Depression: Someone Fix Me, I’m Broken!

Hi everyone. I might as well just jump right in and start as I mean to go on. Let’s get this straight – depression is an illness, it does not mean you are damaged or broken or useless or any of the other words that plague your thoughts. So please stop listening to those words and thoughts that creep into your mind. This post is an introduction to my own personal experience with depression.

A few years ago, before I was diagnosed, things were going ok – not great but not terrible. I had a wonderful boyfriend, was doing my dream course in university, had a stable job and a great circle of friends and family. So when my mood started deteriorating for no apparent reason I struggled to comprehend what was happeneing.Depression was the furthest thing from my mind, after all, what reason did I have to be depressed. What was so bad about my life ? I had no right to be depressed, no reason to justify it.

It started with small things,for example  the rain or cold weather putting me in a bad mood. If I had to go to college in the rain I would be in a foul mood by the time I arrived. I was wet, cold, my makeup was sliding off my face, my hair was limp and clinging to my face. And this would set the tone for my mood for the rest of the day. Now this in itself is no big deal. Nobody likes the rain or being cold right ? But then I noticed other triggers for my  mood.  I suddenly got increasingly angry if someone was chewing too loudly. To stop myself from lashing out at my family I would leave the room when they ate. If I was forced to sit there while the chomped and slurped  their way through their food(they’re not that bad, it was all heightened in my mind), I became focused  on not shouting at the top of my lungs. My toes curled at the agitation it caused, my teeth clenched shut, my hands balled into fists, all as I sat there trying to act normal. I knew none of this was a normal reaction to everyday occurrences.

My boyfriend was the one person I could be myself with. I felt I could tell him if he was irritating me. But it got to the point where I was moaning for no reason and taking my irritation out on him. If we cuddled up to go asleep and I could feel or hear him breathing on me I would pull a blanket up around my neck and shoulders.Occassionally, there would be a tiny opening between my neck and the blanket  which would create tunnel of wind and everytime he exhaled I would grow more and more agitated as the cold air swooped down the tunnel. I know know I was over reacting and that what I imagined as a huge gust of wind was in reality a light breathe of air.

My dad is not a tidy person. I have grown used to this over 25 years of living with him. But during my “bad time”, as I refer to it, his bad habits became even worse in my mind. Suddenly things that used to make me sigh now made me boil with anger, made me fidget in irritation and  seethe as though I was going to explode. One day in particular stands out in my mind as my mam says it was the first time she noticed something was up. I went into the bathroom after my dad had been in there. He hadn’t let the water out of the bath, the floor was soaked, the toilet roll was damp and the toilet wasn’t flushed. Now while this is not exactly pleasant for the next person, i.e me, most people would be irritated but let it go. Oh No. Not me. I stormed down the stairs in a rage, burst into the sitting room and through gritted teeth I said to the man who taught me to walk, talk, ride a bike and so much more, “If your going to act like an animal then we’re all going to treat you like one”.It became the norm for small such incidents to incite me with fury or reduce me to a sobbing mess.   I knew this was not normal but maybe it was hormones? Stress? Or maybe I was just going crazy ? After all, it couldn’t be something like depression. So what else could it be. I struggled through for about a year and a half, gradually getting worse and worse.

Eventually I began not wanting to go out. When I was out with friends I was counting down the minutes till it was a reasonable time for me to go home. Nights out in town were out of the question. If I got in one of my moods and wanted to leave early I would have to fork out for a taxi on my own or get the night link on my own back to Blanchardstown. Not only that, but by the time we would actually get into town I would probably want to go home by then anyway. It’s not that I didn’t want to spend time with my friends, but with my irritation being sky-high, I found myself snapping and being snarky with them. They had no idea what was going on, or why I was acting that way, after all, I didn’t even know why. So it got to the point where I refused invites. If friends where going to someones house I might go for a while. I knew I  had the luxury of leaving whenever I wanted. Yet still, I would regularly turn down these invites too. People talking too loudly, or talking over each other, or even just too many people in the room would cause me to panic and grow anxious. I felt fidgety, I couldn’t sit still and found myself growing paranoid. Thoughts plagued my mind such as “they don’t like me anyway”or “no one really wants me here”. I tormented myself with scathing reviews of my appearance, intelligence, worthiness, personality to the point where I didn’t want people to look at me or engage with me. I felt like people were staring at me or talking about me.

My breaking point came at Christmas time. I had exams coming up and essays due. The pressure was mounting and I was feeling it. Christmas day started off fine but by lunch time, in the car with my family on the way to visit relatives, I struggled not to burst into tears. I didn’t know why but I just felt broken. I couldn’t let people see I was upset because

1. It was Christmas day and I didn’t want to ruin it.

2.I couldn’t explain why I felt this way or why I was crying.

So I dried my face and took a deep breath and put on my outside face (See below). About 2 hours in and I was ready to go home. I had enough of people, the talking, everyone else enjoying the festivities. I almost resented them for being “normal” when I felt so alone. I was withdrawn, I barely interacted with my family. It wasn’t fair to take my mood out on them and ruin Christmas for everyone so I left early. I could see on my mams face that she new something was wrong. The next day she sat me down to talk about what had upset me the previous day. I found it difficult  to open up and talk about it. But my mam persuaded me to talk through everything and then go to the doctor for help.

I did this and was sent to the hospital for an assessment. I was then put on a waiting list to see a councellor. It has been a struggle, one I still battle every day. But I’m still here and working on being the person I want to be.

Above I use the phrase “outside face”.This is how I refer to the fake me. Anyone with depression will tell you they have a mask, a facade they use when they are around people. We show only what we want you to see. We all do this every now and again but with depression it’s different. It’s a constant mask. A constant pretence that everything is fine. It’s an exhausting task. It takes so much of your energy but it’s either that, or constantly have a sour face and have to listen to people telling you to “cheer up” or “it might never happen”. This is why we put on our outside face. We want to try to fit in and be normal. We don’t want to have to justify our feelings to other people – least of all the nosy woman at the bus stop, or the old man in the shop.

I’m beating depression one step at a time and you can too! Take the first step by talking to someone you trust. Don’t worry about what they’ll think about you. If they care about you their only priority will be getting you the help you need and deserve.

If you have any questions or just want to chat to someone who knows what your going through, you can contact me on Twitter or Facebook or leave a comment. If you feel this blog may help someone you know please send it on.