Having A Bad Day?

Please do not confuse having a bad day, week or even a month with being depressed. It's insulting to the growing number of people suffering, mainly in silence, from this debilitating illness. On the other hand, if you are currently depressed know that you are not along.

The following account is an example of a particularly bad day I had several years ago. It's okay to laugh - laughter is good for the soul - even I laugh about it, now!

The alarm clock went off and I stretched under my duvet contemplating the day ahead. First things first, toilet, coffee, shower, get dressed and off to work. I have never really been a morning person and it always takes me a minute or two before the little grey cells kick into gear, usually assisted by several espressos. I swung my legs out from under the duvet and sat up slowly. I knew that if I lay back down I would go back to sleep. I got up on autopilot and walked to the door.

I grabbed the handle and pulled down, nothing happened, apart from a loud clunk on the other side of the door, leaving me stranded with the useless end of the handle in my bedroom and the business end on the other side of the door. I pushed against the door even though I knew it opened inwards.

‘This isn’t good!’ I looked around for my mobile. Damn, it wasn’t on the dresser or the bedside table. Then I remembered that I’d left it on the desk next to the computer. ‘Crap, crap, crap and crap,’ I shouted glaring at the door.

‘Come on, get a grip and think.’ I often talk to myself, especially during stressful times. My most urgent need was the unrelenting desire to empty my bladder, maybe then I could think straight. I scanned the room looking for something I could use as a temporary receptacle, if only I was a man I could aim out the window. My gaze fell on the beautiful cachepot my son had given me, along with the thriving purple Orchid nestled in it, for Mother’s Day.

I hesitated for a second before snatching the Orchid out of the cachepot, now pee-pot, placing it on the floor and squatting, the relief was instantaneous. I stashed the pee-pot under the bed, not wanting my rescuer seeing it. Then I started to pace the length of my small attic bedroom working through the different ways I could get myself out of this unforeseen predicament. It was surreal!

I could try shouting to someone in the office block opposite and see if I had any luck there. However, I could only just make out the rooftops of the buildings on the other side of the street and that was standing on my tiptoes. I pushed the dresser under the window and climbed up. At first, I felt embarrassed shouting out my attic window like a banshee but after a few pathetic attempts, I saw the head of a woman appear at her office window, one floor down from me on the other side of the busy high street.

Taking a deep breath, I shouted as loudly and as long as my lungs would let me, ‘Help’ I waved my arms in the hope of drawing attention to myself. The head disappeared. On the bright side, the window was now open, I shouted with renewed hope.

A couple of hours later, I was horse and the woman in the office still hadn’t pinpointed where the voice calling out to her was coming from, time to try something else. ‘Calm down,’ I tried to reassure myself feeling a bout of panic coming on. I sat down on my bed. I could hear my phone ringing on the other side of the door. Probably my lovely boss wondering where I was, she was bound to check in on me when she got no answer on my mobile. I just wasn’t sure when that would be.

Under normal circumstances, I would do anything to stay warm under my duvet in my comfortable bed. Today, all I wanted to do was get out of my bedroom. The only things on my bedside table where the book I’d just finished, my glasses, a radio-alarm clock and a half-full box of matches and I’m no MacGyver. I did have an idea though, if I used a match I could maybe push the three bolts out of their hinges and with any luck, pry the door open. At this point, I was desperate enough to try just about anything, including breaking my door.

It was a long drawn out operation and the match kept slipping which wasn’t helping matters, but I was determined. Sweat was beginning to drip down my back, and my thumb was hurting. Brushing my hair out of my face with my elbow, I repositioned the match, and continued to push the bolt out of its hinge.

After I’d removed the second bolt, my thumb could take no more. I wedged my fingers as far under the door as possible and pulled as hard as I could, using my feet as leverage against the doorframe, the door barely budged. After five minutes of heaving and tugging with little effect on the door, I gave up and climbed back onto the dresser to see if I could catch the woman in the office’s attention. If I leaned as far out the window as possible, I could see most of the street below and part of the pavement. No sign of the woman in the office but the window was still open. I called out as loudly as my sore throat would allow me.

To my surprise and joy, the woman appeared at the window and looked around. I leaned further out the window and screamed, ‘Look up, across the street… Help, I’m locked in my bedroom.’ I waved my arms around like a lunatic.

‘Please look up across the street. Help!’ More frantic waving, ‘I’m up here locked in my bedroom, please help me.’ I screeched putting emphasis on the e of me. The woman peered out the window, looking slightly concerned or it could have just been confusion, whatever it was it put fuel in my bellow.

