I guess there should be a trigger warning here, this is a bit of a dark post about the worst days of my depression. Thank goodness its Friday. I don’t know what’s been up with this week, its felt like about a month long.
A lot of memories have come back to the surface this week, mainly to do with my depression. I should really think about getting some counselling I think, especially as now hubby and I are not going to relate any more, it helped me a lot to have someone to talk to about what was going on with me. But until then I think I’ll just write about things as they come into my head.
Claire said to me yesterday that she was remembering the day last summer when she honestly didnt think I’d make it to the end of the week. I’d not slept for about 48 hours and had just cried for most of that time. We sat in a pub together and I don’t think I spoke to her for hours, I just sat there with tears running down my face. I didn’t even know I was crying, couldn’t feel the tears. I’d actually given up and gone already. She made me eat and drink and took me to the doctors and then phoned me every hour on the hour for the next 2/3 days. She said yesterday that all she could remember was me sitting there in front of her in a striped top and my hair in bunches and her thinking “oh fuck, how can I fix this” She really thought she had lost me. I don’t know how I’m still here to be honest.
Here little story about her memories made me laugh when we spoke about it, although that day is definitely not a laughing matter. I’d made peace with the fact that I couldn’t do it any more. I didn’t want to hurt anyone but I knew that the kids would be better off without me, that nobody really needed me, that I wasn’t adding anything to the world apart from pain and sadness. What was the point?
I can look back on that now and see how it was totally the depression talking, it wasn’t me at all. I’m strong enough now that if I have a bad day I can see what is depression related and what is just a bad day. But when you are in the middle of it you cant see that at all. It all makes perfect sense.
What I wish I’d done is admit that I was suffering from depression earlier and also that once I had admitted to it that I would have been more open. I remember people who knew saying to me “you can’t let your staff know, you can’t tell anyone” because they thought I should be ashamed of it. So I hid it. I should never have hid it, I should have spoken about it. Because only by speaking about it can you beat it. Depression feeds on fear and embarrassment and shame, I know that now.
So, here I am talking about it. I never thought of my depression as a black dog although I know a lot of people do and that helps them. To me it was like a field and a cliff. I don’t know if I can describe it properly and I’m not even going to try today, I need to pick myself up in a minute and get on with my day. But I am going to pick up a pencil and paper and try and draw it later on this afternoon. If I can’t write it then I can draw it, sometimes pictures are easier than words.
If you haven’t watched this before then take a couple of minutes and watch it now. Its harrowing but oh so real, even though I never saw my depression as a dog it makes a million times sense to me.