Thursday saw World Mental Health Day and I came across a post I wrote in January 2018 when I descended into another bout of depression. I wholeheartedly believe that sharing our experiences promotes better, more honest conversations about mental health. It helps generate understanding and empathy too, which are sadly lacking when it comes to many aspects of humanity at the moment. So, here it is.
How did I end up here again? The descent was swift and here I sit, in the darkness, paralysed once more. What’s wrong with me? This is a question I often ask myself. Life was good, I was happy. The Christmas period had been genuinely lovely; full of warming, generous family time, as well as time with my wonderful, loving girlfriend. My job and training was going really well. My self-awareness, self-worth and self-confidence were greater than they had ever been.
I’m glad I enjoyed the bright times, but the memories of them now amplify the pain. The well isn’t quite as deep as it has been during past episodes, but the depression has a hold and the light above me seems so distant and unreachable. It’s hard to escape the fear in here. I fear that it lasts and deepens; that I will lose my job, be unable to complete my counselling training; lose the support of my family and my girlfriend. The fear of these losses accompanies the brutal stripping away of my self-worth and confidence. That ever present pernicious voice tells me that I have no value.
The anxiety and absence of hope is excruciating. But rational thinking still occasionally flickers and I know that my fears are largely unfounded, and that I will be well again. This is temporary and I am worthy of happiness. I try to repeat these like mantras, but there’s a raging internal battle and fighting is so bloody exhausting. There are so many points during the day when I feel that I have no energy left. The 14 years of war has taken its toll. Each attack leaves scars and a piece of me gets left on the battlefield. If this weren’t punishment enough, those closest to you are left with their wounds too and their loyalty is shaken.
But, I keep fighting, even if it means just holding my ground until I’m able to climb out of the well again.
I feel sad, but also hopeful when I read this. I know that if it happens again, I will survive it. Too many people don’t though and I’d love to see that change. I hope those in pain find the strength to reach out for support and find some peace.
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