*I refer to and discuss suicide in this post, so please don't read if you feel it will be upsetting for you.*
I was first diagnosed with depression and its close comrade anxiety at 12. I don't remember much about it, apart from I used to cry a lot, and I had a fear of going on buses because I thought everyone was looking at me. The doctor gave me a packet of pills and sent me on my way. I took the pills and although the depression eased it was always there, waiting. Over time I stopped taking the pills. I've never been one for medications and I didn't see the point.
When I was 16 and in full time work I had a serious relapse. I couldn't get out of bed, I didn't wash, I didn't eat anything apart from tinned hotdogs (I'm a vegetarian now, and the thought of those hotdogs makes me bleugh) and I began to feel like I had no purpose in life. I went back to the doctor and was put on pills again.
Since then I've had an on-off relationship with medication. I managed without it for many years, but generally stayed depressed. I could function well enough, but my mood was always low.
My most serious relapse was last year, when I ended up being admitted to a psychiatric unit. I had lost all hope and all interest in life, and told the doctors 'It's only a matter of time.' I was, of course, referring to me dying. I had made plans to end my life. Now writing that sentence makes me inwardly cringe, but it's true.
I think there's a stigma around suicide. A deep rooted stigma in all of us who try to comprehend a perfectly healthy person saying 'I want to die'. But that person isn't perfectly healthy. Not mentally. Suicide is a taboo in our society, but it shouldn't be. We need to talk about it. We need to talk about mental health, and about depression. Suicide is the biggest killer of men aged under 45 in the UK. Just take a moment to think about that. It's more than cancer. It's more than heart disease or road accidents. So incredibly sad.
I'm by no means saying that everyone who kills themselves are depressed, but many are. People can think depression is just 'being a bit sad' but it's not. Depression is serious. In my experience, it's the absence of emotion, it's the absence of feeling that makes it so dangerous. Because you don't care. You don't think about your family or friends, apart from to conclude that they would be better off if you didn't exist.
On the few occasions I've spoken about depression I've felt ashamed. I have sat and ruminated on my thoughts and the reasons for it. I am privileged in so many ways, I have a home, a loving family, fantastic friends. I live in the UK, I'm free from war and oppression, and I'm not in dire poverty. Why then, why am I depressed? I don't think there's a clear answer. I think the answer is a combination of things, it's impossible to point one out.
At the moment I take a daily dose of venlafaxine, (375mg) and it works. Although I will never be the kind of person to skip through life with sunbeams shining out of me, I don't want to die anymore. Yesterday I said that to my CPN, (Community psychiatric nurse) and she gave me the biggest smile and said she could go home happy. I smiled back, because I meant it.
I was first diagnosed with depression and its close comrade anxiety at 12. I don't remember much about it, apart from I used to cry a lot, and I had a fear of going on buses because I thought everyone was looking at me. The doctor gave me a packet of pills and sent me on my way. I took the pills and although the depression eased it was always there, waiting. Over time I stopped taking the pills. I've never been one for medications and I didn't see the point.
When I was 16 and in full time work I had a serious relapse. I couldn't get out of bed, I didn't wash, I didn't eat anything apart from tinned hotdogs (I'm a vegetarian now, and the thought of those hotdogs makes me bleugh) and I began to feel like I had no purpose in life. I went back to the doctor and was put on pills again.
Since then I've had an on-off relationship with medication. I managed without it for many years, but generally stayed depressed. I could function well enough, but my mood was always low.
My most serious relapse was last year, when I ended up being admitted to a psychiatric unit. I had lost all hope and all interest in life, and told the doctors 'It's only a matter of time.' I was, of course, referring to me dying. I had made plans to end my life. Now writing that sentence makes me inwardly cringe, but it's true.
I think there's a stigma around suicide. A deep rooted stigma in all of us who try to comprehend a perfectly healthy person saying 'I want to die'. But that person isn't perfectly healthy. Not mentally. Suicide is a taboo in our society, but it shouldn't be. We need to talk about it. We need to talk about mental health, and about depression. Suicide is the biggest killer of men aged under 45 in the UK. Just take a moment to think about that. It's more than cancer. It's more than heart disease or road accidents. So incredibly sad.
I'm by no means saying that everyone who kills themselves are depressed, but many are. People can think depression is just 'being a bit sad' but it's not. Depression is serious. In my experience, it's the absence of emotion, it's the absence of feeling that makes it so dangerous. Because you don't care. You don't think about your family or friends, apart from to conclude that they would be better off if you didn't exist.
On the few occasions I've spoken about depression I've felt ashamed. I have sat and ruminated on my thoughts and the reasons for it. I am privileged in so many ways, I have a home, a loving family, fantastic friends. I live in the UK, I'm free from war and oppression, and I'm not in dire poverty. Why then, why am I depressed? I don't think there's a clear answer. I think the answer is a combination of things, it's impossible to point one out.
At the moment I take a daily dose of venlafaxine, (375mg) and it works. Although I will never be the kind of person to skip through life with sunbeams shining out of me, I don't want to die anymore. Yesterday I said that to my CPN, (Community psychiatric nurse) and she gave me the biggest smile and said she could go home happy. I smiled back, because I meant it.
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