12 Months - Part 1 - Breakdown

September 21st, 2010
   
Buses are big. Double-deckers even more so. Heavy too. Plus, they're flat-fronted, so if you get hit by one, you either get dragged under the front wheels, or carried along on the front. Either way, the survival rate is statistically very low, which made it an ideal choice for me. Plus, if I stepped out at the right moment, looking the other way, it would appear nothing more than a tragic accident. No stigma of suicide for my family, you see.
   
These were the thoughts running through my head as I stood at the kerb. One step, at the right time, and it would all be over. I was ready. No turning back right? No 'cry for help'. No hiding in case I was found too soon.
   
Out of the corner of my eye I could see the bus approaching. I edged forward, closed my eyes, stepped out, and was hauled back by the scruff of the neck, as I heard the words "Look out mate! That was close!" As I turned around to see who had 'saved' me, he turned and melted into the crowd. I realised then, that I needed help.
   
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Clinical Depression is a hateful thing. What I used to brush off as simple mood swings, or, to be trendy, a form of bipolar syndrome was nothing of the sort. It eats away at your heart. At worst, I didn't feel down, I had no feelings whatsoever. It was like falling down a dark, bottomless pit, spinning and spinning in the void, with no way out, or no end. I felt worthless, my family would be better off without me. 
   
People say "oh, I'm depressed" at the drop of a hat, without really understanding what it means to actually BE depressed, instead of just feeling a bit 'down'.  It can make you say and do things you would never dream of doing normally, especially to the ones you care about the most. People sometimes say "oh he's using his illness as an excuse" - it's not like that. It fucks with your mind. I became paranoid, I felt people hated me. I would strike out and be nasty to people without even meaning or caring how they felt. I felt I wasn't in control of my own mind.
   
I tried to hide it. In common with a lot of other depressives, I would put on a 'game face', trying to hide my true feelings from people. That took a lot of effort, and almost certainly made things worse. The effort involved made the bouts of depression deeper. I would stand in work pretending that nothing was wrong, while all the time it was eating away at me inside. 
    
Thankfully I have an underststanding GP. As soon as I spoke to him, he knew I was depressed. I burst into tears when he told me. (I'm not ashamed to admit that). He took me through a simple questionnaire to establish my mental state, then another one about my physical health. Clinical Depression, you see, is not just a mental issue - it is often a whole-body thing too.
   
He put me on a course of Citalopram, an anti-depressant, and referred me to a mental health clinic. The 'pram of course had some side effects, but the alternative was much worse.....