‘Up here, across the street, please can you help me?’ I realised I was sounding rather desperate, but I kept seeing myself dehydrated and dying alone in my attic bedroom. After what seemed like ages, the woman leaned out her window and looked directly up at me. I waved at her just to make sure she’d really seen me. Sure enough, she waved back.

‘Can you please see if any of my neighbours are at home and ask them to contact my landlords for their spare keys,’ I shouted, ‘I’ve locked myself into my bedroom with no way out and no phone.’ It occurred to me that I was talking to fast for the woman to understand everything I was saying. ‘Did you get all that?’

The woman gestured for me to stop talking, ‘I’m coming over to you, hold on a minute please.’ She shouted. Five minutes later, she appeared on the small patch of pavement I could see from my vantage point. ‘None of your neighbours are home. I did call the Police who are trying to contact your landlords.’

‘Thank you so much.’ Relief flooded trough my body. Now all I could do was wait, and with the initial fear fading my arms started to hurt from tugging at the door, my fingertips had tiny splinters from the base of the door and the beginning of a blister was forming on my thumb from the match. I got off my bed and started pacing again. Every five minutes or so I would climb onto the dresser and look out the window before returning to pacing. If there was one thing I hated, about as much as being locked in my bedroom, was waiting.

The Police turned up 45 minutes later, I shouted down, explaining my embarrassing predicament again. The police officer informed me that he’d already contacted my landlords. Unfortunately, they were on holiday in Thailand. I couldn’t help but feel disappointed; this wasn’t going to be resolved quickly. The only plus, I no longer needed to pee!

The police officer had contacted a locksmith, however, one of the doors downstairs had a security key pad, and that door required the locksmith who’d originally installed it. So I was back to waiting.

I did discover something during my forced incarceration, it is one thing to wish for nothing to do, it is a very different matter actually having nothing to do. After what seemed like an eternity, I heard noises downstairs, followed by voices. I’ve never been so happy to have someone break into my apartment. After thanking the police officer and locksmith, the first thing I did was reverse the door handles, so that in the future the business end would be on my side of the door. Furthermore, I now always wedge my slippers between the door and doorframe and every night before going to sleep, I make sure my mobile is on the bedside table, just in case!

The following link is an article written in the Guardian which aptly describes what a lot of people go through when suffering from depression.

Acceptance Or Shame!

Yesterday, following my post 'Why The Stigma?' and the comments that ensued I came to realise that even when I was depressed my greatest tool was talking. The 10 years I spent scrapping the bottom of the barrel were not spent in silence. I commented that all my friends and family knew about my depression, my employers, neighbours, even my landlord knew about my depression! The more I talked the more others would open up and admit that they too had been depressed or were currently suffering from depression.

I'm not ashamed of what happened to me, it is part of my life and what makes me who I am today, and I like that person. I was never scared of being judged, probably because I was the harshest judge of all. During the lowest points of my life, I lost so much, my apartment, my job at the time, but I never lost a friend. In many cases, it just brought us closer together, and for that, I am truly thankful.

In all honesty, if I had to go back and do it all again, I wouldn't change those 10 years. I would however, with the knowledge I have today, change the way I went about getting better. After all the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.

The top eight things that helped me the most on my road to recovery but took me a while to work out:

• I would find a good Doctor, who took the time to listen - like the one I have today.
• I would be more patient with myself and listen to my bodies needs.
• I would ensure I ate properly.
• I would take my medication and not expect an instant result.
• I would take the necessary time off work from the get-go.
• I would live during the day and sleep during the night.
• I would take up yoga.
• I would start meditating.

The best advice for anyone currently going through depression is acceptance. Accept what you are going through and talk to the people closest to you - they may just surprise you. Do not live in shame on top of the confusion, overwhelming sadness, the inexplicable anxiety and constant exhaustion. Depression is enough of a burden without piling on a bucket load of shame, and remember one-day things will get better - they always do.

Why The Stigma?

Back in 2003, I went from being a happy, outgoing, strong person to a gibbering wreck that spent most of her time in bed, either sleeping or crying. Nothing made sense any more, I'd lost the plot, lost control and I hated myself for it. The situation wasn't made any easier as I knew nothing about depression. In fact, up to that point, I thought that depression was for the weak and pathetic. How very wrong I was!

There is such a stigma attached to depression, which is so sad, after all it is an illness like any other. We aren't chastised or laughed at for catching a cold or breaking a leg - then again, it depends how you broke your leg - so why should it be any different with depression. Especially today, when so many people suffer from this debilitating illness. Do not stop to wonder what others think of you; instead focus your energy on getting to know yourself.

