Depression: If you haven’t had it, bad, don’t judge us “pill-poppers”
Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start (as Maria in The Sound of Music stated).
My father was an alcoholic gambler. He once lost our home, on the turn of a card. The poor man had a rather unhappy childhood. He married my mother, who came from a very large farming family, where boys were best and girls came second, if at all. The boys got the best cuts of meat, and the best educations. Despite working every bit as hard as the boys on their farm, the girls were just second rate. My mother’s mother, judging by photographs of her deeply unhappy face at her children’s weddings, had learned that life was a misery — she hadn’t wanted all the children she had had, breast feeding until each child was two years old to try to prevent ovulation. No prizes for guessing that my mother had some issues as well. When my parents married it was a match made in …certainly not heaven.
I was sexually molested at age 4. At age 9, I was becoming my mother’s scapegoat, told her “You don’t love me”, and got a thrashing for my trouble. I won’t bore readers with further descriptions of my mother’s scapegoating but they were many, and worse. By age 16 I was having sex with my first boyfriend and when we broke up, I kept having sex with my boyfriends, and a number of much older men, usually my bosses. Many years later, I realised that I had been giving sex in the hope of getting love and affection in return.
At 19, I married the first man who asked me and no prizes for guessing that he was abusive — physically, verbally, psychologically and emotionally abusive, but hey, I’d been brought up to believe that abuse is just part and parcel of love. By my late twenties, I was having suicidal thoughts. We had a child when I was 31 and another when I was 34. Unsurprisingly, my husband was not a good father. By the time I was 35, I was suicidally ideated and had a plan to gas myself and my two babies in the car. (The judgers can call me a selfish bitch, but actually, there was no way I was going to leave my innocent babies behind to be raised by their nasty, abusive father. As for my family? That was another dead end.)
What stopped me? I realized that, as my babies were so much smaller than me, they would die before me, and I would be alive knowing that my babies were dead and I had killed them. Worse, what if I was found before I died? That thought was more dreadful than the thought of staying alive, so I decided that plan was a no go.
Then I met another man, whom I loved deeply. Of course, with my history it will come as no surprise that I was out of the frying pan into the fire. Finally, I went to my doctor (a woman) who diagnosed my depression, and prescribed anti-depressants which worked well until I again became suicidally ideated, when she put me on stronger anti-depressants.
What about a holistic approach? I worked full time, volunteered at my children’s school, exercised four times a week — swimming, power walking, step aerobics and karate — had hobbies, had friends and family, kept my home and garden spotless and beautiful, cooked wholesome meals seven days a week, including fruit and eggs. I read numerous self help books, I didn’t smoke and I basically didn’t drink. My children were at least as clean, tidy and well presented as their peers. What else would the “holistics” suggest?
The problem was: I was unloved, unsupported, and desperately in need of a person who had my back and would share my burdens. And, basically, that was my life story. You can’t build strong foundations on sand.
You can’t grow up feeling unloved, abused, scorned, humiliated, used, and not pay a heavy price somewhere along the line. You can only run on empty for a limited time until everything comes crashing down.
And I’m one of the lucky ones! I’m still standing!
I was financially exploited and left homeless by my second husband who claimed he loved me for twenty-two years whilst abusing me (and my children for some years).
But I struck back every, single, time! And how did I do that? Anti-depressants! Ultimately, I was taking double doses of two different anti-depressants for a few years (psychiatrist prescribed, thank you). I was able to cut back to just a double dose of one medication for some years, but currently I take a quadruple dose daily.
I’ve made it back to the surface, now, and I’m treading water and getting my life back on track, at age 70, once again. Unable to practise in my profession due to a disability, I now do cleaning to supplement my government benefit.
I have consulted with psychologists and counsellors over the years, I’ve read many self-help books. Holistic approaches certainly have their role, but I’d be dead if it wasn’t for anti-depressants. You have to feel a lift in your spirits, a bit of positivity, even a sense of hopefulness when you start taking your medications, in order to start improving your mental outlook.
If you haven’t had depression yourself, stop pretending to understand it.
And one other thing? I’m just damned lucky that somewhere in my psyche I have strength that a lot of people just don’t have! Somehow, I’ve managed to drag myself out of bed each day, maintain my standards, fight the good fight. Yes, I’m very lucky.
And at the end of the day, that’s all it is.
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