My illness

At some point, I knew that I would need to write about my illness. Don't know if I really want to, but I think it may help some to understand what it is really like.

About two years ago, I was diagnosed with depression. I'd been crying a lot and been shouting at my kids way too much. I felt tired all the time and so I was doing very little around the house. Seeing as though I'm officially a housewife, this wasn't so good! Dave, my husband, is amazing, and does LOADS around the house. But instead of feeling grateful, I felt guilty.

After a stressful weekend, my mum encouraged me to go to the doctors. I did, and as I entered the Doctor's office, I began to cry. I wondered if I needed Anger Management, or if I was just being lazy. I wondered if I had put on too much weight and that I was unable to do housework because my body couldn't cope with the strain.

Very quickly, my doctor told me that I had a classic case of depression. He told me that he would prescribe me anti-depressants - Fluoxetine, also known as Prozac - that I would need to do some Cognitive Behaviour Therapy and that an hour of exercise every day was essential. My doctor is a Christian, and he offered to pray with me. I accepted his offer. This was really good, but made no immediate difference.

As I walked to the chemist, I called Dave, who was at work, and cried as I said "sorry". I was really sorry. I didn't want to be a burden. I didn't want to be a "person with issues". Depression was an issue, and I didn't want it. I felt ashamed as I handed my prescription to the pharmacist. She looked at the paper and knew what those tablets were for. I waited outside the shop for my tablets. I didn't want to connect with her, or anyone else. I went inside to collect my little paper bag of happy pills and drove back to my mum's house.

I will never forget the following day. It was the darkest day I have ever had. I spent most of the day sitting on the sofa. I'd taken my first anti-depressant tablet and had developed diarrhoea overnight. I remember thinking that I didn't know what was worse - taking the tablets along with side effects or trying to continue with life without getting better. My children continued pottering around me that day, not really knowing what was going on, just thinking that Mummy was tired and having a "Pyjama Day". Seeing them and thinking of their futures was the only thing that stopped me from...well, ending it all, that day. Towards the end of the afternoon, I had managed to go upstairs and sit in the bath for a while. I sat up, crying silently and dribbling all over my knees. After a time, I got out, wrapped a towel around myself and sat down on the toilet seat. I could stand up. I didn't have the energy or the motivation.

After that day, I gradually improved. I learnt many new things. Often, I was unable to read. I couldn't take in the information. I'd read the same sentence again and again, but it made no sense. Kind friends loaned books to me, but I couldn't read them!!

Writing was also a problem. Sending messages on Facebook became really hard. My friend, Suzanne, commented that my messages were "weird" and didn't make any sense.

The slightest thing made me jump. After jumping, I either wanted to cry or shout angrily at whoever or whatever was the source of my jumping!!

The biggest thing that I learnt was that many people were going through the same thing as me. I would occasionally share how I was feeling and what I was going through with others. Some would show sympathy and offer whatever help they could. But, many many people would ask me what medication I was taking and then tell me what they were taking. Without exception, I was so shocked to know that these people had depression. They were the happy, strong and lively people. They were the "life and soul of the party". They were the leaders in my world. They were the men and women who were highly respected in my community. They were the successful ones, and the ones who held others up!!

Then, my amazing friend, Julie, loaned me a book. It is called "Depression, The Curse of the Strong". The title said it all. You see, we keep going. We don't stop when we're tired. We have responsibilities. We don't want to let others down, or disappoint people. We NEVER say "no". We don't ask for help. We look for perfection in all that we do. We accept imperfection in others, but we add whatever we can, so that others can reach perfection too - "if they can't do it, we'll sort it out for them."

Most people are understanding. Most of our friends do not expect us to be endlessly available. Our children, spouses, friends, colleagues and bosses don't need us to be perfectly reliable, on time, present, neat, tidy, organised, happy, smiley, energised and successful. In fact, we release others to be their fault-ridden selves when we are honest and real with each other.

Realising this was a big step. In fact, I need to be reminded of this constantly. It helps me to get better. There are days when I just can't do it...whatever "it" is for that day.

Just in case you're wondering, before I had depression, depressives REALLY irritated me. I thought that depression was a choice. I had met people who seemed stuck in their own thoughts and sadness. I felt sorry for them, but I felt frustrated that they couldn't just "get themselves out of it".

I have learnt that depression is an illness. It is chemical. It is not something you choose. It happens to you. BUT, I still believe that I have a choice to make. I can choose to do the things that will make me better. I can sleep when I need to. I can take my tablets every day. I can exercise when I feel able. I can look for the signs of a bout of depression on its way. I can be aware of my limitations. I can stop BEFORE I get ill. I can ask for help...and I can say "no".

So, if I say it to you, hopefully you'll understand, see it is a strength, and respect my right to keep myself well.