Battling depression: down in the dark and out the other side

As I wrote in my previous post, entering adulthood was a lonely experience for me. I felt depressed quite a lot, but a work-related burn-out and a break-up finally were the final straw and I spiralled deep into depression.

I was out of a job. My doctor advised me to exercise, so I went outside the house and walked for 3, 4 or 5 hours. However, I spent most of that time brooding about all my perceived failures, so it didn't help much. My sleeping patterns gradually got completely messed up - I would get up at 3pm and go to bed at 4am.

I had no energy at all. I felt empty - physically, mentally and emotionally. Even showering was too draining some days. Sometimes I would fall asleep on the sofa (I literally could not help it, I felt so drained and heavy-eyed) and sleep for hours, and I'd still feel tired when I'd wake up. I found no joy in the things I used to enjoy. For instance, I am an avid reader but back then, reading a book was too mentally exhausting. I also lost my appetite, even though I normally love food. But back then all I could manage to eat in a day was a small piece if toast and maybe an apple. My very skin felt heavy, dragging me down. I pictured my own death over and over - either contemplating suicide or wishing to die in an accident. It felt like only death could finally make the dull, constant pain in my soul stop (which I once explained in another post). What stopped me from doing it was knowing it would break the hearts of my loved ones.

As a treatment, I was put on antidepressants (Citalopram), which gave me the energy boost I needed to apply for a new job. I remember when I got back from the job interview, I collapsed on the sofa from sheer exhaustion and slept. Eventually, though, the antidepressants started to show their limits. They did not address the underlying issues that caused my depression. They also gave me a superficial feeling of happiness and of being invulnerable. I started to engage in risky behaviours. I drank too much. I slept around. But the fun I seemed to be having was only a shallow thing, an outer layer. Deep down, was still hurting, and empty, and drowning. I asked my doctor to reduce the doses until I was weaned off them. 

I want anyone reading this to understand that I am not saying, "Antidepressants are bad". I am just sharing what it was like for me personally - not two people are the same.

I went to see several counsellors, some of whom helped and some who did not. I also attended a Cognitive Behaviour Therapy course and it gave me some tools that at least enabled me to fonction at work, but deep down I still felt the same.

Yet, eventually, gradually, I started to get better.

A friend once asked me, "How did you overcome it?" I wish I had a simple answer. I don't. Antidepressants helped me because they gave me enough energy to find a job. Therapy helped me because it meant I could talk through stuff and understand my own emotions better. A handful of friends were present for me - they didn't have a magic formula to make me better but they were there and that was important. 

During that time, I received my Asperger's diagnosis, and finally understanding why I was different was a relief. Knowing myself better also allowed me to avoid overwhelming situations whenever possible.

At some point, I moved out of a big flat that was a drain on my budget and that lifted a big weight off my shoulders. I also joined a wonderful church where I finally felt loved for who I was and supported.

Not a single of these things explain how I got better, but all of them helped. I started finding joy in little things of life again. I distinctly remember sitting in my new house and realizing I felt happy for no particular reason, for the first time in years. It doesn't mean I was OK after that but it was a turning point, and things got better and better.

Today, I feel like I am the happy woman I always was inside, the one that was waiting to come out. It doesn't mean I am entirely free from depression forever, but I can say with confidence that I am happy.

Battling depression, part one

Lately, I learnt that someone close to me is severely depressed. As their story unravelled, I felt both overwhelmed with empathy, because I have battled depression myself (as I mentioned in a previous post), and with powerlessness, because I'm not sure how I can help. A friend of mine and fellow depression sufferer once asked me, "How did you get over it?" I suppose she was hoping for some trick, some tips on how to beat it. I wish there was a magic spell to make people better, but I don't know any.

I do know one thing, though: it helps to know that you're not alone, that other people know what you're going through. This is why I am writing this today.

