I
thought I’d write this post about my depression, because it’s
something I don’t talk about very much in real life, and mental
health is something really important, and we shouldn’t be afraid to
speak about it.
Depression
is defined in Google’s
dictionary as “feelings of severe despondency and dejection” and by the NHS as “if
you're depressed, you feel sad, hopeless and lose interest in things
you used to enjoy”.
Some people call it the black dog, under the black cloud, the invisible
illness,
or
simply say they’re “not well”.
Statistically more than 3%
of adults are
diagnosed/depressed each year, but it’s very important to remember
that everybody is an individual, and just because something worked
for you or a friend, or your second-cousin-twice-removed’s
neighbour’s uncle’s dog, does not mean that it will work for the
next person, especially if you are also advocating that they come off
any prescribed medication.
Trigger
Warning: I do talk about suicidal thoughts etc.
When
I was a teenager, I was depressed. I don’t remember when it
started, but I do know a catalogue of things that contributed to it,
and I was depressed by the time I was 13. At one point, a couple of
my close friends were also depressed and talked of suicide, so at
school I would try and comfort and support them. I think I did an ok
job? (none of them committed suicide), though one did self harm
occasionally. Looking back, I never told a teacher or their parents
about it. I didn’t want them to get in trouble. I was stupid and
wrong.
At
15yo I was definitely suicidal. On the outside I have everything
going for me, and I didn’t like to be the centre of attention, so I
didn’t tell a soul. Literally nobody. I was a “good” girl, I
was academically able, I had friends to chat to at school and would
visit their homes. There was nothing “wrong”, so I kept all my
feelings inside and lived inside my head a lot of the time. At one
point, I was very low, and held a steak knife pointed into my
stomach, under the table, over dinner. It was pointy! (understatement!) but I was aware enough to know that that wouldn’t
be a pleasant way to go, especially as if I'd failed, I would probably have given myself an infection. I had actually planned out my suicide. I’m
not going to describe it here. I will say, that it was the ‘best’
that I could come up with, that would achieve it’s goal according
to my own parameters. Nobody needed me. Nobody liked me. Nobody
loved me. I was an annoyance at school and to my family. Nobody
would miss me. Why didn’t I go through with it? Because, knowing
how my family worked, it would be my mum who found me and I didn’t
think that was fair on her.
Throughout
this time I was a Christian. I didn’t attend church (I wasn’t
allowed to), but did go to (and run for a while) my school’s
Christian Union. I read the Bible, and prayed daily. Often crying
out for help. I do believe God heard me. I came through my suicidal
thoughts, by the time I was 18. Looking back, I should have told
someone. I should have gone to the GP and got antidepressants. I
should not have tried to go through it alone (albeit with God by my
side). I was lucky, and do feel blessed by God for that experience.
Depression
has never totally gone away; it always bubbles under the surface.
Most of the time at university, I forgot about it. Occasionally my
mood would dip, especially if I was struggling with the work, but
overall things were ok.
When
I became pregnant with DD1 I had a horrendous time. Initially I was
told I’d miscarried, but I hadn’t. Then I had Hyperemesis Gravidarum
- extreme “morning sickness” that I wouldn’t wish on my worst
enemy. Because she was “small for dates” I was told she probably
had a chromosome disorder, but they wouldn’t know until she was
born because I chose not to have the full set of tests available.
She was 2 weeks overdue when born via Emergency Caesarian Section,
after a failed induction. From the EmCS I got an infection in my
abdomen, and because of the pain meds I got an anal fissure. And she
didn’t take to breastfeeding very well, despite having may
breastfeeding counsellors trying to help, so I had bleeding and
agonising nipples for the first 8 weeks of her life. Was it a
surprise I had PND and PTSD?
