You're Not Alone...with Depression...Keep Fighting

In response to the many news articles on the recent tragedy of the Germanwings plane crash I considered writing something today about my views on the way that press coverage of this awful event has set back progress towards developing better understanding of depression.

However, I find that in this New Statesman article, Stephanie Boland (@stephanieboland) says what I want to say, and picks out the same nuanced stigmatising language from (for one) the Daily Mail's coverage of the crash. I would like to recommend that everyone read this article for an analysis of journalistic styles, and how inappropriate these are at times.(In case you're wondering, I was actually incredulous at the massively inappropriate and misleading use of the word 'Incredibly' in the Mail's article, like Boland, and I also took great exception to the word 'heinous' being used to describe what appears to be a completely fictionalised version of a statement of ambition that the co-pilot Andreas Lubitz made to his then girlfriend, a few years ago.

What really stands out for me from reading all the press coverage of how lonely it is to be depressed. I feel this especially when people make assumptions about what you can and cannot do based on your diagnosis of 'depression' without understanding more about how each person's symptoms manifest themselves and how severe they suffer, how often they present with symptoms, how this affects their life etc.

I have felt like this. But there's more to it...

I only started talking openly about having depression last year because of behaviour from others that I - rightly or wrongly - have perceived to be negative perceptions of me. I experienced various occurences where I felt there was a question as to my ability to perform work in a quality way, to be able to continue to function at a normal or above normal level, linked specifically to the fact that I was in therapy or that I had previously suffered with depression or was suffering from a low episode where my depression was worse than normal.

Spiralling negative thought focus is one of my worst symptoms,

worsened when I shame myself again and again for every wrong I've ever committed

I found that when I was ill with depression it was particularly exhausting to function because of my self-imposed rule that I must at all costs conceal it. Trying to live each day and say 'I'm fine' when actually I was anything but greatly aggravated my condition: I was not only unwell, but I had shamed myself and felt shamed by others into hiding what I believe to be a condition that many others suffer from, and that is nothing at all to be ashamed about.

What's more, while having depression over the last twenty years, I made it through school (just), got into Oxford university, managed to achieve a 2:1 degree, then was accepted onto the TeachFirst programme and taught hundreds of pupils aged 11-16 at two outer London comprehensive schools over three years. I then left teaching to become a management consultant at one of the largest and competitive firms in the market. I developed sufficient business acumen to be promoted there - twice - and to be accepted as a transfer candidate with sponsored visa to live and work in New York. I moved back and gained my current job with another large and prestigious consultancy firm.

Me, 2005, punting on the Cherwell in Oxford.

I was suffering from depression when this was taken

The year I got into teaching I was still grieving for a dear friend lost a year before, my father had cancer and I suffered from depression as a result. I had also moved to London only a year before and was in a new relationship. All this was made more challenging by the fact that I was working extremely long hours to become a teacher in a learning curve I can only describe as 0-60 in 10 seconds. The children I taught were at times very hard work: most were keen to succeed but reluctant to learn! I had six weeks of training (combining some practical and some theoretical elements in a crash course) and then started on an almost-full teaching timetable.

Most children were very easily distracted and many had all kinds of special educational needs ranging from dyslexia, non-verbal autism, other levels of autism / aspergers, having ADHD (either diagnosed or non-diagnosed), suffering from trauma, coming from abusive homes, coming from foster care, coming from many different other countries and not speaking English. I could go on and on.

Bristol 2006.

I was on medication to treat depression and sleep problems at the time.

It was wonderful and awful in equal measures on many days but even though the stress of that work helped me develop terrible psoriasis all over my head and brought on worse symptoms of depression I still managed to do the job and qualified with the highest possible grade as a teacher, and was awarded a 1(the highest assessment) during our Ofsted inspection when I was teaching year 8 (the WORST year 8 in the school's history) Romeo and Juliet. I spent weekends planning lessons which would (I hoped) engage the individual needs of every child. I produced many new resources and worked with other amazing teachers to try to grow into a teacher who would give the children the success they wanted. The majority were able to improve their English (I taught English) in spades and for GCSE students achieve the Cs or above they were looking for.

While I was in teaching I took medication for depression but rarely took time off.

Most time off was related to bugs caught from germ-sharing at my schools!

