It has taken me quite some time but I think I've made a breakthrough...
I have a neighbor who is a single mother to a 6-year-old girl. I'd been worrying about her, observing that she has a very hectic schedule and knowing that she had to quit her job and live on benefits. I had a feeling she may be reaching breaking point, and somehow I had to connect with her. So I had been gently reaching out to her, occassionally inviting her over for coffee and arranging playdates for her daughter and my own kids.
It paid off. One morning she dropped by to pick up some plastic storage that I didn't need anymore. Somehow the conversation steered into the right direction and she broke down, admitting she had been depressed before and was prescribed Prozac. But she didn't like the effect it had on her so she took herself off it just days later without even talking to the doctor about it and willed herself to get better and soldier on.
Problem is, she is not getting better. She acknowledges the fact that she doesn't eat nor sleep well, and gets very temperamental around her daughter to the point that the girl has asked her mother why she was often so angry even though she hadn't done anything wrong. The only thing stopping her from taking her own life is the thought of her daughter being left alone. Worse still, she refuses to seek medical help because she's afraid that her daughter will be taken away from her if she starts taking medication.
How terrible! It proves yet again how depression is always perceived in a negative light. She believes nothing and no one can help her, that she has to fight and carry on on her own. I reminded her again and again, that we would always be there for her. And that she should get medical help so she could get better and make things better for her and her daughter. And I reassured her that, as far as I knew, the state would not take her daughter away from her just for being depressed.
I understand where she's coming from. I had the same fears. I feared that I would lose my children if my mental illness was on record, thinking that I would be deemed an unfit mother for not being able to cope. And I was ashamed of myself, that family and friends would be disgusted with me for being weak when I had always been 'the strong one'. I felt that somehow or other I had to make things work, but I couldn't because I couldn't even think straight. The idea of changing a diaper was enough to reduce me to a state of despair and I didn't even know why. I couldn't hear myself think, there was always white noise in my head. I'd be rocking on the floor and crying, wishing I was in a hole deep underground where no one could get to me and I still didn't know why. I could feel everything closing in on me, like a big shroud coming over me slowly and stealthily until I couldn't breathe.
I didn't know why I felt all that. But thank God I knew that I needed help. And thank God that everyone involved in my care have been some of the most wonderful people I have ever met. Yes, you have to do most things yourself but sometimes you do need others to help you to your feet when you've been beaten down so badly. And there's no shame in asking for help.
