Mental Heal Maiters
Mar 26, 2020 20:33:46 GMT
Post by CC on Mar 26, 2020 20:33:46 GMT
Don’t talk to me about depression.
No. I’m sorry. DO talk to me about it, especially if you’re not able to talk to anyone else just now. I’ve been there; I’ve been under the Crisis Team, I’ve seen psychiatrists, I told my GP I intended to kill myself before the end of the day and I have planned exactly how I was going to do it. But I never did, slowly and surely I got better and now a decade has gone by and I’m both delighted and relieved to be still here.
But I could never have got through it myself. I needed help both from experts and from friends. I recall being too lethargic to get off the sofa to turn the television off when the snooker came on and then finding to my surprise, after 20 or 30 minutes, that snooker could actually be quite captivating. When the players went off for a break I found myself looking forward to them coming back out to play again. In particular there was a man in the audience who wore a different coloured football shirt every day and I used to wonder which variation he’d be wearing next. That was one stage of my recovery. One day in Sheffield during a later World Championship I saw the guy in the street and felt like going to thank him, but he didn’t look very friendly in person so I decided to leave him alone!
I couldn’t watch a film all the way through because I was worried there might be a sad bit in it that would make me plunge back to the depths, so when I first sat all the way through a comedy that was another milestone passed. I couldn’t sleep at night, so spent the daytime exhausted and also in dread of another night’s insomnia, so I needed my GP to take control. She ordered me to take sleeping pills in spite of my protests, and threatened me with dire consequences if I refused to take the anti-depressant medication she prescribed. In front of her, I dissolved into a giant sponge leaking tears and snot all over the surgery. She had never been my favourite member of the practice till then but she was fantastic and I believed she played a big part in saving my life and starting the process of turning it back onto an upward curve.
A sympathetic, and/or empathetic ear, whether it be from a doctor, nurse or friend, works wonders. You may well feel guilty and self-indulgent for dumping your misery on others, but most people really don’t mind. They know you would provide the same service for you if the roles were reversed and they know how important their friendship is to you, which, in turn, makes them feel good about themselves. The ear and shoulder they provide are actually of mutual benefit.
There doesn’t have to be a trigger for depression. I’ve found that of three major spells during my lifetime the longest and worst was the one that seemed to have no identifiable cause at all. I was simply sitting in my car in the sunshine one day, about to eat a sandwich, when it suddenly hit me that I no longer wanted to live. From that moment on, the 9 months from August 2008 to May 2009 were a constant nightmare, but, believe me, regardless of the claims people might make for heroin, football or sex there is nothing on Earth that beats the realisation that you are not depressed any more.
When you are down at rock bottom you almost certainly think that you will never, ever get better but I am living proof that this is not so. For this reason, at a time when mental health services are even more difficult to access than usual, I am officially inviting anyone who wants to do so to talk to me. Tell me how you feel, talk to me about anything you like and I promise to get back to you, either with a useful idea of where and how to get help or simply to listen and/or engage in conversation about anything you like.
With all good wishes
CC
No. I’m sorry. DO talk to me about it, especially if you’re not able to talk to anyone else just now. I’ve been there; I’ve been under the Crisis Team, I’ve seen psychiatrists, I told my GP I intended to kill myself before the end of the day and I have planned exactly how I was going to do it. But I never did, slowly and surely I got better and now a decade has gone by and I’m both delighted and relieved to be still here.
But I could never have got through it myself. I needed help both from experts and from friends. I recall being too lethargic to get off the sofa to turn the television off when the snooker came on and then finding to my surprise, after 20 or 30 minutes, that snooker could actually be quite captivating. When the players went off for a break I found myself looking forward to them coming back out to play again. In particular there was a man in the audience who wore a different coloured football shirt every day and I used to wonder which variation he’d be wearing next. That was one stage of my recovery. One day in Sheffield during a later World Championship I saw the guy in the street and felt like going to thank him, but he didn’t look very friendly in person so I decided to leave him alone!
I couldn’t watch a film all the way through because I was worried there might be a sad bit in it that would make me plunge back to the depths, so when I first sat all the way through a comedy that was another milestone passed. I couldn’t sleep at night, so spent the daytime exhausted and also in dread of another night’s insomnia, so I needed my GP to take control. She ordered me to take sleeping pills in spite of my protests, and threatened me with dire consequences if I refused to take the anti-depressant medication she prescribed. In front of her, I dissolved into a giant sponge leaking tears and snot all over the surgery. She had never been my favourite member of the practice till then but she was fantastic and I believed she played a big part in saving my life and starting the process of turning it back onto an upward curve.
A sympathetic, and/or empathetic ear, whether it be from a doctor, nurse or friend, works wonders. You may well feel guilty and self-indulgent for dumping your misery on others, but most people really don’t mind. They know you would provide the same service for you if the roles were reversed and they know how important their friendship is to you, which, in turn, makes them feel good about themselves. The ear and shoulder they provide are actually of mutual benefit.
There doesn’t have to be a trigger for depression. I’ve found that of three major spells during my lifetime the longest and worst was the one that seemed to have no identifiable cause at all. I was simply sitting in my car in the sunshine one day, about to eat a sandwich, when it suddenly hit me that I no longer wanted to live. From that moment on, the 9 months from August 2008 to May 2009 were a constant nightmare, but, believe me, regardless of the claims people might make for heroin, football or sex there is nothing on Earth that beats the realisation that you are not depressed any more.
When you are down at rock bottom you almost certainly think that you will never, ever get better but I am living proof that this is not so. For this reason, at a time when mental health services are even more difficult to access than usual, I am officially inviting anyone who wants to do so to talk to me. Tell me how you feel, talk to me about anything you like and I promise to get back to you, either with a useful idea of where and how to get help or simply to listen and/or engage in conversation about anything you like.
With all good wishes
CC