Help! I'm losing my mind to depression!

Dear reader,

Those dark, heavy days have caught up with me once more. A fat-grey bellied cloud follows me around and something sits heavy on my chest. I am struggling once again with day-to-day life. I still attend group therapy everyweek - in fact, I had a session this morning where I spent the hour sobbing fat tears, panting like a baby, trying to catch a breath. To be honest with you, I am at a cross-roads - where do I go from here? I take the maximum dosage of anti-depressants to help me daily, I have undergone CAT therapy, I have undergone CBT, counselling - call them what you like, but now I am trying group therapy and I am still in bits. Will I ever be able to exorcise this demon?

The answer to my own question is I do not know... but what I do know is that I have no choice but to try for as long as I exist (and I'm barely doing that just now, sleeping 18 hour days) I have to try. Where am I going with this - apart from releasing a bit of steam from the pressure cooker, I guess what I am trying to say is that even though things are hard just now (a bit of an understatement, try bloody-well impossible!), I guess in some ways therapy is a place for me to exist - exist in a different climate, to cocoon in a safe place to talk to other like-minded individuals, who offer shared anecdotes, jokes, their own woes and above all, the one thing a non-sufferer and most of society cannot offer you, EMPATHY. A shared understanding of the horrors that salvage your body and mind as this poison flows through your being.

Because, accept it as we must whether we like it or not, there are not many people in our working lives, personal lives or social lives who can understand this - they can try, but they are only human, after all, and become annoyed by us. We can seem, at times, self-indulgent (though why we would wish to indulge in mind-blowing pain, I do not know) we can test the patience of others, but, at the end of the day we are suffering. As the adage goes: just as a person suffers a sore leg and needs help, so too does a depressed person.

I am about to sign off and retreat to my bed on his gorgeous warm spring day - I can't choose life at the moment, because I have no choice. Depression has chosen me and subsequently, I am exhausted. I need my rest. What I want to say to all you out there is please get in touch if you wish to talk, because, although it may not seem it at the moment, talking and having some empathy from others has helped me slightly. Someone, I believe, saved my life today. How long for, I do not know. But as long as I exist, I will have to try and fight for my life.

Goodnight for now.

Group Therapy

Dear reader,

I heard someone refer to an image the other day of a duck treading water - a duck that, on the surface, looks to be calmly gliding through life, yet underneath the aforementioned duck's legs are frantically flapping about, attempting to keep afloat. This is how I have felt recently.

Trying to put on a brave face, I have been getting through my days by treading water, putting the looming, ominous feelings associated with my depression to the back of my mind... yet deep down, I am frantically paddling, trying to keep afloat. You see, at the moment everyday is a struggle. The all too familiar destructive behaviours associated with my depression are back and, not usually one to lie down to defeat, I try to battle these behaviours on a daily basis, but let me assure you it is hard... Depression exhausts the sufferer making to difficult to fight. It eats your days, your time, and these are things that cannot be recycled and reused later. Depression has the unfair advantage.

I have been recently attending Group Therapy - a form of talking therapy in which 10 sufferers of depression and/ or anxiety/ addictive behaviours meet up on a weekly basis to discuss and provide advice on depression and its behaviours (this is something I would like to write about in more detail in the next coming months). Although in the early days, I have found this therapy most helpful - certainly more helpful than the other forms of therapy I have undergone before.

What makes this different from other talking therapies you ask? The difference is that this type of therapy challenges the traditional approach of patient and doctor. Instead, a group of sufferers bring their stories to a group situation each week to discuss their obstacles in life and the problems depression brings to their life; what makes this therapy useful is that every person in the room is in the same boat: we are all sufferers of depression despite having very different backgrounds and very different stories. It has been refreshing and has even challenged some of my stereotypes.

One thing we all have in common is depression and in spite of our different backgrounds( one group member is an ex alcoholic; one had abuse issues; one has lost his children; I have major self-esteem and some childhood issues and so on) we all share common symptoms of depression: fatigue, sadness, isolation, disengagement, low self- esteem. However, one of the approaches to improvement is to think about destructive behaviours that depressed sufferers have and how to combat these... This made me think of mine...

