It’s a full-time job pretending you are fine when all you want to do is crawl under a doona and hide.
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It’s been more than five years and a million little white pills since I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression.
The pills have become part of my everyday life. I pop one every morning and bam! I’m dosed up on the “happy drug”, except it doesn’t feel like an explosion of happiness. It doesn’t feel like anything; it simply enables me to operate normally.
That time is pretty blurry. I was living and working in Sydney and had been down for some time. I do remember fighting off my Mum’s pleas for me to return home to Perth, until one day I just didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.
I was unemployed and in my mind was a failure. I had secured a job in my chosen profession before finishing my postgraduate diploma at what was seen as the top workplace in my industry, but I couldn’t handle the pressure. The pressure associated with the job, the pressure of being away from loved ones, and the pressure I put on myself.
I’ll never forget that look on Mum’s face when she came into her kitchen that day, it became obvious I needed help. I had only been back at Mum’s home a few days and had all the pots and pans out of the cupboards and was on my hands and knees, scrubbing. Perhaps I felt I couldn’t scrub myself clean of these awful feelings, so maybe I could scrub the shelves clean. Her look said it all before she said gently: “I think we might go see the doctor, hey.”
After a few sessions with my GP and the right medication, I started to have a few good days. But it was so frustrating. I’d go for one, or even three days, being able to function, then bam! back down for the next two.
It was during this time that I reached my lowest point. My Mum had a work commitment I had convinced her to attend and had set me up on the couch with a stockpile of videos. About 15 minutes after she left I became restless, wandering round the house. I remember coming back to the lounge room, sitting on the floor and staring into space. Suddenly I just went and got all my medication and thought about taking them all.
I was sick of fighting and I believed I was tiring out everyone around me, especially myself. Life would be so much easier for me, and everyone else, if I just removed myself. Yeah, they’d be sad, but they’d get over it.
Then something inside me snapped. I called my brother. I can’t tell you what an awkward conversation that was. “Hi, it’s me. I’ve just popped all my pills out of their packets and can’t think about anything else but swallowing them.”
My beautiful brother simply said: “Stay exactly where you are, I’m coming over.” He was there in five minutes and just held me while I cried and cried.
It was from that point I think I turned the corner. I never attempted to take my life again but, I’ll be honest, I have thought about it.
It is my dream to one day be pill free and lead a happy life. It took the love of my family, my partner and close friends, as well as my own self-determination, to wade through the dark periods.
I hope the stigma of depression will be eradicated and people will feel comfortable enough to reach out and say: “I need help.”
I would tell others not to be scared to ask to have their medication changed if it isn’t working. I continue to change to ensure I never go back to that black hole I spent so long climbing out of.
There is light at the end of the tunnel – it’s a hard, dark, gruelling journey to get there, but it’s worth it. If I had given up when I thought it was all too hard, I wouldn’t have accomplished one of my goals – to see the world. The memories I have are amazing but the best thing I take away from the journey is that I achieved it. I did it!
