Depression and Anti-Depressants

Hi lovelies,

This post is going to be a hard one and one that you may not want to read about. In staying true to my policy of being truthful, I am going to be tackling the topic of my depression and namely, my methods of dealing with it. (On a sidenote, did you see my alliterations in that sentence? So many ‘t’s!).

Mental health is an interesting topic for me. It was never discussed inside my house, I never knew anyone that had an issue with mental health and all I knew about it was what they taught us in year 10 health. That’s was, until I was plunged head-long into it in yr 11, aged 16, with depression, anxiety and anorexia. I discuss my anorexia here and most of you probably know I’m in recovery from it. My anxiety is far milder than the others and generally only becomes bad when the others are also bad but my depression – that’s something I don’t mention much.

I never really considered I had depression. Sure, I had the signs – I was feeling down, I had low self worth, I was lethargic, everything seemed so hard and I cried at least 3 times a day. And by cry, I don’t mean a little sniffle, I mean breaking down, bawling my eyes out and sobbing so hard I could barely open my eyes for the next 10 minutes. This was mostly at home. If it happened at school, I’d hide in the bathroom until I looked a little more presentable. But I couldn’t hide it at home. And yet, my family didn’t day anything. It wasn’t until after 3+ months of this that one of my closest friends and my absolute lifeline for these past 2 years asked me to consider it. When she said that she thought I might be depressed, I was fucking terrified. I wasn’t depressed, I was fine, I was just a little sad, but I was fine. Really. Because I didn’t get depressed – I was healthy, if a little stressed out. Suicidal people got depressed – not people like me.

Source here

It took a long time for me to accept the possibility that I might be depressed and longer still for me to do something about it. I hid this from my mum – there was no way I could broach the topic of mental health with her – but I eventually went to the doctor about it. To do so, I made up a false illness so that she would take me – that’s how scared I was. I was so afraid that he would take one look at me and say ‘Hah! Go home you stupid girl. Stop thinking you are more important than you are. You’re not really sick enough’. That, right there, was a crucial factor – if you don’t think you are sick enough, then you are really sick.

Being diagnosed with depression was both a blessing and curse – it meant that while I knew that there was something wrong with me, it also meant that I suddenly got branded with a different brush by many of the people that knew about it. Not my friends – they understood (thank you mental health classes) – but my family. My father didn’t understand, he told me, on more than one occasion, to ‘snap out of it and be happier’ and my grandparents refused to recognise it, and barely acknowledged me. However, I did find gems within my family. Opinionated, although only 14 at the time, was one of my lifelines and I don’t want to think what I would have done without her.

Fast-forward about 9 months and I am halfway through my final year at high school. Exams are fast approaching and I’m not doing anything. I’m crying, lost, confused and alone. I’m not handling it – I’m not handling anything.

Source here

I just want to give up. Give up on school, give up on talking, give up on caring and sometimes (in my deepest heart), I just want to give up on life.

The talk of anti-depressants comes up. I don’t want them. I never did. From the very onset of my depression, I made it clear that I wanted nothing to do with those little pills. I saw them as false and fake – I thought they would create something, someone, some version of me that wasn’t real. I knew roughly what they would do – they would alter chemicals in my brain to ‘trick’ me into feeling better. Or at least that’s what I muttered darkly to myself as my mother dragged me to the doctors. I also had heard what could happen when you come off them and I knew I would come off them. If I was going to go on these magic pills, I was coming off them as soon as I could – namely, when I finished my exams. I also heard that they might increase suicidal thoughts, which I only got very, very infrequently, but I didn’t want anymore of. And really, I just did not want to be reliant on pills to keep me sane and above board. I wanted to handle stuff myself. I wanted to deal with my problems and learn to help myself. To learn to keep myself healthy.

But, as my doctor pointed out, very rationally (as always) – if there is a wall in front of you that you can’t climb, are you going to keep jumping up and down hoping you might get over it, or are going to get a ladder? And just because you use the ladder to get over the wall, it doesn’t mean you have to keep carrying around the ladder – you can just get rid of it when you get over the wall.

I couldn’t argue with that logic and it was only after much assurance that I could come off them whenever I wanted to that I agreed to them.

Source here

Another 3 months later and I’m still on board. They have helped – I can’t deny that. My head is clearer, I can think rationally and I can laugh and smile again. But, they aren’t the cure. I still get depressed. I still have days where wake up and just can’t move – but I can think clearly enough to know that this won’t last. I just have to take extra care of myself for the next day, week, fortnight, however long it takes until I get better again and I can see the world in colour again.

It’s still hard – especially in a house where my father doesn’t believe in mental illness and my mother thinks I am all fixed, just because I can smile again. But, my worldview has expanded – their opinions no longer mean the whole world to me. I have found new methods to cope with my bad times – sometimes all I need is to do my nails, sometimes I need to slap on some makeup and sometimes, I just need to stay in bed. But I accept that now. In a way, my mental health issues have given me a better balance in my life. I know that I need a good study/life balance, I know I need to eat, and eat a lot, and I know I have to put myself first.

But, I still plan on coming off the anti-depressants as soon as the year is out. If I’m going to be happy, whole ad healthy, I want it to be on my terms and I want to be dependent on myself for happiness, not some pills. However, in saying that, I am not judging anyone who remains on anti-depressants, as it is an entirely personal choice. I also know that some people see anti-depressants as an unnecessary crutch, something false and something that is just all around a bit unnecessary - a pandering. But I also know that this is not true, at all, and I will strike down anyone who says this. Depression is as real as any other illness and if people take medication for any other illness - why not this one. Just because it is in my head does not mean that it isn't real.

All I can say is that I am eternally glad that I was born into a time in which we have awareness about mental health and that we have the medication to help those, like me, who need a helping hand, whether it be for 6 months, 5 years or the rest of their life. And, let me know what you think of this - what are your thoughts on anti-depressants or anything that I've mentioned. Do you have any cringeworthy things that you've heard people say or have had said to you?