After the first 7 weeks I was burnt out to use the familiar expression used by others to describe Andreas Lubitz. I went to the doctor and received antidepressant medication to help me to improve my mood, cope with work (I missed one week of work due to sickness, including but not limited to depression) and get back on track. Things did improve. I got better and life went on. I didn't miss more work for depression (I did get terrible flu and tonsilitis from schools which remain for all who are parents, students and teachers a breeding ground for all manner of lovely germs!).

2010, after running the London 10K. 

I was suffering from depression at the time.

I finally left teaching for management consulting because I wanted to make more of a difference. My ambition at the time was to lead an education charity one day. Now (8 years on) I still want to run a charity, but currently would prefer it to be one linked to mental health services, though I'm still equally passionate about education / children, so perhaps I'll find a way to do both. It would be a highly appropriate statement for me to say, as Lubitz is reported to have done, ‘One day I will do something that will change the whole system, and then all will know my name and remember it.’

Sydney, 2010, at a wedding. 

I was suffering from depression at the time.

Since joining consulting I've worked in 6 different countries in many industries to learn about how business works. I have worked long hours to produce quality work for my employers and my clients, and I've tried to build a CV that shows my passion for people, for technology and my intellectual curiosity.

2011, just after returning from 3 months working in Ghana and Ethiopia.

I was suffering from depression at the time.

 I've also mentored students through the HEAPs scheme, iMentor (in New York), have coached teachers and other professionals and have supported Mind and Time to Change as an advocate for better understanding of mental health and by being a media volunteer. I was in hospital last year with depression but took only a limited amount of time off from work, because I find work (and activity) supported by others, makes me flourish rather than flounder. I hope that my non-profit activities give value to those whom I work with - I certainly enjoy them because I love people and want to do as much as I can to help people out - it makes me happy to do this. 

Cape Cod, summer 2014.

I had just come out of hospital after suffering a severe episode of trauma-related depression

All the while, I have still had depression. I've taken different varieties of medication, I've attended and still attend CBT with a fantastic therapist who helps me try to get through tough times. I still feel like not being alive on quite a few days. I didn't particularly want to wake up on Thursday morning, just gone, for example, because - and I will not lie - depression can feel unrelenting and it is bloody knackering to keep going with your life when you're worn out from all the negative feelings that you wish would just sod off so that working, exercising, eating, seeing people, and just functioning weren't so drainingly difficult.

Sometimes the simplest activities are as hard as any other task imaginable.

They represent how hard 'living' compared to not living can be.

I am now not alone. I have friends from my support groups to hang out with. I have my beloved husband who supports me even though - I feel - it surely must get quite old when your wife greets you at the end of each day in floods of tears and can't make a decision about what she wants for dinner, despite having polished off a high quality bid and managed multiple projects and written a blog post during the day. I have my other friends who send supportive messages and put up with me being flaky when I can't always make appointments if I'm suddenly unwell. I have my family who are loving and kind. I have a lot. And at work - importantly - I have grown in the confidence to say when I'm not well and expect (and demand) that people to treat me without discrimination because I happen to suffer from depression. I speak out here. I speak out wherever I can. I believe I have the right to a life and the right to work, respect (as long as I show it to others) and fair treatment as an individual.

On days like today, when I feel 'okay' - not great, not terrible, I still hold on to my ambitions and think about the future I want to have. And I say, honestly, and with hope, ‘One day I will do something that will change the whole system, and then all will know my name and remember it.’

Just Breathe...Live.

And I really hope that I do - something positive that allows me to be the change I want to see in the world.‘One day I will do something that will change the whole system, and then all will know my name and remember it.’ And, "incredibly", I will do with depression. 

Me 2015, on medication and seeing a Cognitive Behavioural therapist to help with my depression.

Working, writing, coaching, painting. Living.

Me, Myself and I Part Two: A Day In The Life of MH Tuesday 10th February

Back in November I took part in A Day if the Life MH, to catalogue in four days across a year the different days experienced by the many, many of us who suffer with mental health conditions. 7th February saw part two of this. 

It was interesting re-reading my first contribution from November and then the entry I wrote (below). How much has changed; how much has stayed the same. Physically I am so much stronger than I was only a month after my accident; mentally I've also come a long way, but there is a difference between the physical injuries that I sustained, which are temporary in so many ways, and the depression I've been battling against (or with...sometimes perhaps that is a better way to put it) for most of my life.

Sometimes I hate Mondays. And sometimes Tuesdays. 