The first time I remember suffering from depression is as a teenager. I was a very lonely child, as I had huge difficulties relating to others because of my Asperger's syndrome. I was bullied because of my quirks, and I had no idea how to make things better for myself. I also had self-esteem issues. I cried a lot and felt misunderstood. It's around that time I started self-harming. At first, I would tear bits of skin from my fingertips with a needle. Then I started cutting with a pocket knife. Seeing the blood on my arm gave me an odd sense of relief, as if the mutilation matched the wounds that were tearing me inside. 

One night, I tried to commit suicide by taking some pills. I was rushed to hospital. I remember my father telling me "We love you". I also remember telling my parents I was so screwed up I needed a psychiatrist. Unfortunately, the lady they took me to likely had no experience dealing with teens, and I stopped going after a while, claiming I was feeling better (which was false). At that time, I also promised my grandmother I would never try to kill myself again - a very important promise that may have saved my life.

When I was 18, a few things helped me feel better. Thanks to my parents' support, I traveled to London to study English for a year. That year was a turning point for me. First, because people had no expectations of my behaviour. At school, I had been the depressed girl who was always crying. In a vaguely conscious way, I felt trapped in that persona. In London, I could try and be someone different, someone happier. I made new friends, people who accepted me as I am. All of them were members of the church I went to, which links to the other important factor: I became a Christian. 

My faith helped me in different ways. The Christian idea that God forgives our sins lifted the burden of guilt off my heart. I was keenly aware of ways I had hurt my loved ones through my behaviour, and felt I did not deserve happiness. Believing I could be forgiven and start afresh was a huge step. However, there are two sides to that coin: the Christian doctrine of sin can add new and heavier burdens to one's soul... but I am getting ahead of myself.

Faith also gave me a sense of worth, and a purpose. I have worth as a child of God - I am loved beyond all measure, and my purpose is to have a relationship with God. These basic beliefs still help me tremendously today.

I still had regular bouts of anxiety and distress, though. I often cried and often felt lonely and at odds with other people.
 
The battle was far from over.

Slices of happiness

As some of you may know, I struggled with depression for a long time. A friend asked me recently how I got over it. It's a complex question, but part of the answer, I think, lies in how we view happiness. 

For the longest time, happiness was always in the future; only attainable when this or that would happen.

I will be happy... when I find a better job.

I will be happy... when I lose weight.

I will be happy... when I meet the right man.

I was expecting to be happy once my life was perfect. Only then would I feel at peace. 

Of course, such an expectation is utterly unrealistic, and bound to cause a lot of harm. Life is never perfect; we can never be completely satisfied. Moreover, when you scratch a little deeper, you realise it's extremely selfish, too: I will be happy once I've got everything I want - when everything finally goes my way.

When I took my first steps out of depression, I began to find happiness in small, ordinary joys such as these:

- Being silly with my mum.
- Hugs and cuddles.
- Having a good laugh with friends.
- Cooking a meal for someone.
- Feeling dark chocolate melt in my mouth and the powerful flavour hitting my tastebuds.
- Enjoying a long warm bath.
- Curling up with a good book.
- Helping someone.
- Singing along to a song that is meaningful to me.
- Going for a bike ride or a walk in the countryside on a sunny day.
- Finding the perfect present for a loved one and anticipating how happy they'll be when they open it.
- Snuggling in bed.
- Eating a favourite food.
- Looking out the window and see the sunshine.
- Looking out the window and see lots of snow.
- Building a snowman.
- The crunchy sound of a dry leaf when you step on it.
- Spotting a rainbow.
- Running into someone I haven't seen in a long time.
- Receiving a parcel in the post.
- Decorating the Christmas tree.
- Getting a hug from my brother (who rarely gives hugs).
- Being caught in a heavy rain in the summer and feel the water run down my face.
- Drinking a hot mocha.
- Being swept away by the excitement of a concert.
- Cuddling my cat and hearing him purr.
- Lying down in the grass on a hot summer day and feel the earth underneath me, looking up at the starry sky.
- Finding out my birthday is the same day as one of my favourite artists.
- Getting a text message, a card or an email from a loved friend.
- Getting a letter from my sponsored child.

Such small slices of happiness warm the heart.