 My destructive behaviours include: burning the midnight oil by staying up past midnight (it is 2.48am as I write this and I have to get up at 6am for work) thinking about and anticipating the days ahead with dread; working myself to the ground when I have deadlines to hit, not taking time out for me, closing myself in and isolating myself from my peers by not attending social occasions, not seeing or speaking to family or friends if I can help it, cleaning my house frantically, taking too many painkillers to combat the piercing, throbbing headaches I get (mainly because I am sitting up to all hours in the morning) and sleeping too much during the day- what are yours?

As I sign off, I think about these behaviours and really wonder if they contribute to the cycle of depression I find myself in or is depression something that is inherently in us? Will I ever be able to exorcise this demon?

Is work making me ill?

Dear reader,

We are now in the second week of January and having just been back for little over a week, after the festive period, I am already starting to feel the effects. To let you know I am a secondary school teacher; I teach kids from 12-18 which can be the best job in the world, but it can also be the worst.

For example, whenever I sit in a taxi cab and the conversation turns to work- I am usually met with sympathetic nods of the head and sympathy tuts when I reveal my job: "Wouldn't want to be you, pal!" "Kids these days, I couldn't face it!" are just some of the retorts that have passed the lips of others.

However, I want to put a stop to the myth that the kids are what makes my job difficult (although they can at times!) For me it is the other adults in the school. Sit in any teaching staffroom with a bunch of overfilled egos and you are bound to come into conflict. Better still, sit in a teaching staffroom with overfilled egos, while suffering a mental health issue, self-esteem issues and a general feeling of melancholia, exasperated by great feelings of inadequacy and your wellbeing suffers. Tremendously!

I have been told that I am good at my job: I am in quite a nice school (albeit a very highly pressurised environment) but, in general, the kids are nice. However, none of that matters when you feel the way I do. Each time I stand in front of a class, delivering my lessons, my body goes into automatic drive. My self-esteem plummets and voices shower through my mind: I am no good. I am pathetic. I am a fake. Good job I am a good actor then- isn't it? I often wonder though, as I come home and crash on the sofa, exhausted, emotional and overwhelmed how good this is for my health?

What makes matters worse for me in work is that I work with people who regularly boast about their super-teach skills, their talents and their wonderful personalities. I know I should close my ears to such talk, but the question is how? Why do I have to compare myself to others so much? And why am I so skin-crawlingly uncomfortable in my work environment? I sometimes see life as futile and wonder is this it? Will I always feel this way? I was reading an article last night about the possibility of life on another planet-Kepler 22b. Here's hoping that if there's an alternate world out there and I'm in it,  I'm having a better time out there than I am on our earth.

I 'd like to finish by thanking those of you who commented on my New Year Blog. It meant a lot to me and I'm sorry there are other sufferers out there. Your comments have been very helpful and fill me with a little bit of joy.

Happy New Year

Dear Reader, 

As we trod expectantly into the new year that is 2012, we are met with a blank sheet ahead. A blank sheet to be filled in any way we wish- that is of, course if we are indeed masters of our own destiny. What do you think- are we masters of our own destiny or is life decided for us? 

A tricky one that- of course, there are religious believers who may think that out path is marked out, God is the decider of our destiny; then there are those who do not believe anything of the sort- life is what we make it. Full stop. 

I am on the fence, to be honest. For one, I do hope that there is a higher power from above, guiding us on our path through life (but only if that path is filled with sunshine and lollipops!) but then again, I am a bit sceptical because, after all, if we had to sit and wait for someone to make our lives for us, would anything ever get done?

Then there are those of us who suffer depression... I, myself, being in that category. I can only write from my own experience, but as a depressed person, fighting desperately out of my prison, I am trying to make my own destiny, to make things better. Trust me, my intentions are all good. But then, depression strikes and every plan I have is crushed and my depression decides if today is the day I get to make my own destiny. Take New Year's Eve as an example ( before 12 struck to bring in the new year, my depression struck first WITH A VENGEANCE!!

I was to host a party for family, a get-together, a tradition that I have been doing for the past few years now. The preparations were going exceptionally well: decorations were glistening, food was purchased and made, drink was aflow, flat was gleaming. But then at 5 pm, 3 hours before the start of the party, I broke down. It was not entirely unexpected as that morning I had woken up with that all-too-familiar feeling that alerts me to the warning signs of depression: the heavy heart, the slow trod, the vacant feeling inside which makes basic tasks difficult. I tried to fight these feelings- I got on with preparations, I went for a nap, I tried everything but it was no use. I could not even bring myself to wash or have a bath, let alone mock happiness for a night. So what did I do: I cancelled. 

