Running Away from Myself

We live in a society where we are more educated, more advanced, and more aware of ourselves and the world we live in, yet we are still oblivious to so much that we should know. My story today is regarding mental health, more specifically depression and my battle to survive it. I don't think I have met one person who hasn't felt that cold, hopeless despair at some point in their lives. I cannot express the envy I feel towards those who seem perpetually cheerful. They are the type that have the ability to see the positive in every situation, people gravitate towards them because of their bubbly personality and enthusiasm for life. While individuals like this often suffer from depression themselves, their ability to keep optimistic is something I have tried to achieve for many years. I have only just begun to achieve it on my good days but I still have a long way to go. I first remember feeling depressed at around six years old. At that age I couldn't understand my feelings or how to express them, I used to cry to my mother that I should never have been born, I didn't know proper social etiquette around my peers so I was always the odd one out, my classmates labelled me as "weird," a lot of my teachers took me as lazy and unwilling to learn, unaware that I was struggling so deeply within myself that I was contemplating suicide at 6yo. I planned to eat some berries that I knew were poisonous but in the end I chickened out. It felt like I was tainted by an invisible darkness that nobody else could see and I was unable to put into words. I was drowning and nobody was noticing.

My mother of course could see my struggles and it broke her heart to be so powerless to help. She arranged a child psychologist to try and help me work through my inner turmoil. We flew to another town and I saw the child psychologist who tried to teach me techniques to cope with and redirect my destructive thoughts and crippling sadness. It helped to have my problems acknowledged but it didn't fix my depression. It was to be a lifelong battle and a great deal is left out of this story to keep it relatively brief and to the point. Growing up, I was always the "weird" child. My feelings of not fitting in and social awkwardness affected every aspect of my life. My schoolwork was seriously affected, teachers thought I was just attention seeking and I could see them getting frustrated with me which embarrased me and made it harder for me to follow instructions. Some would get angry with me for not understanding simple tasks that they had assigned, assuming I was deliberately not paying attention while no matter how desperately I tried, my mind simply would not focus. They didn't realise that I was so aware and distracted by everything around me that I couldn't concentrate on any one thing, especially a teacher talking and jotting down notes on a chalkboard. If I sat still, my mind would wander since if I could not physically release my energy l would daydream. Drawing cartoons would ground me and focus my erratic attention span on one thing so that I could focus better on listening to a lecture or speech. Working with my hands helped a lot.

Many of the teachers eventually stopped trying to help me because they thought I wasn't interested. I started sneaking alcohol from about eleven years old. It made me feel more confident and everything was funny. I tried marijuana for the first time at twelve and initially I didn't like it but began smoking it frequently at fourteen when I started hanging out with a crowd who seemed to understand and accept me. Marijuana seemed to block that out-of-control anger and sadness that constantly plagued me. I was starting to drink more and was so far the only one in my social circle who enjoyed drinking. It didn't bother me as I felt like it was making me happy and fun to be around. By sixteen I was beginning to become dependent on alcohol. I had lost any friends in my life who may have had a positive influence on me and I lost interest in activities which had previously grounded me and given me purpose in life like caring for wildlife, my drawing, writing, I stopped skating, and had no interest in socialising unless it involved alcohol or weed because I felt like they were the only ways I could be happy and confident in myself. I didn't pursue a career because I didn't feel like I was smart enough, instead working in bars for many years which improved my social skills but didn't help my alcohol addiction.

I saw countless psychiatrists and psychologists over the years. Many tried medication which had terribly detrimental effects on me physically and most especially mentally. If I mentioned a bad reaction they'd simply hand me another script. "Trial and error" they called it. Despite me telling the doctors that I was not reacting well to medication they continued to try and convince me it was the best way. Despite knowing that I had a drinking problem they kept prescribing pills that were not compatible with alcohol. The last straw was when I had my first ever psychotic episode. It was very minor but it was my first serious lapse in control. I walked into work and with no thought or premeditation grabbed a lemon knife and went to slash my throat. I had no idea what I was doing until I felt the cold, sharp metal against my throat. I put the knife down and called my doctor straight away. Without missing a beat and not an ounce of care or concern, he suggested another medication. I never went back to him again and instead began my own research. Coming from a family where addiction and mental illness was prevalent I knew that alcohol was not the answer but I felt like I needed it even though it had caused me and my family countless embarrasing moments, injuries and problems. I even lost my dad to alcoholism in the end and nearly lost other family members on different occasions to drug and alcohol abuse. I learned about the fragility of brain chemistry and how easy it was to knock normal levels out of balance. Alcohol, drugs, and even the foods you eat have a profound effect on brain chemistry. Foods and drinks high in sugar and preservatives would obviously accentuate depression and with constant fluctuations of chemicals and hormones from the doctors "trial and error" techniques, it became blatantly obvious why a common side effect of medications like antidepressants is suicidal tendencies.

They diagnosed me as bipolar yet they still weren't certain if that was the problem and I continued to spiral out of control, getting into harder drugs and eventually getting to the point where I was drinking beer or wine in the morning instead of coffee. My job was at risk, my family and friends were no longer enough to keep me from destroying myself. I started resenting them for holding me to this earth. I wanted the pain to end, I didn't want to fight anymore, I just wanted it to STOP. Suddenly I found myself pregnant. I was horrified. I felt trapped and terrified. I didn't love the father, I was addicted to drugs and my life was in shambles. I considered slamming my car into a ditch or power pole, anything to escape this nightmare I'd gotten myself into. I spent my birthday alone, sobbing so hard and for so long I thought that my heart would literally rip open and the pain, despair and sorrow would consume me. I cried for about eight hours straight that day. My so-called friends were out enjoying new years eve, everybody I had tried so hard to help despite my own problems were not there now that I wasn't able to go out and party with them or shout them weed and alcohol or cook for them.

I then had an epiphany and realised that I had a new reason to live. Suddenly the life inside me became a reason to get better. I'd never felt so beaten down yet at the same time so determined. It wasn't about just me anymore. I quit the alcohol, cigerettes and drugs. I met a man who did not use drugs and to my surprise, wanted to be a father to my child and while I didn't believe him at the time and kept my distance trying to protect my heart from more pain it gave me the strength to dust myself off and keep going. I found that my uncontrollable anger and mood swings began to stop while I was pregnant and it was not an easy pregnancy. Everything was still there under the surface yet I was in control of it. It occured to me that despite many things contributing to my depression being circumstantial, my messed up brain chemistry was what was stopping me from coping with my negative thoughts and anger. I worked throughout my pregnancy despite many hardships, lots of stress and constant morning sickness I then had my baby via cesarean.

The moment my daughter was removed from my womb I noticed something was different. Sinister. The doctors dismissed it as a rapid drop in progesterone resulting in the baby blues. Common in new mothers and not usually serious. Two weeks later I began to hemorrhage from an infection in my uterus so was re-admitted to hospital to be put on an antibiotic IV. My new daughter and I were put into a room way out of the way and I was left alone with a new baby and an IV in both arms for hours at a time. I began to get distressed at feeling trapped, claustrophobic, the nurses knowing my history seemed to assume that I was in a rush to get home so I could have a smoke or something while all I craved was the comfort of home and familiarity. They told me I wasn't a prisoner and could leave anytime but if I didn't finish my antibiotics I would possibly become infertile. I got so upset that I began to hyperventilate and the nurse and doctor promptly left the room shaking their heads in apparent disgust and left me there alone with my baby for up to eight hours until my partner finished work. Nobody seemed to even consider post natal depression or maybe they were just too busy.

