I was speaking to another “depressive”(someone who suffers from depression – usually with Generalised Anxiety Disorder and possibly Stress thrown in for shits and giggles — I might have just made that word up, but it seems to work, so I am going to leave it there) a week or two ago and we were chatting about shit and things and really playing catch up.
We had not seen each other in quite some time, so it was a very nice catch up and we did spend a lot of the time laughing, and snorting.
The conversation took a turn and we started speaking about the fact that we both suffer from Depression — not the “here take one pill and call me in the morning kind” but the sort that takes you 13 years of therapy to really understand what it is you are working with.
Years of enduring shitty therapists to eventually find the good one who was able to really guide you and assist you.
Years of the wrong medication, in the wrong dosages to eventually find a fantastic psychiatrist who understood you. Who saw you at your worst, and built you up from a shivering shaking rambling idiot to someone who could almost pass for normal. And not spill tea on his rug.
Years of guilt of what you were exposing your family to. Years of feeling that you were a burden – you are a burden, nothing you do will change the fact that you are such a burden.
Hiding your depressive episodes because you feel your family and friends are so “sick of your shit” — when in reality you cannot hide a depressive episode for all the Zoloft in the world.
We had different journeys but they were similar in many respects.
Then strangely the conversation moved onto “suicide plans” and we almost in unison agreed we each had our own plan.
A plan we had been harbouring for years.
I am not going to speak for all Depressives here, but I think it is often something that most people do not realise about people with Major/Chronic Depression.
We have a suicide plan. Or most of us do at any rate.
Most of us think about our plan once a day or maybe once a week.
I think about my plan in the same way I would think about whether I need new toothpaste. Just something to tick off the shopping list.
In some cases “the plan” is quite elaborate and in others it is beautiful in it’s simplicity.
Suicide – contrary to popular belief does not need “a reason” or even “a really bad spate of depression” and is in most cases not a “cry for help.”
I think people with chronic depression do not see it as a way to get help, they see it as a way to leave because the blackness has just become too much. And they cannot see any light at the end of the famous tunnel.
Depression is a life long illness.
It drags you into a black sinking hole where you no longer can see anything, there is no hope of small spark of light. It is just this heavy blackness where no light or hope can pass. You eventually start to accept that in fact there is not any light.
The blackness creeps over you like a shadow, and before you have realised it, you are enfolded in it’s robe of cold darkness and a sense of being alone – bitterly alone.
Nothing anyone says or does changes that darkness.
You feel alone. You feel desperate.
You feel like that darkness will last forever.
You can not imagine a time when you were not being swallowed by that darkness, you cannot imagine a time when that darkness will recede.
You just cannot.
And sooner or later you cannot live in the bleak and desperate darkness any more.
Breathing is a challenge. Faking it through the day is exhausting.
Faking it through your life eventually becomes unrealistic.
You also want to round house kick the next person who tells you to “just wake up happy….”
You do not believe you will ever get out of the hole. So you start to think of how to just stop. Everything.
You can be thankful and rejoice that you have the right medication, the right dose, and if you are in an emergency you just need to phone your Dr Psychiatrist and mention to the secretary that you are having a “self harm” kind of day, and an appointment will open for you almost immediately.
{Everyone do a huge clap for a great Medical Aid…..}
I have only phoned my Psychiatrist once with a “I need to speak to him” sort of day. And he magically opened a time slot in his already crammed diary because he knew that I really needed to speak to him.
My friend and I compared notes on the sort of things that we think about.
What worries us about committing suicide, what we factor in as a possibly route, time of day that would work, location and so on, and it was quite amazing how much of it was the same for both of us.
We actually laughed in a “this is really fucked up….” sort of way.
Then just to add strange, we both agreed we were technically in really happy places at this exact moment, but that did not stop the thought of an exit strategy being foremost in our minds.
Depression does not go away.
In my case, and I am thankful daily, my depression has really been under control for more than two years now, if not three. I am on a good set of medication that I do not fuck with.
I stick to my medication. No matter how good I am feeling, I do not tweak it, change it or think I can just miss a few.
My medication keeps me on track. My medication keeps the black dog at bay. For the most part.
Where I am in my head is generally a good place.
The only issue I am experiencing at the moment, is a very high state of anxiety, and stress that is influencing my sleep patterns. And a lack of sleep or a shift in my sleep is a huge red flag of concern — I do not function well without sleep.
I realise that last blog post might not have echoed that sentiment, but I am amazed at what I have coped with in the last two years, and how much I have risen above all this shit to be more of who I have wanted to be for a very long time.
Some days I do feel like I am drowning.
But those days are few, and they usually are limited to days. They do not start to turn into weeks and months, like before.
I am far happier than I used to be — again I realise that based on the last blog post that sounds like a whopper of a lie —- but my job is not to convince you of it.
I feel happier in the inside part that really matters.
I have a clearer idea of who I am. I do somehow even when the days are tough, I do still feel happier with who I am. Now. Than who I was before.
Sure I have an exit strategy ….. and I realise how insane that sounds.
How can I be happy if I think about suicide?
It is actually possible.
{…… thanks fuck all dopamine or serotonin or what ever else my brain cannot manufacture or absorb ….. }