Living Is Hard To Do : Depression

     As I’ve spoken about in previous posts, I’ve had depression, anxiety and paranoid delusions for most of my life and it’s not easy to live with, especially the depression.

     For me, at 11 years old it began with a deep sadness that just never seemed to lift.  It spiralled pretty quickly and I began to spend an awful lot of time alone in my bedroom.  I felt as though I was the loneliest person in the world because nobody could really relate to what I was feeling.  The thing that got to me most was that some people would say things like, “you’re not depressed you’re just upset,” which confused the heck out of me.

     Day by day the depression got worse and I began to feel hopeless.  I felt as though my life was worthless and not worth living and so when I was 12 years old I took what I felt was the only course of action at the time and I cut my wrists.

As I sat on the bathroom floor bleeding, all i could think about was the fact that I wouldn’t have to feel this way anymore.  Soon I passed out and woke up the next morning to my dad banging on the bathroom door.  I was a mess.  The room was a mess.  There was blood everywhere and I felt useless, like I couldn’t even do that right.

     Needless to say my parents were worried and I was taken to the doctors.  where, I was enrolled in therapy and I began to feel a little bit better.  For the first time since it had happened, I was glad that the suicide attempt had failed.

     After a few months, life seemed to be getting better and I started doing better in school, however it didn’t last.  Eventually those hopeless feeling I’d had returned and I was right back where I’d started.  And so back into therapy I went.  Again it helped and I got better.

     I’d thought my life would just be beginning when I left school and so I enrolled myself in college but it was as if the universe were having some great joke at my expense, I started having panic attacks.  Everyday without fail I’d get into college and my heart would begin to race, my palms would sweat and I’d find it hard to breathe.

That was college out of the window for the time being.  I found myself getting depressed again because I began to feel trapped.  Other mental health problems began to develop such as Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and then the big one, Paranoid delusions.  I had to do something, I couldn’t spend my life just sitting around the house and so I decided to get a job against the advice of my doctor, who thought I was rushing things a bit and told me I’d probably end up worse.  I wouldn’t listen to him.

     I applied for a job as a civil servant and was surprised to be called in for an interview.  I persuaded my dad to come with me because I was terrified of having a panic attack but luckily, I got through the interview reasonably well.  I told the interviewer all about my struggle with life and managed to convince him that it’d be really good for me.

Two weeks later I started the job.  I felt so anxious on that first day but my mood was really good.  I felt upbeat and confident for the first time in a long time.  After a few months I realised that I’d been right about it being good for me.  I began to feel really comfortable around the people I worked with, that is until, the universe intervened once again and I had a full mental break down and was put on sick leave and once again I went into therapy where I was medicated.

     I constantly felt distressed and anxious.  Sleeping was impossible and so I would spend my nights wondering, why me?  I began to hate myself and I became distant from my family.  I would become argumentative at the drop of a hat and I would hear voices of people who used to pick on me in school, calling me names and telling me I was useless and worthless and this led to another suicide attempt.  I waited until everyone was asleep and took a couple of sleeping pills then cut my wrists again and climbed into bed.  I remember feeling such a calmness fall over me as I began to fall asleep, I was certain that I’d done it right this time.  I was so sick of living this life and I wanted out.  Unfortunately, once again I woke up, but this time I was in a hospital bed and my arms had been stitched.  I couldn’t believe it.  It turn out that my mother had got up in the night to use the toilet and had become suspicious when she saw that I was actually sleeping at night.

     For two years I was made to see one psychiatrist after another.  The depression only seemed to get worse and I was constantly crying.  I was so sick and tired of being forced to go through this painful existence and I often felt as though I was being tortured.  The medication I was being given didn’t seem to be doing a thing for me.  And so, once again, I opted out of life.  The last two times hadn’t worked so I knew I had to plan it out properly.

     I waited until 3am and went downstairs and sat at the kitchen table where I downed a load of painkillers and began writing a note to my family, explaining to them that I just couldn’t d it anymore.  The torment was just too much.  I wanted it all to stop and I told them how I thought that seeing as I’d been in therapy since I was 11 years old, I’d given it more than enough chances to work.  I had planned to write the note and then head upstairs to bed and drift peacefully off into the infinite calm that I was sure would be waiting.  Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.  I ended up passing out at the kitchen table.

     I was found by my mother lying in a pool of my own vomit.  I have a strange dream like memory of opening my eyes and seeing my mother, who at this point was sitting on the floor cradling me in her lap.  She was smiling at me as her tears fell on my face.

     The next thing I remember is waking up in an ambulance and trying to fight off a paramedic who was trying to make me vomit again.  At the hospital, they tried to get me to open my mouth so that they could put a tube down my throat to pump my stomach.  I refused and they tried t force my mouth open.  Everything was really foggy but I was still sure I wanted out, so I bit any fingers that passed my lips.  Instead, they decided to do something terrifying.  I was held to the bed by some doctors and nurses and, while one of them held my head still, another put a tube up my nose and down my throat. It hurt like hell as the tube scratched and scraped on its way down.

     I was scared out of my wits and stressed and frustrated and I couldn’t believe that once again I was going to fail.  As my eyes darted around the room, I could see them all glaring at me and judging me.  “Are you happy now,” one of them said, “was it worth it?”

Then, some young trainee came up next to me, I didn’t see where he had come from and I’m not sure whether he was a doctor or a nurse but he was the only one who was nice to me as far as I’m concerned.  He just simply held my hand and smiled at me while my stomach was pumped.  Later when I was l lying in a room by myself, he came and sat with me for a little while.  He asked me why I had felt the need to do what I did and when I explained to him about my history, he told me that he had suffered with depression at one time and had tried to end his life also.  For the first time, I felt like there was someone who knew what I was feeling and I’ll always be grateful to him because he showed me that it can get better and he convinced me to go back into therapy.

     Things were still bad for me after that but it was much better than it had been.  I was finally on medication that was working.  I had started self harming (cutting) to cope with stress and other things like when I would feel so numb and all cried out. The cutting forced me to feel and I also think that because I was doing this, I had no plans to kill myself.

     Life was going really well for a few years after.  Of course, there were still bad days but for the most part I was getting there.

My nephew was born and I eventually met my partner who I consider to be the love of my life.  But then devastatingly, both of my parents developed lung cancer and died with in six months of each other.  That was awfully difficult to deal with especially with the added responsibility of feeling like I needed to look after my younger brother and sister.  I did relapse for a short time.  I even attempted suicide once more when the pressure got too much.  I just felt like I was living in a nightmare world where one bad thing happened after another and there was no such thing as good feelings.

I’d taken an overdose of painkillers and lay down but as I thought about my life and how much I had changed over the years I began to change my mind.  I think the thing that did it was thinking of my nephew and how I would never see him grow up.  So I woke my partner up and he helped me to throw up.

     Now I’m feeling really good.  The medication is still working and I feel happier thaan I ever thought I would or even could.  Looking back at those dark times I thank heaven that I never actually managed to end my life.  I would have missed out on so much and that trainee guy at the hospital had been right.  It did get better.

Roo   (to learn more about my life, visit my blog at   www.skillfullyliving.wordpress.com )