It's always the same..

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.

So surreal...

I'd just read my own blog that got published on a mental health website. I thought I'd be feeling so proud about it that I'd burst at the seams. Not at all. It didn't even feel cathartic, the fact that my thoughts had become an open secret. I can't even describe how I felt about it. I've read countless of other blogs about mental health and depression on various sites, that reading my own published blog it didn't even feel like mine at all. I just hope that it makes some kind of difference in someone else's life, that it would encourage them not to be ashamed of themselves. That mental illness is not a self-inflicted disease. That they're not alone and they can get help and support. Reaching out is probably the biggest and most important step a sufferer of mental illness will make. It's a leap of faith. Don't feel discouraged. Believe in yourself, and believe that there are people out there who can and will help you. With all my love xxx

Okay, I lied...

When I said I'm smart enough to recognise my own symptoms, I wasn't being completely honest. I did recognise them the second, third and fourth time I got hit, but not the first time around. A lot of people who suffer from depression will agree that it's a silent illness. It just creeps up on you and you're not even aware of it. And it was the same for me.

In hindsight I can see how it progressed. I was still working fulltime then. It started with just feeling low all the time. Then the low mood intensified and I became tearful all the time for no reason. The smallest thing would make my eyes well up, especially if it were something my husband said or did. But more often than not I'd just be sitting down doing nothing and a wave of sadness would wash over me.

I didn't realise it then but I started drinking more than usual. I never used to drink alcohol other than at special dinners or club outings. But this was different. I was drinking during lunch breaks, without even having my lunch. And it wasn't even a glass of wine or a mixer. I would have a couple of shots of brandy, neat. Then I'd sit at my desk and stare blankly at my computer for the rest of the afternoon,  barely getting any work done.

Then it gradually got worse. I started buying brandy to take home after work. Worse still, I was hiding the fact from my husband. I know now that I'd become an alcoholic but at the time it was just something that helped me get through the day. It numbed my emotions; I'd be too tipsy to be tearful. I'd jump at any invitation to go to clubs at the weekend because it gave me an excuse to indulge in alcohol. I was the life of the party, becoming uninhibited after downing half a bottle of brandy in every sitting. 

Not only did I drink like a fish, I smoked like a chimney too. What the hell, I thought, I got nothing to lose. No hope of having children, no hopes of becoming a professional singer, no career, no future. I had nothing to live for. So when my husband thought I was over-reacting to my regular monthly pains, he drove the final nail into my coffin. I felt sure then that I had absolutely nothing to live for. And I couldn't bear the pain I was suffering, month after month, year after year. I knew I had a really high tolerance to pain, but what if he was right? What if I was over-reacting? I was starting to doubt myself.

I'd always seen myself as an intelligent and confident woman. But at that stage, I didn't recognise me. I was fearful, paranoid and my work suffered. Little did I know my supervisor at work had been observing me. So one day he called me into his office and asked me to sit down. He only said, "How are you?" And I burst into tears. There were so many things I wanted to say but I was so muddled I couldn't think straight. It felt like there was a dark cloud constantly looming over my head, and I was in dense fog I couldn't see my way around. He knew straightaway I needed medical attention as his wife suffers from the same illness so he saw what I couldn't see. So on his insistence, I made an appointment to see a doctor. And that's how the ball got rolling.

LS, I'll be forever grateful to you for pushing me in the right direction. If you hadn't been such a good friend to me God knows where I'd be right now.

To Love Somebody...

I'm married with 3 young kids aged 8 and under, and come from an Asian background. Now a full-time stay-at-home mum after being made redundant, I'm a college graduate with an Honours degree in Teaching English as a Second Language.

My husband is a fellow countryman and although we've both lived in the UK for more than half our lives, he retains much of our cultural values that include 'the place of the wife'. Hence talking to him is almost impossible, let alone seeking support for clinical depression. Being a full-time mother after working in an office environment for ten years proved to be overwhelming to say the least, but to admit I had difficulty coping was even harder. My husband to this day doesn't fully comprehend mental illness and how I'm affected by it. I couldn't tell my parents as I didn't want to burden them with worry. My sister's reaction to it was: "How did that happen?" I wasn't surprised by her reaction but I didn't know what to say then. Depression isn't an illness that is acknowledged in our culture, in fact it's almost non-existent. It's never talked about; if you say someone is mentally ill then you most likely mean that that person is 'crazy', a commonly loosely-used term, and is a permanent resident of an asylum.

When I tried to talk to a friend about suicide and depression, all she said was how could I even think of suicide and that I should think about the children. All I ever do is think about the children and not about me. I was physically and mentally exhausted, tired of being pulled in all directions all the time. And the only way out I could see was to take my own life. I just wanted to be left in peace, not be called on every minute of the day. I didn't have new clothes, trips to the hairdresser had stopped for years and I was totally unkept. Every night I just crashed into bed but hardly slept even though I was so tired. I avoided sex like the plague.  And that of course didn't help matters. Arguments were commonplace and they didn't go unnoticed by our eldest child.

By the time I took myself to my GP, I was in such bad shape I could barely speak to her. I was sobbing uncontrollably and could only nod or shake my head. She rang my husband to collect me from her surgery and instructed him to watch me closely in case I committed suicide. Now, you would have thought I'd be admitted to hospital and be kept on suicide watch, which was exactly what my GP suggested. But my dear husband decided it wasn't necessary. Besides, he added, who would look after the children? Even at that critical moment I wasn't allowed to take time out for myself.

And that was just my recent episode of postnatal depression. I was diagnosed clinically depressed ten years before that, when I contemplated suicide after years of suffering from endometreosis and infertility. Treatment after treatment, surgery after surgery. One night I was groaning in pain and my husband shouted: "Oh for God's sake, it can't be that bad!" Two hours later I stood in the kitchen, knife in hand and tears streaming down my face. If my own husband couldn't understand me, then who would? For the first time in my life I felt completely alone, and I wanted it to stay that way forever.

And yet I'm still here, alive and kicking. My faith in God and my voice of sanity stopped me from taking my own life every time. I'm smart enough to recognise my own symptoms and seek medical help. But it's an ongoing battle. I thought I'd become strong enough to stop taking antidepressants, only to find myself back on it months later with an even higher prescription. When will it ever end? Who knows. One thing is for sure, I have to live life one day at a time. One day at a time. One day at a time..

Well, here goes...

Some friends thought it would a good idea for me to start a blog. Somewhere where I can let it all out and maybe someone somewhere would read it and we could share thoughts and opinions. Or just vent. Whichever, and not necessarily in that order too. 

But it's not that easy. Just as it wasn't that easy for me to tell my family - that I'm mentally ill. In fact, my parents are still unaware, bless them. Only my siblings know. It's not like you go: Hi, my name is X and I'm mentally ill. You don't go up to your friends and say, guess what, I've been diagnosed as clinically depressed.

I suppose you could try sitting people down and saying you have something important to tell them. But that just makes it sound as if you were dying of a chronic disease, which you're not. So how do you do it?

There's never a right time to tell someone something, is there? Like there's never the right time to tell someone you're madly in love with them, or that you hate them and you're leaving. You just have to pick a moment. So this is the moment I picked to share on this blog:

I SUFFER FROM DEPRESSION