There have been a lot of articles on the web about
depression recently, in the aftermath of Robin Williams’ tragic death. I hope
that some people have gained some understanding and empathy as a result.
Depression is a difficult disease to understand even if you are living with it;
almost impossible if you have no experience of it. I have lived with it for
most of my life, and I still learned new things from reading the many comments
and notes.
The timeliest reminder for me from all the information is
that there is no cure. Some people do recover from depressive episodes, but for
the vast majority of sufferers it is a chronic illness. The symptoms can be
relieved, and it is very possible to learn to cope and live a joyful life
despite it, but it never actually goes away. It has to be vigilantly managed.
I am one of the lucky ones. My depression is well controlled
with medication. This hasn't always been the case. I've tried various drugs
over the last 20 odd years, some more effective than others. Some made me very
sleepy, others had little to no effect. One had addictive properties that meant
if I missed a dose I would get dizzy spells and hand tremors. That was fun to
come off. I've also had various courses of talking therapies, most successfully
with Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. I have avoided deep psycho-analysis as I
honestly believe that this is a chemical problem; analysing my childhood won’t
make it go away. I need practical coping strategies to deal with a biological
defect in my brain.
As with so many chronic illnesses, when you have a period of
remission, when the symptoms recede, there is a strong temptation to believe
that recovery is permanent, and treatment is no longer required. I've repeated
this damaging behaviour on many occasions, most recently earlier this year. I
had not had any significant symptoms for over a year, I felt happy and content.
More importantly, I felt in control. So I stopped taking my meds, truly
believing that this time I had actually got better.
I hadn't. I lasted a couple of months before tearfully
admitting defeat and starting back on the meds, and mentally kicking myself.
There have been so many times when I have explained to both others and myself
that I need to take these drugs for the rest of my life, and that this is ok,
and that I have accepted it. Why do I put myself through it? I’m writing this
down partly in the hope that next time I have this urge to quit, I remember
more clearly why I shouldn't.
I am not yet back to the happy place I was earlier this
year. I’m not nearly as bad as I have been in the past, but I've definitely
been better. It’s not possible to tell whether this decline in my mood and
energy levels would have happened anyway. I've had surgery and I've quit
smoking, both of which are big causes of stress. Maybe I would have felt like
this anyway, even if I hadn't had the break from medication. What I do know is
that it is possible for me to feel better, to feel normal and to take joy in
every day. So I will keep taking the pills and doing all the other things that
I know help me feel better, and wait.
Further reading
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