Fortunately, my health visitor was
a wonderful lady and picked up on the signs. I am very self-aware,
and knew something wasn’t right, not least because of the effect my
husband had on me: I had such a fear of getting pregnant, that if my
husband came near me, even to the point of holding my hand, my head,
my brain would SCREAM at me. A high pitch, not-quite-audible alarm,
even though my rational brain knew my husband just wanted to show
affection or comfort me, and I wanted him to. So, my HV arranged for
me to see a counsellor – what a waste of time and space. I
explained everything that happened in the pregnancy, birth,
post-birth. I explained about my head screaming if my husband would
dare to touch my shoulder, even though rationally I knew there was
nothing to fear. She asked me whether I wanted to have sex with my
husband – yes I wanted to, but physically/psychologically couldn’t.
Then her advice to me what to buy a vibrator. Seriously! I never
went back.
It
took longer than I hoped, but by getting a copy of my maternity
notes, and getting support from various online communities, I did get
past it, and DD2 was born. I had a slight dip again, after she was
born, but nowhere near as bad as after DD1’s birth.
Life
went on, and my mood would go up and down. I discovered that
internally, I’m a very angry person. I wouldn’t necessarily show
it in public, but sometimes some of my thoughts or actions would
scare myself. I put myself through an anger management course, and
did learn some useful techniques. However a few years ago a load of
shit happened at the same time: beloved grandparents died, my mum’s
cancer diagnosis, my father-in-law’s mental health issues, my
husband had job issues – it all felt like it was getting on top of
me.
At
first I didn’t do anything about it. I’ve been depressed before,
and I wasn’t as bad as I was then. I wasn’t suicidal, though I
occasionally had bad thoughts – that was my gauge: if I started
thinking about how I’d planned suicide previously, even though I
knew I didn’t want to go through with it, that was the time to
start making time for myself, looking after my mental health and
start to work through it.
Then, over 2 years ago now, I
had a full hysterectomy and BSO. I was put into immediate surgical
menopause, but thankfully was given HRT (oestrogen patches) straight
after the operation. After a few months, I could feel myself getting
more and more angry, and wondered whether it was a side effect of the
menopause and my HRT needed increasing, so went to see my GP. She
was lovely, asked a few questions, including whether I thought I was
depressed and whether I was suicidal. I explained that I had in the
past, but didn’t think I was depressed now; and that I wasn’t
suicidal, but thoughts about suicide had started occurring more
frequently, so I knew it was a sign that something had to be done. I
was told that what I was feeling was not due to the menopause, but I
was clearly depressed – I’d just lived with fairly low level
depression for so long that it was normal for me, and she prescribed
me with antidepressants.
It
makes such a difference to me. I’ve been on the medication for 2
years now, and if I accidentally forget to take it, it makes a
difference to my mood immediately. Admittedly, I tend not to notice
at the time – I’ll think the girls are playing up more than
usual, or DD1 is having a pre-teen mood swing – but when I realise
I have missed a tablet, all the extra arguments, irritations and
niggles makes sense.
My
mood does still go up and down. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.
Normally it manifests itself in terms of my executive functioning
ability. I can’t keep control of my house. My personal hygiene
starts to decline. I feel like my children hate me. I want to hide
from everything and everyone. Getting out of bed is difficult. I
can’t sleep until the early hours, and then can’t wake in the
morning. Everything is too much effort. I can’t cook, so my eating
goes out of control, and then I feel guilty. It’s a vicious cycle.
And I’m angry.
But
it is somewhat predictable. I know it will pass, and it does. I try
not to impact my children, and will still drive them about the place,
even when I really don’t want to. And soon enough, it has passed,
and I’m back to being stable again. I know I get affected by SAD,
so as the nights and mornings are getting lighter, I feel in control
again, and there is longer between the dips.
If
you, or anyone you know suffers with depression, please encourage
them. Include them and invite them, even if you know they may need
to turn it down. Give them practical help, especially if they feel
they can’t leave their home for a while. Love them. Encourage
them to see their GP, because 1. medication is not evil and 2. there
are other treatments such as counselling, or CBT etc. Listen to
them. Be there, not necessarily saying or doing anything, just
sitting. Remind them that they are not alone.
We
care. We will help. We love you.
 |
| I wish I knew who created this to give them the credit. |
Here
are some useful websites and phone numbers (if you're UK based):
Mind: 0300 123 3393 or text 86463 or email info@mind.org.uk
The blurb says:
