I will be writing more about my early years in a later chapter, today I am reflecting on more recent thoughts and feelings.
I recently read: 19 Things People Wish Their Friends Knew About Depression
Today I am considering the first of the nineteen:
I have a few friend with whom I will talk about how I am feeling, my husband Ray is my person of choice to talk to with about it. My children are both in their twenties, but I still resist being honest with them, I don’t want them worrying about me. My mothering ‘protection instincts’ kick in, I just don’t go there. This may be counter-productive, they can probably see that I’m not doing great, but it is not easy for me to talk to them about it, so in a way I’m treating depression like a stigma too.
But what about others? If you ask me how I am in a polite, conversation starter sort of way, my response will not be genuine. I, along with many depressives, will respond that I am fine, I am unwilling to bare my true self to people who are acquaintances, or to work colleagues. I would not want to risk the possibility of a true and frank conversation about the state of my mental health for fear of their reaction. I am an expert at deception when it comes to my mental health, most people I meet are probably totally unaware of my depression.
There are many people who I have begun a conversation with, who just don’t ‘get it’, they have no real conception of what depression is, and that it often does not happen for a definable reason. I have had experience of being advised to see a Psychiatrist (tried that), getting Psychotherapy (tried that too), Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (doesn’t do much for me), and various holistic/alternative treatments, none of which have ‘cured’ me.
If depression were an illness for which one ‘outbreak’ produced antibodies to prevent it happening again, like Chicken Pox, or one which had an available vaccine like Measles, then yes, once you have recovered/had the jab, chances are it would never affect you again. Sadly this is far from the fact. For those of you that have suffered depression just once, or for those of you for whom it is almost a permanent state of being, the truth is that it is an individual illness, the range of suffering both in terms of severity and duration is enormous. It is as unique as your personality, which is what depression can mess with, temporarily or otherwise.
So how am I feeling? Over the past four weeks I have, under supervision from my GP, been reducing the dose of my medication. I have been taking 200 mg (the maximum allowed), for the past two years. It had been working for me until very recently. I will be on week five of gradual withdrawal tomorrow, down to 50 mg for the next two weeks and then back to my GP to discuss what to do next. Either try a different drug or see how I get on without.
January and February are always risky months for me, by the end of February phases of low mood were becoming more frequent and prolonged.
I knew I needed to see my doctor on the day I had the worst ‘black dog’ moment ever. In the past I have had thoughts of having ‘just a little accident’, some mishap that would mean I was confined to the house, giving me a justifiable reason to escape from the effort of trying to function normally, and making this effort is exhausting, really exhausting. I have never carried this through, preferring to take sick leave instead. But on this day, my thoughts were more extreme, they came out of nowhere, and were scaring me.
I thought about tablets, no, I’m too cowardly for this, what if I didn’t take enough? Using a kitchen knife, I hate the sight of blood, it makes my legs go wobbly and I get light headed and in danger of passing out, also I am seriously knife-phobic. I’m OK using a sharp knife myself, but if I’m in the room when someone is using knives or when Ray is sharpening our kitchen knives, I have to get out of there, it gives me the jitters.
I was home alone, working in my craft shed so what caused me to feel this way? I certainly didn’t choose these thoughts, I was in the middle of doing something I enjoy, but still the bad thoughts rose up and made their presence felt. I considered my options, I really had no wish to end my life despite what the depressive thoughts were trying to suggest. So, should I phone Ray (he was over an hour’s drive away), go and knock on a neighbour’s door, phone 111 or the Samaritans. I sat doing nothing for a long time, immobilised by my thoughts, eventually I decided to pick a physical task to immerse myself in. I had a mirror frame, one of the first things I had decorated, that I had never been entirely satisfied with, so dug this out to work on. I spent over an hour stripping off the decoupage and paint, I was able to totally focus on the task to the exclusion of all other thoughts.
When I had stripped the frame back to bare wood, I had got over it, the suicidal thoughts had retreated. To pick myself back up, I looked through ‘Pinterest’ for inspiration and began working on a completely different design. By the time I had completed the new design, it was as if the destructive thoughts had never happened. This is it: