I've not been very well recently, but I'm getting better

A little less than four weeks ago, I visited my doctor. I knew what was wrong with me. I was in the midst of a really bad patch of depression, and I had been for a number of weeks. It was probably the worst I’d felt since I was 18, some 12 years ago. I’d been struggling with depression since my mid-teens, but I had ‘coped’ with it by keeping it almost completely to myself and battling through as best I could. Somehow I’ve got through the best part of 15 years that way, but it finally occurred to me that this approach quite simply wasn’t working any more.

I finally realised after so many years of trying to soldier on without asking for help that I needed to take care of this illness in a better way. A big part of this decision stems from the fact that I became a father recently, so obviously my priorities have changed. For the first time ever, another person is dependant on me, which was a motivation to finally take some action. I want to enjoy every precious moment with my beautiful little girl and wonderful wife, and not be drowning in darkness.

While I knew in my mind that things had to change, taking the steps to book the doctor’s appointment and explain to my wife (who I’d also kept almost entirely in the dark) why I was booking it was another matter entirely. But it was a necessary and vital first step in my bid to change things.

The chat with the doctor was much briefer than I had expected it to be, but then I guess that’s the pressures the NHS face in 2013. The GP offered me a referral for counselling (after a couple of months of waiting lists), and quite casually offered me anti-depressants. I’d resisted the idea of drugs for years, but I reluctantly decided it was worth a go. I’ve been scared of the idea for so long, largely for fear of living in some kind of zombie haze, but my logic in accepting this time was that anything had to be better than the way I was feeling.

Very gradually the clouds have started to clear. I returned to work after two weeks sick leave, probably slightly earlier than I should have, truth be told, because I felt like it would do me good to get back to my normal life as quickly as I could. Besides a rough first few days back at work while I adjusted, I coped okay. It took a few weeks before I started to feel consistently better, but I’m pleased and relieved beyond belief to report that far from being in a drug-induced daze, I’m feeling a lot more like myself than I have for a long time. I accept, of course, this approach is not for everybody, but so far, after this short time, things are going okay. 

The other step I took was to open up about what I’d been experiencing, initially via Twitter because the relative anonymity made it seem less scary. The response I received to that has probably helped as much as the anti-depressants. All manner of people have been incredibly supportive, with a larger number than I ever imagined telling me they’ve also been where I am. I’ve realised that depression is such a common problem, that to be quite honest, I feel bloody stupid for bottling it up for half of my life. No more though. I’m a short time into a new way of dealing with depression, and so far things are better. I can’t get complacent, of course, but I’m feeling pretty good about the world again right now.