This, in retrospect, was not the answer but I could not go on. I upset my fiance (who, as I have said before is a real sufferer in this). All was not too bad though as family, to an extent, understood and there were other parties to attend. But, this year, for the first time, I spent New Year alone and depressed. I hate it, reader. I thought I was getting a bit better but I'm wrong. I guess the lack of Christmas cheer should have been a warning sign, but you never know when it is going to strike. 

I have rested for the past two days- sleeping away the hours and feel a little better, but my mood is like a bomb ready to explode... I don't know when the fatigue will strike, or the sadness, or the ennui, or the anger, or the frustration, or the self- loathing, or the guilt, or the exasperation, or the boredom, or the fear... I however, in the meantime am going to try my best to make my new destiny. If you have any advice in how to make things better, please let me know.

PS- Staying away from facebook has helped because on New Year's Eve, reading the status' of friends felt like self-harming. It seemed that everybody had the best 2011 and were the happiest they ever could be- a kick in the teeth to me who felt at the worst I ever could... Is it just me who wasn't overwhelmingly happy in 2011?

Merry Christmas one and all...

That time of year has approached once more... Christmas. Christmas divides opinion: you either love it (so much so that the minute the iconic Coca Cola Adverts chants its melodic catchphrase' Holidays are Coming, Holidays are Coming,' your stomach whirrs with excitement) or you hate it (so much so that the mere mention of the profane word makes you break out in sweats and want to pull the duvet over your head until March.) I am in the first category: I love it.

When I say I love Christmas I think back to the physical, spiritual and emotional response the word Christmas once evoked in me. Although my childhood wasn't always easy- with more than 6 siblings living at home in a small 3 bedroomed house, money was tight and as eldest, I never got very much  (except a never-ending to-do list to help around the house) -regardless, my mother still kept the spirit of Christmas alive. Childhood, although chaotic and heart-breaking at times, was filled with love and joyful Christmas cheer: families around the table, wonky trees covered in garish baubles, which incidentally always fell off the tree, breaking into tiny pieces, casting shards of glass all over the floor which I always, without fail, trod on. Christmas was about anticipation, singing along to Top Of The Pops Christmas specials, gift wrapping, carrots for Rudolf and re-runs of old Christmas TV Specials: Only Fools and Horses, The Royale Family, quiz shows. Christmas was warm in my childhood. I wish I could bottle that feeling.

Then my teenage years approached- I fell in love and Christmas became an altogether new experience: a time for lovingly embracing with the love of my life, in my bedroom with candles aglow dreaming wistfully about future children. Christmas day was filled with presents from the lover: naughty chocolates, sensual nightwear (to be reserved for when living alone) visits as couples to different families, feeling a sense of belonging in the world like a rite of passage- being a part of the grown up world. It was also enjoyed with drunken nights out and endless parties thrown in for fun and good measure. That time was also warm but in a different way. Again, I wish I could bottle that feeling.

Then there came the Christmases after the break-up of first love when I was a student, living alone in a tiny little flat living on Mastercard's Credit Limit (which I am still paying off today almost 10 years later!) I remember the first ever time waking up alone on Christmas morning- I was 21 and had spent the night before sobbing childlike tears because it was the first time I would not be visiting my first-love's home in 5 years. I was sentimental. I was hormonal and I was cold. But, I was still Happy. A family Christmas dinner was awaiting me. Nothing could break my festive spirit. I was stoic in the face of adversity- maybe it was the hope that things would get better again but whatever it was: I wish I could bottle that feeling.

And this year- this year I am approaching 30 and I am the most comfortable off, financially, I have ever been, I am living with a supportive partner and I have a family who love me. I have a job and I have security. But, for some reason I just cannot get the festive warmth and cheer. Why is this? Maybe it is the depression, maybe it is life, maybe it is weariness or maybe it is my medication but whatever it is I am in despair and I need an antidote. I want the warm fuzzy feeling, the gut-wrenching excitement back. I am in no way a Scrooge: I have tried everything to keep my spirits up: My Living room is brightly lit with a gorgeous tree and lots of shiny presents which I have lovingly chosen for loved ones- and to add meaning I even handmade special gifts as extras all containing special Christmas poems. As far as I am aware I am going about the right way to get the Christmas feeling but why am I vacant?

