Taking the stage has never been my forte and I know mental health month is over but I have never really taken part in speaking up about depression so I am doing it now because I believe it no longer belongs in the taboo file.
I’ve always been sceptical about therapy and psychiatrists. There’s just something about talking to strangers (or anyone, really) about your problems that seemed foreign to me.
My first time going to therapy was a few years back when I realised I wasn’t the same person that I was before, that I was changing into this miniature being. I was constantly sad and lonely with my moods all over the place. I was distancing myself from the people that cared about me but I could care less about it.
I was diagnosed with depression on my first visit. Hello, loonie! Although I was getting some answers to what it was I had been feeling, I did’t feel comfortable with the therapist nor did I want to talk about anything. So I quickly passed on the analysis and stopped going. Besides, the pills I was prescribed were making me chill so back in the emotional closet I went.
Fast forward four years and I was finding myself back in that black hole, making big changes in my life, moving countries left and right, and seeing friend after friend getting the same diagnosis. I was very slowly starting to realise who I really am as a person and what I want my place in the world to be. By doing this I’ve been putting even more pressure on myself and adding to the load I’ve been carrying without even knowing that I was carrying anything.
It was by a lucky chance that I went for another try at therapy. I was perfectly whatever about it the night before but five minutes into the session I was balling my eyes out as one emotional bomb after another was dropped on me. I had no idea what I actually had lived through until the therapist laid it out in front of me. I saw for the first time that I have been carrying grief and loss and abandonment with me for years. I had lost my childhood, my homes, my good memories and almost all of my family in one fell swoop and I never even realised it until a few weeks ago.
I had always thought that I’m pretty good at getting over bad things as I forgot about them easy. As it turned out I had been creating emotional black holes in my memories as a coping mechanism, wandering around the globe trying to find the people I had lost, trying to replace them.
By the end of my session the therapist was crying as I joked through my sobs “I have a job interview to go to, how do I look?” She didn’t appreciate it..
I am nowhere near being perfectly okay but I’ve made a start and it’s got to be downhill from here, right?