (at time of typing) and I still haven't phoned, but hopefully I'll have the courage to today.  Being someone who doesn't like phones at the best of times, doesn't like small talk, and feel tremendous guilt for not staying in touch more, I do have to build up the strength and courage to phone, however cowardice that may seem.

Thursday I was feeling bad all day, both ill and guilty.  I was very very tired and my head was pounding.  Not that that can excuse what is coming next, but hopefully puts it in a bit of context.

DD1 comes home from school and starts going on and on.  We need to leave almost immediately to go to dancing (as we do every Friday) and DD2 and I had tried to get DD1's dance stuff ready, but clearly we hadn't done a good enough job.  Even when I was in the toilet, I had the girls shouting to me through through the door, and I did snap back - they're not toddlers anymore, they should be able to wait 2 minutes!

In the car on the way to dance, I can't even remember what started it, but DD1 and I were arguing.  I kept saying that I needed quiet.  I was trying to focus on driving, which was hard enough with a cold and a pounding headache, yet DD1 just couldn't be quiet (we think this is a symptom of her autism, and is something we need to work through).  As I am starting to feel when my temper is rising, I know that I need to walk away and have some quiet, then I can calm down before going back to the matter at hand (and it's probably my own autism that has meant it's taking me 30+ years before I figured this out).  However, when stuck in the car in a line of traffic on a dual carriageway, there is nowhere for me to go.  I shout at DD1, she shouts back.  I just need her to be quiet, and she keeps answering back and answering back and answering back, and then it happened.  I slapped her leg.  I'm not proud of it.  It is not something I would do in my right mind.  It is not something I condone, and I wish it had never happened, but it did and is pertinent to this story.  Did it have the desired effect? Nope.  DD1 shouts at me again, so I hit her again.  In the same place on her leg.  Now her leg is bright red.  She does, now, shut up for a bit - until we arrive at dancing.  Then she is hysterical.  She won't now go into dancing and wants to be taken home.  I'm furious with her and furious with myself.  I finally persuade DD2 to go into dancing, and I have to go into the building myself in order to pay for the week's extra lessons.  Meanwhile DD1 is on the phone to my husband saying that I'm abusing her.  She refuses to go into the building, so now I have to go back in, find her teachers and apologise for the fact she is refusing to go in.  I end up bringing her home again, and I go straight to bed.  By now I'm ashamed of my outburst and my actions. I know I need space, I know I need sleep, and I cannot face anyone.

In case anyone is at all concerned, I do not condone physical violence against children - especially when it is committed by me.  It is not something I do often, nor is it something I want to do.  I was hit as a child and hated it, and never want to hit my own children.  It is not done as a way to make myself feel more powerful, to make my children fear me or as a tool for bullying, but it is done from a sense of powerless.  I lose control.  I'm the adult, and I shouldn't.  If it were an adult next to me, I imagine they would have stopped when they could see that I'm losing control.  This isn't something my daughter has learned yet.  If the adult didn't notice and continued, I probably would have slapped their leg too, I don't discriminate.  At that point in time, I couldn't think of a better way of getting the quiet needed in order to concentrate on the road.  I need to do better in future.

In recent weeks, I had been thinking my depression was lifting.  Even when bad things were happening, I was able to get through it, and yes my mood would dip, but then it would come back up again.  I had thoughts about lowering my medication, and about stopping seeing my therapist - in fact, for the past couple of months, I thought my session this coming Wednesday would be my last with her.  I thought if the therapy stopped, and I was still feeling good, then perhaps in the summer I could reduce my dose of antidepressants.

On Friday night I was feeling bad.  Guilt and shame wracked me. I wanted to die.  I'm not a good mother.  I'm not a good parent.  There was no point to me, other than causing my children hurt and pain.  At one point I was afraid to get out of bed because I knew that our medicines live in the drawer under my bed, and I couldn't get any food from the kitchen because I knew the knives lived there.  I haven't felt like that in a long long time.  I was shocked at how suddenly and how deeply I felt these things, and it served to remind me that depression doesn't just go away.  It bubbles under the surface. I prayed desperately to go to sleep so I could switch off these feelings, and I did manage to sleep on and off on Friday night.  I also did something I've not done before - talk to friends about those feelings.  They helped me through the worst of it, and encouraged me to talk to my husband.  When feeling like that, you feel like a burden, and knowing my husband has stresses at work and with his family, I didn't want to add to it.  Though on Saturday I did stay in bed most of the day (I really was very tired!), I did talk to him.  I can't talk about feeling like that when I'm in it - even with my friends I had to wait until it had passed - but that was the quickest I had managed: a few hours later, rather than weeks or years as previously.

Now, I'm back to normal - whatever normal is. 😀
I think it must have been an extreme reaction to an unfortunately accumulation of events.  I'm certainly not suicidal now, and am very glad that God and some part of my brain took control and forced me to stay in bed until the feeling passed.  I'm sharing this, not for sympathy, but hopefully to encourage others why may have similar thoughts or feelings to speak out, whether to friends, family or doctors.
It's time to end the stigma surrounding mental health.

Here are some useful websites and phone numbers (if you're UK based):
Samaritans: 116 123 or email jo@samaritans.org
Mind: 0300 123 3393 or text 86463 or email info@mind.org.uk 
Time to Change: here is a longer list of support they recommend