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| Oops ... |
I had graduated from university with a degree in Care, Community and Citizenship. For more than half my life I have volunteered with people with physical and mental disabilities. My first and second job were both in the care sector, the second helping people with dementia at nights. So when I applied for my third job and realised I was successful; I had a 3 month wait before my CRB was accepted (a government process to ensure I am safe to work with vulnerable people). I could not wait to begin! Yet finishing my first shift, a 12 hour one at that, I was left feeling shattered. Not physically, in the sense of being exhausted, though my feet did hurt, but in the sense that I had made a terrible mistake, and there was no easy way to fix it. Helping vulnerable people, dying people, terminally ill people; it was all too much. Suddenly I realised that I was trapped by illness, sadness and death. I was leaving home, where members of my family were ill themselves, to work half a day with people who were also ill. I found myself trapped, and throughout the working week I ate two bowls of soup, showered once, ignored brushing my teeth, cared little about sleep, engaged in no social activity, stopped reading, stopped watching documentaries and politics, stopped talking to people, stopped writing; I stopped living. When I finished work, I would go home and sit at the computer, feeling dread, anxious, regret, guilt, trying to hold back the tears. What on Earth was happening to me? This shouldn't be happening, yet I knew why I was like this ... or so I thought. Cutting a long story short, I figured the problem was that I was surrounded day and night by ill people, It took its toll, and I needed a change in careers. I handed in my notice, and finished after the first week. My parents at first weren't pleased, but when they saw the decline in my health they realised I had to do what I had to. When I spoke to the manager and handed in the letter, I thought everything would be fine. I could search for another kind of job, get my life back on track, continue with my plans ... and yet the beast did not sleep.
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| Depression is a battle in the dark, as they say. |
Things at home were great, actually. My dad helped fund the business. Fortunately, I saved a large sum of money from my second job, and afforded all of the equipment. All I needed were T-shirts and the materials to create designs with. So my father helped me, and my grandmother too, and now I have several designs available to purchase, I have an office in the house now, I have a website, a Facebook group, business cards, and people know what I'm doing. I've made extremely little sales, but that is expected with a new business. It can take years, or so the experts say. My relationship with my father, which at best of times is rocky, is now actually fantastic. My relationship with my mother and grandmother has improved too. My mother's illness, which I've put under the carpet for more than seven years, finally hit me like a truck. And since, I've come to grow up and realise the seriousness of the illness. I've taken away the curtain, and I've realised why my dad has been stressed, moody, somewhat negative as of late. It has all made sense. I've always said that cancer doesn't just change the person, but everyone around also. And yet, with all the good things happening at home, I've never felt as low in my life. Whenever it was dark at night, I would feel hopeless, alone, afraid. I searched on forums, where people suffered the same symptoms, and they were all depressed. I didn't want to believe it at first. I tried to focus on reading a book, I couldn't focus. I tried to play a game, I couldn't perform. I tried to speak to my friends, I couldn't help but cry. I dreaded night, absolutely dreaded it. Even now I dread it, though not as much. It's true that I started to take care of myself again since quitting the job, I eat and sleep, and engage in social activities. Yet inside I feel hollow, lost of hope, sad, lonely, afraid.
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| Every tunnel has a light, right? |
I eventually booked an appointment with the doctor, told him how I felt, how the ill family members were taking its toll, how seeing my friends on Facebook happy and joyful, with plenty of pictures of healthy family members, were ruining me. When he diagnosed me with depression I grinned, not shocked or surprised, maybe it was relief? After all these years I felt like I could take off the armour and tend to my wounds. Just the diagnoses was a huge relief. He suggested medicine, I refused. I wanted to do this myself, without the assistance of medicine. He offered therapy, I gladly accepted. I've had counselling years ago, when I was at the age of 16. The attack had left me vulnerable, afraid to go out, ashamed to do anything in society. My friends were dropping me, assuming I didn't want to go out with them any more; and all because I kept my problem to myself. In the end I paid for private therapy, and it helped dramatically. No longer do I fear for my life when I go out. Not everyone out in the world is out to hurt me. Yet the attack had made me believe so. Going back to the current story, I strongly believe in therapy, thus I accepted. I spoke to a counsellor on the same day, surprisingly, and he too was shocked at my rapid decline. At the end of the 'thirty minute get to know each other' session, he said he would get in touch, but possibly months away. I smiled, a sad smile however, knowing that a 'few months' at best was possibly half a year away. I took my leave, and met with my good friend for a few drinks in the pub. When I told her about the diagnoses, she replied "You don't look anything like depressed." I nodded and agreed, yet afterwards, when I returned home, the same dark hand had gripped me by the throat. I sunk in this darkness, loneliness, a sadness.
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| We all have ups and downs |
As of today, at the age of 24, I feel double my age. I feel guilty that I have let down my family and friends, and broken my vows to help them. I feel ashamed that I have fallen when I thought I would never. I feel embarrassed that I feel stigmatised. My ambitions have crumbled, I have no vision of the future, I read each day on the computer for a few hours about beating depression, I don't smile as much, and when I do it's often just to try and laugh myself out. I see my friends achieving so much, travelling the world, getting engaged and having promotions, and I have achieved none of that. And is not envy that I feel, I too was once proud of my achievements. Graduating, focusing hard on my writing, starting a small home business, gaining experience from different jobs. It's true, I don't have my own apartment, or a partner, or a flashy car. In honesty, good friendship and family is what makes one rich, I believe. I have told several friends of the depression, and they have all been supportive. Well, almost but one, who told me bluntly to man up. Strong words coming from someone who has no terminally ill family members. It matters not though. We all go through journeys, light and dark; I know I will beat this. I do not know when or how, but I do know I will beat it.
Ultimately, I'm writing this because I know there are people out there that are afraid to share their problems. And as a result, people are left to feel alone and afraid. When in reality, it's the opposite. Depression is now understood by society, there is little stigma. Reports say we all suffer with it at least once in our lives. Why should we let it cripple the many - many years of our lives? I, unlike many people, is fortunate enough to discover my depression and do something about it. Other Bloggers often regret not tackling it sooner. Again, this short diary is designed to get things off my chest, for me to discover why I'm feeling this way, and a way to encourage other people to speak about their depression. As always, I am fortunate to have the great friends that have been supportive. Forgive any writing mistakes, and leave a message if you want, I'll get back in touch :)
