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.

Robin Williams, suicide, and choice

Since the news of Robin William's death came yesterday, a lot has been written over the internet about depression and suicide.

Most people expressed sadness and compassion. Many shared their own struggle with depression. But some simplistic-minded people expressed opinions that left the rest of us reeling with disbelief and anger. Matt Walsh's blog is one example: he basically implies that suicide is a wilful choice, and offers joy as "the only thing that defeats depression". Although I do not know the man, I think it unlikely that he has any personal knowledge of the issue, given how simplistic his assessment is.

While I am no doctor or psychiatrist, I suffered from depression for many years. It started in my early teens and followed me long into adulthood. At certain times, it was a burden so heavy that I simply could not function. At others times, it was like a ball and chain I was dragging around, slowing me down. It often wrecked havoc in my sleep patterns and appetite.

Depression can also trigger destructive behaviour, which can be a cry for help, or the result of self-loathing, or being so far gone that you no longer care - or a bit of all three. As a teenager, I cut my forearm with a knife. As a thirty-something, I drank too much. And I did contemplate suicide several times - in fact, I had a failed attempt at the age of 15 (and very thankful it was a failure, too).

Is suicide a choice? In a way, yes, but that is only part of the picture. Depression can choke you up in such a way that you feel like there are no other alternatives. None at all.

My mother is a nurse and we once discussed euthanasia. She told me that in many cases, what patients really want is for the pain to stop. When they're given medication that relieves their suffering, those people usually no longer wish to die. Depression can be just the same - it's not so much that you want to die, it's that you want to stop hurting, and you feel like nothing else can make the pain stop, ever. You feel trapped, crushed, all hope extinguished - the light at the end of the tunnel has been switched off.

I’ve been in that place where death feels like the only way to stop the pain and the anguish. I chose, time and again, to say “no” to suicide. But if you've never been in that place, you have no right to condemn someone who has, because you do not know what such hopelessness feels like.

Suicide may be a choice, but it's one you make when you feel trapped and cornered; when you feel all other options have been taken away from you. Maybe not such a wilful choice after all!

It's true that only you have the power to get better; but at the same time, you whole being feels empty of any power. And in those times, you need support - not easy answers. I once was told the following by a counsellor: "You're making yourself depressed. Keep yourself busy and you'll forget to feel sad. Smile and people will smile back at you." Oh, if only it were so simple! Depression is not a choice. I did not want to be depressed. I wanted to be happy and full of life, but I couldn't. I simply couldn't. Telling me it was my fault added guilt to the deep emotional distress I was feeling. It did not help.

It is true that depression is more than a chemical imbalance – there are many other factors, including spiritual ones. Yet it is a disease, a very real disease that can cause immense pain and grief. There are no easy answers, even for the Christian. I have heard well-meaning Christians say that "Depression isn't from God". That may well be, but neither is cancer - and we ought to aknowledge the battle of those who fight it, not belittle it or burden them with the guilt of lacking faith or lacking joy.

So how do you get better? I don't know. Everyone is different.

How did I get better? I never let depression define me. I often felt that there was a happy woman inside me, eager to come out, and come out she did. Many things helped. Friends and family. Counselling (with a better counsellor than the one I discussed earlier!). My faith. Writing. Long walks. Learning to savour little joys such as the feeling of rain on my face, tasting a favourite dish, enjoying someone's company, listening to music. Happiness crept back on me and I clung to it.

How can you get better? I don't know how you can. I'm not you. But I know you can. Keep trying - don't give up.

Stephen Fry is an English comedian, actor and writer who suffers from depression.

One final word: the best book I have ever read about depression is Michael Rosen's Sad Book. Look it up.