I was feeling like absolute scum. My partner had to work or we would not be able to pay our bills but he spent every spare moment he could at the hospital with me and our baby. I eventually discharged myself and went home where a whole new challenge began. The depression I'd suffered through my entire life was nothing compared to PND. Nothing! Every morning that I woke up, tears would begin rolling down my cheeks and I was counting down the hours until I could go back to bed just so I couldn't feel anything although my dreams were still plagued by terrible nightmares. I had no family nearby and wouldn't let them come and help me as I had to prove to myself that I could survive this without help. My friends had abandoned me, my newborn wouldn't stop crying and I felt like a failure in every way. I called the mother's help line and didn't say a word. I just sobbed and wailed down the phone for about fifteen minutes. It would have been comical if it wasn't so serious but the counsellor on the other end was very understanding. I found myself saying nearly everyday that I should never have had a child, I was a terrible mother, etc. I felt like I had condemned her to a terrible life. My partner worked long hours during the day to support us so I was alone with my infant most of the time. When he was home he felt as though he couldn't do anything right. Everything upset or offended me and we decided it may be better for his own mental health if he moved out for a while. (He ended up sticking by me.) I decided one day that everybody would be happier if I was no longer in the picture. I strapped my daughter into her stroller and called an ex colleague who lived near me intending on leaving Willow with her until my partner finished work. Meanwhile I planned on going to the beach and just walking out into the ocean. My ex-colleague, it turned, out was on holidays.

Thwarted, I went to the beach with my child and instead of jumping into the waves like I'd wanted to, I called for help. Once again I was at the mercy of the mental health system. This time I was determined to get help, not just for myself but for everybody who cared about me and my daughter who deserved a mother who was happy and healthy. My therapy lasted until my PND began to lift and I found a doctor who was willing to work with me on getting better rather than simply throwing pills at me. She gave me a drug that replaced depleted serotonin levels while my psychologist taught me strategic methods to redirect negative thoughts and distract myself. I went on to have a son and thankfully did not get PND after his birth (although admittedly I had much less stress with my second pregnancy). Once again my symptoms disappeared while I was pregnant, reinforcing my belief that my moodswings were accentuated by major hormone imbalances although all og my hormone levels came back normal when I had them tested. Something to do with pregnancy was regulating my moods. Once I stopped breastfeeding my symptoms began to return. My doctor put me on the serotonin replacement drug which helped me last time but this time something was different. The drug began to cause symptoms on par with psychosis. I felt like I was in some kind of strange dream, not safe around my children or myself. I'd once again quit the weed to try and do things the right way. The doctors said that it would cause me to develop psychosis yet the only time I had experienced this was with prescription drugs. To put a stop to the uncontrollable anger from my mood swings my doctor decided to try me on valium. Even the lowest dose would turn me into a zombie. I could not function at all on it and it became clear that I was not compatible with prescription drugs.

This is the point I am at now. My new course of action will be cognitive behavioural therapy, blood tests to check my hormones and thyroid and other techniques to control my symptoms without medication of any kind. I am using every resource available to me and grabbing control of my life if it's the last thing I do. Every moment of strength I have shown has come after multiple moments of weakness. I have also signed up for voluntary trials for DNA testing which can eliminate clinical trial and error and also help correct diagnosis, I am hoping that they are successful in using this method allowing them to eliminate the need for trial and error. I have now suffered chronic depression for about twenty three years, give or take. It has dominated most of my childhood and left a dark cloud over much of my adulthood and my battle is not yet over. Despite this I have found education to be my most useful tool in fighting this disease. Some days the exhaustion is too much. I want to curl up and hide away quite often and it is ok to do that sometimes but I have learned that if I allow it to get ahold of me then it only gets harder. Exercise, action, and proper sleep and nutrition are essential and overall, we need to know that we are not alone in our suffering and that the little voice that tells us that we can't keep going on is the illness talking. We all have the strength inside us to keep going and there is always hope even when everything feels hopeless. Exercise, good nutrition, and sleep are your friend. If you don't feel like leaving the house then force yourself to. If you need help then go for it. Don't ever stop fighting and don't ever give up. To those fortunate enough to not understand severe depression I hope that you can understand how very real the struggle is and how very hard it is to survive it. To those still fighting, while every day can seem like a battle, every day that you keep fighting and making yourself go on is another day won and another opportunity for something magical and unexpected to happen. Where there is life there is always hope.