If you had said to me a week ago I’d be posting this on public forum I would have laughed at you. Really I would have. On the ground type laughing. But here it is, the start of my journey to recovery.
I’m a middle aged male, married, good kids, pets, educated, secure job, and house – on the surface living the middle class Australian dream. What on earth have I got to complain about right? Well, for years I had a sense of loathing that even extended to shaving in the shower as to avoid seeing my reflection in the mirror.
I had wondered ‘what if I wasn’t here?’ no one would really notice. Sure, my family would be devastated, but as everyone does when they lose a loved one they’ll move on, and life returns to normal...after the first anniversary I would just become a sad, distant memory.
This despair escalated in late 2015 with work pressures ramping up. I was missing deadlines, yet excelling in managing some urgent situations so it was excused. I had seen my GP a few times over the preceding months, and was desperate for him to ask me how I was going...On reflection, I probably would have lied anyway.
I reached out to a psychologist under the guise of wanting to be a better person - she immediately saw through my well-rehearsed front. For the first time ever really, someone saw the real me. Saw the fatigue. Saw the deep sadness and pain that was my everyday life. I eventually relayed most of the above, crying half the time in front of a woman I’d only minutes ago previously just met. She also convinced me to revisit my GP.
She made me promise to her that I stay safe. Why would she need to do that?
My GP was shocked that I had held off seeking help for so long, and he quickly, firmly, and compassionately arrived at a diagnosis of depression.
Again I was asked to stay safe – why do people keep saying that?
6-7 weeks on and it is still tough going. The medication has kicked in; am sleeping a lot better, am calmer. My breathing rate has decreased, and I don’t feel like I am in a constant state of ‘fight or flight’. Gave up caffeine cold turkey.
I had a plan to keep all of this from my wife and friends. My psychologist was having none that nonsense.
So clearly trusting people was a big leap for me. But I have done it. I (now) understand it is ‘ok not to be ok’. I have an illness that for whatever reason chose me, and I won’t let it define or limit who I am.
Oh, and by the way, I am indeed depressed.
Vita (latin for ‘life)