I guess  I will have to try to stop chasing the happiness. Maybe the answer is to sit back, relax and enjoy the small pleasures around me: 2 weeks leave from work, fragrant candles aglow, hot bubble baths, the smell of warm mince-pie, the texture of a gift before you tear it open, the look on the face of others when you get them that perfect gift, the smile and excitement of a child and the wonder of the beautiful world. I am blessed. I am lucky. I am more fortunate that those who will have nothing and no one this Christmas, not even basic essentials. But, Why can't I have happiness?

Dear Santa, if you are reading this please make me feel better soon.

Haikus

Dear reader,

I thought I would throw a little haikus your way to brighten up your day. I enjoy writing haikus-with a structure so simple (5,7,5 syllables) and a message so true.

Get Better soon

Take a little pill,

Smile at the day ahead

Get a little rest

Sending Hope your way

May the sun kiss you,

May the birds sing well to you,

May you get better

Literature

Reader,

I have been recently Arthur Miller's play, 'Death of a Salesman.' Have any of you read it? It is one of my personal favourite pieces of literature of all time. So simply written, yet so powerfully conveyed is the mental decline of Miller's protagonist, Willy Loman, that one cannot help but read about the plight of this man. This poor, poor man who does not fit into the society in which he is living. Have you ever felt like that before? That if you were born in a different era, at a different time or walked in a different body your life would be easier?

Which leads me to another question: Why, when I am so down myself, am I compelled to read about the mental decline of others in the pits of despair? Why not reach for the feel good classics? 'To Kill a Mockingbird' is always a wholeheartedly feel good book to pick you up. The heroic Atticus commands respect, admiration and even restores the faith in humanity and the charismatic and humorous Dill draws out belly rumbling laughs.

However, there is just something intensely mesmerising about reading books like 'Death of a Salesman' when feeling at a low ebb. Maybe it's the personal soul searching that goes on when digesting lines which one can feel: 'He's just a little boat looking for a harbour,' or 'He's a human being...and attention must be paid to him.' Maybe it's because when I read this play I can always match the characters up to people I know in my life. Everybody knows a Willy Loman. You may even be a Willy Loman yourself, dear reader. Everyone knows a Biff Loman: a self-indulged child who grows up to waste his own life, while apportioning blame on everyone around him. Everyone knows a Linda Loman- the strong matriarch who keeps the family together. Everyone knows or can identify with Happy Loman- the child who has to fight for his father's attention all his life.

Whoever you are, or for whatever reason you read, "Death of a Salesman" is a play I would recommend. It won't life your spirits on a rainy day; it won't give you hope when you feel there is none; it will not make you laugh. There is one thing it will do, however. It will expose you, first hand, to the psychological decline of a man on the brink: the brink of society and the brink of mental decline. And maybe, through reading this you can feel satisfied that life is hard, your mental illness is justified, to be expected even in this constant whirlwind of stress we call life. It gives you reason and answers for feeling the way you do.

therapy

Dear reader,

I feel compelled to write as I had my first follow up appointment with my psychologist yesterday. I had a bit of a 'breakdown' a few weeks back when I woke up-it was during a particularly sunny spell, the temperature was 20 degrees, the sun splitting the trees and humanity was happy- I on the other hand, felt bleak, heavy and sick. I could not move my legs. I was due to start work in one hour. I did what I usually do: I showered and attempted to dress but as I was putting on my clothes, I felt a real leaden weight and fell on a heap on my bathroom floor. I did not know what to do. I could not go on.
Frightened and desperate, I picked up the phone and called my GP, who gave me an appointment. I just about managed to dress myself and pulled back my still wet hair. What happened next was a blur: how I got to the Doctor's surgery I do not know.

Most of my issues are to do with self-esteem, and this is one of the main reasons why I am as ill as I am: apparently I have deep rooted self-esteem issues from childhood (more about that later). So as I went in to the doctor's surgery I felt that familiar sense of anxiety: I was scared: scared to tell the doctor what was wrong for fear of being thought of as stupid, scared to talk about my illness, scared of being there in general. So I did what I usually did and told the doctor I was feeling a 'bit unwell'- a bit of an understatement. He did what he usually did and upped my dose of anti-depressants. I told him I was scared for my sanity that day. He told me to get back in touch with my mental health professional (I had just finished an intensive course of CAT: Cognitive Analytical Therapy) and arrange something  there. I left feeling worse. There was no way out. nobody could help me and it was all me.

