Time to talk

 

Apparently today, Thursday 1st February 2018 is “Time to Talk” day. And you know I love writing about me, so here it is: my story.

I make no secret of my struggle with mental health. I honestly cant remember any time when I’ve not been depressed. People think depression means sadness. That’s not always true. I have moments of happiness. I can laugh at a good joke; I can be pleased Ive achieved something; I can bathe in the glow of love with my kids. But genuine “happiness” as in “My life is OK right now, I’m satisfied”. I don’t think I’ve ever had that. Does such a thing even exist? To me, it’s like unicorns and mermaids.

I admit I’m not doing so well at the moment.

I made a mistake in work and it feels like the end of the world.  I have had so much CBT, I know what I’m supposed to do. I know I’m supposed to recognise the thought and answer it as if I was my own best friend. But I don’t believe myself. I know I should move on. I know I should learn from the experience so as not to do it again. I know I do a million right things every day that far outweigh the one bad; I know one mistake does not mean I’m totally useless. But I don’t believe a word of it. I’m a horrible, terrible person.

I worry about my kids. Did I do the right thing by leaving? Am I setting them up for a lifetime of misery because I left during their formative years. Will they only remember the night I wasn’t there to care for them when they were sick. Will they hold me responsible because I wasn’t there when their dad shouted at them. Will I ever be forgiven for trying to make myself less unhappy? I see mental health battles already in the kids old enough to display such things. I hold my genes responsible. I blame my (lack of) parenting skills. I’m a horrible, terrible person.

I don’t have any friends. I know a lot of people. I enjoy the company of a great many people. But company is tiring. A friend is someone who isn’t tiring, whose company makes you feel better. The only person I feel like that with is my sister. And most of our time together we just ignore each other. But sometimes when I’m with her I feel worse. I feel old and fat and boring. But I feel like me. With other people I cant help but put the face on. I put the happy persona on and hide from the dark for a little while. But its tiring. Its like constantly acting. Sometimes the act is easier. Sometimes the act is see through and I feel like everyone can see the real, ugly, black me. No one wants that. Its easier to stay away from people and save my energy for things that cant be avoided like work and the school run.

I know the reasons why I’m not doing well this week. Its a combination of (lack of) food, hormones and forgetting to take my anti-depressants a few times in the last couple of weeks. But knowing that doesn’t help. It doesn’t help knowing that this too will pass. It doesn’t help because it doesn’t pass. It lessens but it never ends. And that’s depressing in itself. This is life? What’s the point?

I know I have unhealthy coping mechanisms. I know I drink too much. I know I spend too much. But knowing makes no difference. Drinking numbs the constant black emotions and spending brings a little light to the darkness. Don’t tell me to try this or try that. I’ve tried it all. Nothing works. This is my life. Its a question of getting through each day.

I like feeling useful. I feel useful when someone feels less alone by reading (or listening to) my story and thinking that they aren’t the only ones who feel like this. Perhaps that will help someone to get help because Id recommend anti-depressants and CBT to everyone and anyone (just don’t expect a cure). So the “time to talk” campaign resonates with me.

I’ve done a number of depression courses, I’ve read many articles. I crave knowledge. They theorise that two of the reasons for such a prevalence of mental health problems nowadays is because expectations are so high and we all live lonely lives. In the Western World we are expected to have it all, to want more, to get more, to be thinner, to be happier, to be richer, to be better than everyone else. If I show its OK to not be perfect, I remind myself its OK not to be perfect and other people can feel a little less like failures. In countries and areas where everyone supports one another, where the village work together for a common cause, the incidence of depression is less. If I can be

supportive to someone else, I feel better and hopefully, they feel better too.

So Ill keep sharing my story (and then I’ll go home and recover).