Is depression the norm?

Mental health is something I have always been very interested in. Having studied social psychology at university, and been surrounded by mental health issues or disorders growing up, I have from a young age been fascinated in understanding the mind. I have also always been frightened of what the mind can do. Books such as 'The Diving Bell and the Butterfly' as well as experiencing through a close family member the effects of Alzheimer's on a person's mental state and quality of life have contributed to a fear of not controlling my mind and created a deep rooted understanding that our mind rules you and can, if given the chance ruin you.

In early 2021 I made a call to my GP asking for a telephone appointment to discuss my health. I had no expectations and didn't know what could be wrong with me. I hadn't verbalised to anyone, even myself, what could be wrong with me or my symptoms so I was surprised when I answered the GP's questions at my range and severity of symptoms. When asked if I was experiencing any suicidal thoughts I answered yes and described how I had daydreamed of slipping away in a body of water. I went on to say that I felt that the feeling of peace and contentment that I longed for seemed easily within reach if I did this.

At some point he gave me the Samaritans phone number - I recall thinking this was an overreaction. As he continued to discuss ways forward he explained that the medication he would like me to take were antidepressants. This was an utter shock to me. I asked him...'Do you think I am depressed?'

When he confirmed this diagnosis I immediately cried, feeling as if I had failed. I had failed at life, wasn't able to cope and the thing I had always dreaded had happened...I had lost my mind. Now began the unequal battle of trying to tame my untethered sanity and I felt utterly convinced I would fail. In turn I would lose this life that I had worked so hard to build and never felt good enough for.

He agreed to do a range of tests as I was convinced that I must have something else wrong with me that was undermining my ability to be resilient and stopping me from enjoying my life.

Looking back on this moment in time I am grateful that it happened. It brought my happiness and health to the forefront of my life, ahead of my children, my husband, my job and my social life. It made me question everything.

It is interesting to me that even though I was considering the positive impact suicide might have on my life it never occured to me that this was depression. I know exactly why I didn't see it, because life is supposed to be hard.

As a young adult you are expected to study, train, lay the foundations for a successful life. You are encouraged to strive, focus on trying your hardest, leave fun back where it belongs...in your childhood and ‘grow up.’ As a parent you are supposed to feel like a failure, experiencing ‘Mum-guilt’ and small bouts of depression due to hormonal changes which are 'to be expected.' As a working parent you are supposed to feel like you are failing at work, lack sleep and the way to counteract this, you are told, is to work harder, sleep even less and place your work above your family commitments (despite the fact that this is impossible.) I was once laughed at by two female senior work colleagues when I tried to raised I was struggling with extreme lack of sleep, emotions and overwhelm after having my second child. They said, 'we have all been through it.' They belittled my raw moment of asking for help. I was devastated and utterly humiliated, not only as it was entirely without compassion, something I had always offered in lashings in my interactions with both women, but that this was the what I should expect and accept and no one wanted to know if you were deeply unhappy, mentally fragile and in need of a kind word.

On top of this I had the life I had been aiming for, I had the life many others wanted: a four bed house in a desirable location, holidays abroad, little financial worry, regular me time in the form of spa days away with friends, a well respected job, meals out, a coffee shop lifestyle and an absolutely beautiful family. I didn't see my depression because I was not allowed to be depressed, I was supposed to be riding high, thankful and proud of reaching the bonus level of life and getting a top score.

It is accepted in our culture that life is supposed to be hard, fun should be earnt and unexpected joy should not be celebrated but a penance paid; a hangover from our predominantly protestant historic culture.

This culture is what led me to have no awareness of how bad my mental health was, I was supposed to feel this way in exchange for ‘having it all’.

However worse than that was the sense of suffocation I was feeling as I struggled to silence a voice that, if heard by society, would open me up to labels of being ungrateful or spoilt. The voice that said, I don't like the life that society told me I wanted and I don't think I can continue to dedicate my energies to this life and watch my soul wither to nothing.

I had never second guessed the life I lived until the last few months where I had no other choice to and realised - there was nothing wrong with me, I simply did not enjoy the life I had created. Despite societal conditioning to suggest when I reached this point I would have 'made it' I did not feel proud, happy or even okay. Maintaining this lifestyle was killing my spirit and it wasn't my fault, I was good enough, I just didn't actually want it and I was made for another way of being or purpose. I felt immensely uncomfortable on a daily basis, worked against my natural ways of being and endured stress and pressure in order to complete my life jobs list. I was almost never present and moments of contentment felt like elation. If I was asked I would have told you I loved all parts of my life, it was me that was the problem, I was wrong, unwell and couldn't seem to be happy no matter what I tried.

Journal entry Date August 12th 2021.

I have been trying to force myself to love the life I have made, but I don't. In fact, I have come to hate it, to resent it and to know it is killing me in every sense that the word me can be interpreted. I need/want to make a life I love, that my inner being or essential self is drawn to and passionate about. I need authenticity, not to force things, to allow myself wiggle room, to take away all the pressures and look within. I want to experience actual happiness, I haven't in so long. I need to put myself first so that I can begin to experience true joy and be able to give this to others with purity and not out of a sense of duty. In doing so I will feel an abundance of energy driven by passion and providing others with happiness will not be draining, as it is now as I have nothing to give.

The only thing I had never tried up until this point was letting it all go and choosing the life that the small voice inside me occasionally whispered it wanted. I had ignored this voice for so long I viewed my intuition as the devil on my shoulder - a child-like voice demanding wants, trying to derail me from keeping all the plates spinning. It was something I should work on silencing or disassociating from.

A few months on, I now know that this voice has been stifled since I was in my late teens and that to experience joy is to experience life. I don't need to experience hardship to earn happiness, I am not spoilt or ungrateful for choosing things that resonate with me and not others. Finally I now know that I no longer have any interest in living a life that does not feel like ‘home’ to me.