I broke down outside the surgery and desperately called my therapist- there was nothing else I could think of... I wanted to die but I was scared. I needed help. I was put through to the very kind secretary who arranged a call back for me. There was nothing else that could be done. I made my way back home, closed the blinds to blind out the blistering sun and lay in my bed sobbing. I called my work to tell them I wouldn't be in (something I had completely forgotten in the midst of my anxiety) and fell asleep.
I received a call back from the secretary and she arranged an appointment with a psychologist for 4 weeks later.

Yesterday was that day. My session was a review of how I had been feeling. I told him about the ups and downs, the stresses of everyday life, the pain and suffering. He has agreed that group therapy is best for me- talking in a group with similar like minded people who are going through the same issues. because, I'm sure I don't need to tell those sufferers out there that while you have the love and support of family and friends from time-to-time, it is very difficult for a non sufferer to really feel what you are. I guess this is one of the reasons I started this blog in the first place to communicate with others like me who suffer like me.

I will keep in touch to inform you of how that sessions are getting on... Thanks for listening!

FOMO syndrome

I was reading a magazine article the other day, ladies and gentleman, and came across an article which highlights a new syndrome: FOMO syndrome- yes, you've read it right! What is this FOMO syndrome you may ask? According to the article it is a Fear Of Missing Out syndrome and is related to Facebook. For those of you who use Facebook, you will be familiar with the regular updates your friends post on their walls: 'Another great weekend at the party of the century!' 'Living the dream!' 'Meeting all the girls for carnage this weekend!'

I for one am used to such comments as these on a regular basis... Yes, I am happy that my friends are happy living the dream and partying until dawn but, at the same time, I cannot help feeling a deep sense of inadequacy every time I scroll down the home pages of Facebook. Every Sunday morning, after I have spent a Saturday under the dark cave of the duvet, I scrawl the pages and read the updates and every update I read just exacerbates my feelings of inadequacy. I am left with thoughts such as: I should be living like this. What am I missing out on? Why can't I live a normal life like this and have fun with friends? Why do I lock myself away? The truth is, I do feel inadequate and I can't help wondering when it all went wrong. I just want to feel again, is it my fault that I don't or is it a result of the illness?

My weekend

Once again, dear reader, I have had quite a difficult weekend with my mental health and boy does it show on my face: I woke today with three huge zits on my face, I thought at nearly 30 the teenage acne had been and gone but it appears not. I am also prone to migraine and indeed I have had a stonker of a migraine for the past three days. That along with the big black bags under the eyes- which give me the appearance of someone who has been hit on the eyes with two snooker balls-means that I am not feeling that great. Physically and mentally.
What do you do when things are like this? I for one know how difficult it is to do anything when feeling like this because for one, depression is so debilitating. It is easier when feeling this way to close the blinds, go to sleep for as long as sleep will allow and cry to oneself. But, on the better days, one can reflect and realise that these actions are damaging and don't help in the least. For me they lead to a sense of frustration: when I come out of these black periods I think about how I am wasting my life and days like this are days lost on this earth. I also feel a sense of loss, like I am losing out because days like this means that I am missing out on a social life; a love life; any sort of life which is why I am writing this entry today. To loo back when the going is tough and think about the choices I have to help myself. But then again, that is always easier said than done.

Death

                                              Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath

Depression is a killer- literally! I have just heard some dreadfully sad news today; about the death of an old colleague who took their own life. The thing that shocked me more than anything- apart from the shock of the news, of course-was the discovery that this colleague had depression. The reason this shocked me is because this colleague suffered silently- when I worked with him I was never aware of any signs of depression and you see, that is the thing about depression- it is often disguised. We disguise it from our friends, we disguise it from our colleagues and we disguise it from as many people as we can get away disguising it from. But, it strikes. And sometimes it kills.

My heart goes out to the family of this colleague because, back to my original blog, depression has many victims- in particular, those who love and care for the sufferer. At this moment death does not exist for my colleague- in fact he is released from his torment. However, the torment has just begun for his family- his death only exists for them and they will suffer long term.

I too have disguised my depression for many years, well certainly from my work colleagues and friends. However, things got a bit too much for me last year and I had to take a spell off work. This roused speculation and, as often happens in the workplace, rumours began: 'Why is she off?' 'Is she stressed?' 'Could she be pregnant?' 'She hasn't been looking too well recently!' People were shocked to discover that I had depression because after all 'She (me!) was always so smiley!' 'She was always so normal!' 'She was so good at her job, you would never have known!'