And Wednesdays. And...well, you get the picture.

Luckily day two of this four day project didn't fall on pancake day or I may have been tempted to write a piece as if talking wiv my maaf full of so you cnt tarl wurt m sehng. 

Or another where I wrote: "I didn't get out of bed today because I felt too terrible." This is exactly the reason the project is so special, though: it allows all the many voices and experiences of mental health to speak side by side. I follow many sufferers on twitter whose illnesses mean they can't work because their conditions are utterly debilitating; others like me can work and function day to day, in spite of the (at times) horrendous demons we're fighting inside of us. This project sends such a fundamental message about mental health: we are not one or two diagnoses. We are all different and we are all functioning in different ways. 

"When Great British Bake Off ended. When will it start again. When?"

For me the most important aspect of this is for people everywhere to realise that, while mental illnesses can be exceptionally challenging, debilitating, ruthless in their devastating impact on sufferers, sufferers fight on through them. Sometimes people can't cope anymore and end their lives; sometimes people keep living with their illness. Sometimes people work, like me, because it is possible to live with an illness and still work; some cannot. I'm one of the lucky ones. I can work. I can go out - most of the time.

"Now how do I work this thing again?"

Here's my entry. And now you must excuse me, I'm going to get back into bed and eat ALL THE PANCAKES. All at once.

"Back off, Bart, those pancakes are MINE!"

"Tuesday was slightly better than Monday, in that I treated my restless leg syndrome and extreme anxiety (side effects of taking escitalopram) with a full clonazepam tablet and therefore managed to sleep, and have anxiety dreams only for the last two hours of the night, rather than all night long. It's hard to start a day when you feel that you've already been on the stress treadmill for 8 hours before 7am.

Thanks for the memories, scary dreams. You really help start my day with a bump in the night.

It had already been an overwhelming week, work-wise, with not one but three full time things to work on in only seven hours a day, at least in theory. In practice I worked twelve hours on Monday and was so tired out that I didn’t make it to my class in the evening. I am conscious of not wanting to let people down and not being seen as weak or less than because of my illness. I get told a lot that I’m still seen as valuable, but I’m not sure that I believe it myself, so I work very hard. Since the last day in the life in November I’ve worked at being more assertive about my needs, but I do wonder whether this will affect my career long term. I know that my company is supportive, but because I doubt myself and 'mind read' or 'fortune tell', I sometimes wonder whether anyone will ever promote me now that they know that I have a mental illness.

"There's not much room for mindfulness when my mind is full. Mmmmm, Donuts."

Yes, at times like these the worse angel within me likes to practise mind reading, where I concoct in my head a limitless list of scenarios of what people might think of me: “She’s good but always ill.” “She’s not working enough hours to have a chance of being promoted.” “She needs to do more work.” “She didn’t try hard enough.” I have to be careful not to push myself so hard that I break or burn out because that would be bad too: “She’s always pushing herself too hard and doesn’t know when to stop.” “She is always stressed because she isn’t working ‘smart’ enough.” And on it goes.

"You're crap."

"No you're not, you're great, you work really hard and do well!"

"No, you're crap, 'cause you have depression so you're defective. No one's ever going to value you."

On and on it goes

I start the day with a short run of two miles, slowly getting my body used to exercise after the horrific fall last year which nearly paralysed me / nearly ended me. The mind reading comes and distracts me from my run – a good thing. I manage to do the run without stopping and feel some of the nervous energy dissipate, which is a welcome relief.

Today I get some help with parts of my work, and I make more of an effort to list my tasks, prioritise and take action step by step, which makes me feel more in control.

I’m juicing breakfast, lunch and afternoon to try to improve my mood with added nutrients and after a break at the weekend, two days into the week and I’m already feeling calmer and healthier. After my physical accident last year I lost my sense of smell and most taste too, so gingery, veg and fruit-filled juices are something I can taste, and feel the benefit of in spades. I never thought I would go down this route but with all the medication I’m taking it’s hard to be healthy and I’m enjoying the mental benefits this is having.

"A ba-what?"

I make sure I take a short break in the afternoon over lunch because if I don’t take breaks I tend to become more stressed and less productive. It helps – a bit – but it’s hard to stop thinking about all the work items on my list and my head is spinning with a desire to do well and deliver what I said I would.