One of my reasons for starting this blog is to spread the word and share with others currently suffering alone and in silence. It is important for anyone suffering from depression to realise that they are not alone; so many others are in the same rocky boat without oars. My second reason for starting this blog is to let others know that there is hope at the end of that deep, dark tunnel. Finally, having been through this vicious cycle twice, and come out the other end, I wanted to do something that benefited those currently going through it.

Depression is nothing to be ashamed of; you are not the first or the last person who will suffer from its debilitating effects. It is a well-travelled road, but fear not there are exits along the way! So often we lead with our heads without giving our hearts a chance to speak.

If everyone were cast in the same mould,
there would be no such thing as beauty.
[Charles Darwin]

The Lines Blur

In my twenties, I loved reading, cooking and myself. I fought every battle that came my way. I lost my temper frequently, and had no patience.

The first time around, back in 2003, things got so bad that I went to see a Doctor, who put me on an antidepressant and an anti-anxiety medication, but I hated the way they made me feel. Everything blurred, sometimes feeling nothing is worse than feeling overwhelmed by dark emotions. At least then, I knew I was still connected to my life. I flushed all the medication down the toilet and never went back to see that Doctor. For a while, I fooled myself that I was okay, that I had everything under control, but deep down inside I knew that was not the case. For the first time in my life, I lied to myself - not an easy thing to do!

In my thirties, I hated the things I once loved, including myself. I fought no battles, not even the important ones. I lost myself and had no patience for myself.

18th March 2003 I wrote in my diary:

Forget detached... I floated away! Came back to Earth on my Birthday and didn't even realise that I'd skipped 3 days. At first, I didn't even realise that it was my Birthday. It only struck me when a friend came around to wish me a Happy Birthday, and mentioned in passing that I looked much better. I had to ask her what the hell she was talking about. For someone who prides herself on control this is the worst feeling ever. Another friend wanted to know if I'd tried to top myself! I was shocked by her question, as I'd never considered suicide as an option and I hope I never will. What had I done and did I really want to know? In short, probably not, why make myself feel any worse than I already did!

In my forties, I rediscovered the joys of reading and cooking. I only fight the battles that are important to me. I found myself. I'm more patient with others and myself.

Happiness makes up in height what it lacks in length.
[Robert Frost]

Down The Rabbit Hole

 Firstly, I would like to point out that I am not a doctor or a psychiatrist just a woman who has suffered from depression and come out the other end still standing, stronger than ever. I realise that we are all different, with different triggers, and that things that worked for me may not work for you and vice-versa. I definitely wasn't this enlighten the first time around, it took me 10 years to get to where I am today, and I didn't do it alone. No one can! If I could go back, I would probably do things differently, which is why I feel it is important to share my experiences with you, as depression is a very lonely business.

Depression is not a failure on the contrary, as I discovered, it is in fact a sign of strength coupled with the unwillingness to give up. It is only now, with hindsight, that I have accepted the fact that I did not fail in life, but rather the circumstances of my life failed me. I have come to accept that I am no longer the person I was twenty years ago and will never be again...

In my twenties, I was in a violent relationship with an alcoholic and sexually harassed at work by a pig of a man I nick named Basil the Toilet Brush. I went on to raise a son on my own, while working full-time and studying in the evening. Nothing ever seemed to get me down!

In my thirties, I lost my Father - a wonderful man - who travelled the world with the eager openness of a child. I lost my home, my job and everything in my life came crumbling down. The simplest things would get me down. Life became a chore and getting out of bed a mammoth task! 

February 2003 I wrote in my diary:

Sitting here feeling detached from the world, as if surrounded by cotton wool. I have no motivation, no energy and no appetite for life or food. Imagine for a second being surrounded by cotton wool or even better, being inside one of those spongy tennis balls you played with as a child. Now, take it one-step further and imagine that time, as you know it, has been distorted and slowed down... Now you are bouncing along with no real motivation or energy, feeling detached from the world and everything in it. That is how I've been feeling! 

Reading over my entry 10 years later feels surreal, rather like reading a stranger's diary.

In my forties, I have learned to be patient with myself, to listen to my needs, and to take time for myself regardless of what other people want. This probably sounds selfish but giving too much of oneself away is not always a good thing.

Always remember to forget the things that made you sad,
but never forget to remember the things that made you glad.
[Elbert Hubbard]