 Why did I disguise my depression from my work peers for so long? Because I was ashamed- or that should be present tense- am ashamed. It is difficult for non sufferers to understand the pain and suffering that goes on inside the head of a sufferer. Words cannot describe it- some can get close: horrific, sickening, painful, terrorising, nightmarish...but no word in the English language can describe it.

The truth is I was a coward- I wanted to appear 'normal' so much that I spent the last few years of my life becoming so obsessed with being 'normal' that I ignored my depression and subsequently made myself even more sick! Am I glad that (some) people now know about my depression? The truth is I don't know. On one hand, it is a bit of a relief not having to keep up this pretence that everything is 'ALRIGHT' but then again people do treat me a bit with 'kid gloves.' Many people, particularly in the work place, and particularly seniors, mistake depression for stress-Yes, they are linked in some way but they are two entirely different things! They both evoke two completely different feelings. However, this misconception has lead my seniors to take away some of my responsibility and are often careful in how they speak to me. I no longer seem to have the same 'great worker, potential star' status I once had. It is as if I am tarnished.

The question is: did I do the right thing opening up about my illness or should I have trudged through life with my eyes closed, my heart heavy and my brain sick? I know what I prefer...

a mild case of the blues

Today I have had a mild case of the blues: not enough to send me into the deep pits of despair but enough to make me feeling lonely, frustrated and trapped in my own mind. I wonder if this is a normal feeling- after all it is Monday and people generally feel a bit hopeless on a Monday for a wide range of reasons- do they not?
I am guessing most people dread a Monday as it serves as an anti-climax: an anti-climax to a weekend filled with drink, laughter and friends? Maybe not, maybe like me they dread a Monday because it is another day in the mindset of a person with depression. Maybe like me, you never feel rested on a Monday because you wake with an ache in your stomach and a vacancy in your head. Your weekend wasn't filled with laughter and fun but isolation, fear and frustrations...
Today I went a walk after work to try to combat these blues- after all, a nice brisk walk does wonders does it not? Not for me, unfortunately. Whilst it did tire me out in a physical way- much preferred to the mental way- I found myself walking and thinking- after all what more is there to do when walking along? What did I think as I walked- I thought of how utterly alone I felt and vulnerable and exposed. All of this lead to a bit of panic and anxiety and I had to cut my walk short, unfortunately. Oh well, there is always tomorrow...

Hello!

Fellow bloggers,

I have started a new account to blog my experiences of depression- one of the most common words in our everyday vocabulary. Depression is a word that everyone, everywhere has heard at some point in their life (and I don't mean depression of the economic kind!). If you type the word into google you will be hit with 252,000,000 searches. Yet, the 'generic' term depression can mean so many things to the many millions of people who suffer from it.

Depression can be such a controversial word: the next time you are in work say to your colleagues: I have depression. The next time you are at an interview say: I have depression. The next time you meet up with the woman who has just lost her husband to cancer say the words: I have depression. See what you get...

 Of course depression is difficult to understand for those who have never suffered it- I totally get that! Why, no one likes a whinger or a moaner and at times it seems like all depression sufferers seem to do is moan and whine. I suppose my blog is just that: an area in which I can rant, whine and blow out my deepest and darkest thoughts in my bleakest moments so technically, yes, I am just moaning. But, the reason I write on a blog about depression, as opposed to in a regular old-fashioned diary is because I want people to read it. I want sufferers to read and hopefully understand some of what I am saying- perhaps they too have experienced similar to me. But, not only that, this blog is for the other sufferers of depression- and by that I do not mean the depressed patient but I mean the spouse or partner of a depressed person, because they too suffer. After all, can you imagine anything more bleak than waking up beside a person everyday who can't face the day? A person who at times will not talk to you, will not acknowledge you and even at times will turn your world upside down on a whim- you tell me that is not suffering!

Over the next few entries I will detail my experiences. Some days, like today, I will feel fine, normal or as normal as one can be; then there will be days when I will be at my deepest and darkest moments- days which I feel will be important to write about, especially if you want an insight into the mind of a sufferer. I think this will also be good for me because sometimes, on the good days, you forget the worst days and talk yourself out of being 'ill.' And every sufferer knows, pretending your depression does not exist is never a good thing. After all, that's what I've done for the past 10 years...