About Depression

(This post, with the poem, is dedicated to all those who have suffered from depression and are now OK and doing well, all those still suffering from depression but are managing and doing OK, all those who are silently suffering from depression but are scared and ashamed to get treated for fear of being ridiculed or labelled "mental, gila or mengada-ngada" and all others suffering from some form of mental illnesses or other, besides depression. Depression-wise, I have been through it all: the suffering, the massive guilt, the void, the bottomless pit, the thoughts about suicide, living but just waiting to die, the struggle to get better, the stigma, picking up the pieces of my life, slowly rebuilding my torn apart and shredded self-esteem, looking at life with a more positive perspective, realising that I am enough, recognising my weaknesses as well as my strengths and life goes on. The poem below is how I felt at the deepest point of my depression.)

Mental illness is very much stigmatised in our society. Someone with mental illness is often viewed upon as someone who is always mediocre in his or her performance, has poor control of his or her emotions, always making a mountain out of a mole hill, never put effort to "snap" out of his or her illness, will not go far in any endeavour. A prospective employer probably will have second thoughts about hiring a new worker with mental illness. 

Only in the last four or five years I am comfortable about speaking and writing about my own experience of depression. It is not because I am ashamed of it but because I am irritated with some people who do not understand the illness, do not make effort to find out and yet are quick to make comments and assumptions that are not true. Nowadays I just accept that there will always be some arrogant jerks around who love to put people down and who think they themselves are immune to mental illnesses. 

In my my early thirties I was diagnosed with severe depression. Throughout the prime of my life I was juggling this disease, my job, the antics of my psychotic adopted mother and her dysfunctional marriages and the very pressure of maintaining a relationship with some very selfish guys. It was horrendous. A lot of the time, I had to bow down to what others want from me and what is dictated by society's norm, being the good obedient daughter that I was supposed to be. I just did not know who I was, even if, on the facade, I seemed to be functioning well in my daily life. I felt useless, hopeless, helpless and not worthy of any love even from myself, especially from myself. Though I did not realise that until much much later. I was an automaton rushing here and there to please others, depending on who at the time is holding the switch to turn me on. It got so bad that one day I had a nervous breakdown and had to be hospitalised. It was very lucky for me that one of the doctors at the private clinic I frequented in Brickfields, urged me to seek treatment ASAP before I kill myself with all the sleeping tablets that I procured from the many private clinics around there. Sleeping tablets gave me temporary relief for all that sleeplessness, that intense despair, that permanent sinking feeling in my gut and I just couldn't care less if they were bad for me. At that time sleeping tablets of various kinds could easily be prescribed by private clinics. Nowadays, I believe, there are more stringent rules about prescribing such medicine. It was a very dangerous time in my life. I would describe myself then as a walking shell, hollow, brittle and fragile. Only the Lord's grace guided me to that compassionate doctor and then to the hospital thus preventing me from doing something foolish.

Recovery for me took years. Medication, psychotherapy with psychiatrist, group psychotherapy, art therapy, I diligently followed all my doctor's advice and instructions. I really really want to get better. For the first few years of treatment I felt better. No more suicidal thoughts and I could sleep much better. Most of the time however I felt flat. Not depressed but there was no joy in my heart either. Life is just to be lived while waiting for my time to die. There were times I just fell to my knees and prayed. Asking the Lord for assistance, I just didn't know what to do anymore, I totally surrendered. Those were the few times in my life that I really absolutely surrendered to the Lord.

Very very slowly a dim light began to emerge at the end of the tunnel. Perhaps I will write about the recovery in another post.

Nowadays we read so many cases of suicide as a result of people suffering from depression. From all walks of life, depression does not distinguish between status, creed, colour, religion, etc. Celebrity-wise actor and comedian Robbin Williams (2014), celebrity chef, travel show host, best-selling author Anthony Bourdain (2018), American fashion designer and entrepreneur Kate Spade (2018) were just a few examples. The effects of depression can be hideous and very dark that they can claim the lives of people who were seemingly doing very well in their lives. I realised that I am very lucky to have been able to get a grip of my depression. I don't say that I am completely from it. From time to time it still does challenge me, tries to upset me but I'm okay with that now. After struggling for years with depression, I also learnt some coping skills. I do not believe or take seriously what the depression is telling me. 

Melancholy and Despair

Once upon a time there was me

being tossed around like a piece of debris

in the fierce storm brewing inside me

I was on a very steep slippery cliff

barefoot dirty unkempt ghastly, ghostly appearance

staggering unsteady in the violent gusts of hopelessness, helplessness

wearing a huge old grey robe, or was it a sack?

the robe in tatters

my feelings and emotions are outrageously in tatters too

in the abyss of despair

not caring about anything, everything

particularly not caring about me.

There's the deep chasm below between the jagged rocks

am I not scared of the piercing rocks?

what am I doing on this precarious spot?

but what the heck danger means nothing

there was a blackness there

a thick inky phlegm of guilt, despair, self-loathing

I want to live, I want to die, I don't know

there is still a desire to live

but what is there for me anymore?