Challenge Day 3; Tell A Story: Depression Is A Lonely Word

Day 3 of my challenge is to tell a story. I had a hard think about this one. I decided that today is the day I open up about a very personal issue in my life. I want to be brutally honest with you about it. It’s an important story.

 

One that I hope will help others in the same situation.

My adventure spans 5 years. Basically from the year I turned 31 to today. Because when I turned 31, my life completely changed. I was hoping for the better but for a while it actually hit rock bottom. There is a bitter-sweet element to this story.  Correction: A couple of bitter-sweet elements. The first one is that I had my beautiful daughter. The second is I rediscovered my passion. I came back to writing. What I didn’t know was that the lowest point in my life was the key to bringing me back to the person I really am.

It’s 2007.  My partner, son and I moved across the country to begin a new life. Of course, being me, I lapped it up. I couldn’t wait to leave and start afresh. I couldn’t wait to get a new job. I couldn’t wait to meet new people and make new friends. I Just. Couldn’t. Wait. Even though I was leaving close friends, a lovely home and my beautiful home town I was ready to face whatever life was going to bring us on our new adventures. Of course, I wasn’t banking on anything going bad so Plans B through to Z were non-existent. I forged ahead thinking that Plan A was the be all and end all. I was positive, eager and more than willing. That’s a good thing, right?

Well.

Plan B sort of forced itself into our lives. Without asking nicely. In the midst of moving and relocating, I fell pregnant. Don’t get me wrong, we were very happy about this even though it wasn’t on our ‘to-do’ list. But what I didn’t envision was the subsequent bluey feeling that crept its way into my life. Yes. The Big D.

Depression.

Understandably, I was naïve about depression before I was diagnosed. As with most illnesses you think ‘that cant happen to me’. My reasons? I was happy. Healthy. I already had a 4-year-old son and I didn’t get depression with him. How could I ‘all of a sudden’ get it now? So I dismissed it. I dismissed it to be adjustment issues. Not having a support network around me. Not being able to make friends (which I later realised it was because I was so far into the blues, I didn’t want to make friends). I withdrew from society and for a about a year and a half I lived like a robot. Having 2 young children keeps you busy anyway so excuses are easy. ‘I cant go out, I’m tired’. Sure, for the first few months after childbirth that was the truth but after a year? Just between you and me, my daughter was a sleepy baby. I really wasn’t that tired!

So what was I? Not in the right frame of mind that’s what. But it wouldn’t be another year till my doctor would diagnose me. The day I turned up in her office sobbing ‘I just can’t cope anymore’.  In hindsight, this is the day that I got my life back.

Yes, I was given a prescription. I did the therapy thing.  This formula was an important one. It paved the way to where I am now. I remember a session where I was telling my therapist that I didn’t know who I was anymore. Rather, I knew who I was I just didn’t know how to live the way my instincts were telling me to live. Throughout my childhood my favourite thing to do was write stories. As a pubescent I wrote poetry. As a young adult – poetry, short stories. Why wasn’t my mind connecting with the pen anymore? Where did the words go?

All of sudden, my life was on fast forward.  One day, someone pressed the pause button. I was stopped dead in my tracks, the world around me frozen. I could see myself – my passions, dreams, desires circulating around me yet as I reached out to touch them, they disappeared. They were vaporous. An illusion? But why? This is me, damn it. ME! How can I not be me anymore!?

It was killing me.  I felt like my life was slipping away and I was allowing someone else to step into it. I wanted the intelligent, ambitious, independent, self-confident woman back. I wanted ME back.

Tired of wanting, tired of being afraid to face a fear that only existed in my twisted mind,  I pulled out my ammo and dared for it to stop me. I looked at my children. What example did I want to give to them? Now, my son  proudly tells everyone that ‘my mum is writing a book about zombies’ (I’m not) but I’m too full of schmaltz to correct him. I love the tone in his voice when he says it. It makes him feel good. Heck, it makes me feel good!

It has taken a long time for my life to get to where it is. 5 long years. 5 long, sad, sometimes happy years. A veritable osmosis of ups, downs, ins, outs. A couple of sideways slams. They were always fun.

But that is my story. Take from it what you wish. Learn from it. The moral? There is always hope. A cliché? Maybe. Hope exists. But you need to believe in this hope. You need to want it. And just remember, you are not alone.

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