This is what taking breaks, prioritising and getting exercise helps me avoid. Most of the time.

The end of this day is better. I make it to my art class and really enjoy painting with acrylics – I learn some blending and mixing techniques and paint plausible looking autumn leaves (if more impressionist than a photo fit). Creativity makes me feel good. I come home, write a blog post, and get into bed to listen to Woman’s Hour, another technique for focusing my mind on interesting things and not on my negative thoughts. And I sleep. Today was quite a good day."

It's New Year's, Eve, Time to Get Anxious!

Anxiety, moi?

On the day after Boxing day I started to write and posted something the day after, but what I actually wrote was much longer, because my feelings post Boxing day, post fat+sugar+alcohol+sugar+fat etc. were more than one blog could contain. I wrote this:

"It's a delicate balance. If I'm in the slew of a deep depression there's not much I can bring myself to do other than stay in bed and perhaps watch something on TV. If I'm a little better I might be able to read something - fiction definitely, not too taxing. Or I could eat something unhealthy (or healthy) or I could drink something healthy (or unhealthy) and then I could... "And don't I want this darned depression to vamoose? Yes I do," I tell myself, and the internal monologue continues. Unfortunately I've got more consciences in my head than a plague of Jiminy Crickets and the discussion goes on for quite some time. I won't bore you with all the repetitions, but on and on they go. 

In the meantime my anxiety might come back right after Christmas with the special worries about the fact that the day we're supposed to eat the most is 6 days away from the night we're supposed to look better than we ever have; apart from our wedding days. Well, anyway, the depression and rumination about what I've just eaten mixes with the worry and anxiety about which outfit on earth I'm going to be able to wear, and this fills up a good amount of time. I never have so much of the two so beautifully blended in their toxic potion than at this time of year.

Last year even though I was on no medication and wasn't receiving any help from a doctor or counsellor, I managed to make it out for a run on Boxing day because I knew that needed to try to curtail the depression caused by chemicals and topped up by me at times with more in alcoholic form, with as vigorous a form of exercise as I could manage. I went running every day from Boxing day to New Year's day (inclusive, almost certainly fuelled by prosecco). This year I can't do that and it's already 27th and I've barely moved from sofa to bed; pre-Christmas Day, I did all my shopping either online or through the local high street shops; I wrapped on the table with lots of cushions to support my back and took a rest afterwards, so all in all, my physical activity has been spectacularly low. 

All in all, I guess I'm saying that I don't have the usual physical aspects of running to help me out, and I've not done too well in making myself get up off the sofa and out into the world. (And the rain hasn't helped either, so no thanks to you, weather gods.) "

Now it's just under twenty four hours in which I will be buttoning myself up in something. I don't know what. Perhaps straight-jacket and comfy sweater will have a stand off. I'm not sure where we'll get to but we shall see. I'm going to a dinner so it would be great if I could eat something without exploding, à la Monsieur Creosote, avant les entrées.

I have had a horrid day of anxiety which I have not self-medicated with any unhealthy food or drink (although I am am going to have a Chinese for dinner. I'll try to eat in moderate proportions. That's 'try'...)

I've felt sick, I've felt miserable, I've stayed in bed and gone for a walk and slept and just waited for it to go away. It might be going now, and I hope they don't put too many additives in the food - I really hope that it doesn't come back. And tonight I get to take the most medication I'm allowed in my weekly cycle to try to stop my legs fidgeting and my arms trembling or whatever the main medication throws at me. "But it will pass", I tell myself. "This will pass. I have to just wait. So wait." And I will. And I do.

I wish you all a happy new year's eve. I've had some where I've made resolutions and some where I've kept those resolutions. And others not. I am going to go into this one a bit more neutrally. I can't resolve to run a marathon this year as I don't know what my neuro-spinal surgeon will say about the metal work and screws in my back, and now I know that these wretched wires in my arm will have to go, but only to be replaced with a rather large and nasty-looking screw instead to have a chance of fixing my arm. Again. 

Hopefully it will work this time. So more hospital for physical conditions. I don't know about what's going on in my head, but I'm back at work, albeit getting there part time and from home, and will be working hard to make sure I try to stay healthy. I suppose that is something like resolve; I just need to remember to not beat myself up on the days where I need to stay in bed because my arm kills or my back prevents me getting up, or my head won't let me leave the house. Resolve, but not regret. I would like, no more, to regret being me.