Depression lurks, Depression skulks, Depression hides in the shadows like a gutter rat waiting for a moment of weakness from its foe. Close by is that grimy little parasite that goes by the name Anxiety, Anxiety can’t be too far away from Depression, the two of them exist in a symbiotic relationship founded on spreading misery. When these two malignant Hydras infiltrate a mortal humans being they leave the door wide open for Self Loathing and even Suicide.
I don’t know when my battle began because I can’t remember the last time I was content. I’ve never been normal despite my best efforts to be so. I have had friends throughout my life but I have always felt that I was responsible for building and nurturing any friendship to the point where I wasn’t cast aside for being odd. Every relationship I’ve ever shared has scared the crap out of me because I don’t belong, it’s only a matter of time before they notice that I’m not right and slowly back away without making any sudden movements. What I do know for sure is that, in my experience, Depression and the gang (good name for a band) gather significance like a wave gathers height and power, it builds and grows like an invisible cancer. If Depression is not confronted then it can be fatal.
In December 2021 I made the call. I had been struggling with daily life for some time and my overall sense of purpose was fading away, I was scared of life outside of my comfort zone, which happened to be my kitchen, too much coffee and too many smokes. There were days where I felt paralysed, almost catatonic, unable to get up and do something as simple as get a glass of water, I would think about doing it and urge my body to respond to the need but an hour would pass and I would still be sitting, paralysed and thirsty. The knock-on effect was that I couldn’t work., I must stress this particular point; it’s not that I wouldn’t work or that I was too lazy, it was a crippling fear of having to interact with anyone outside of my self-pitying bubble. I had no income which placed an inordinate amount of stress on my living situation and so the momentum gathered, Depression selected overdrive and engulfed me like the darkness of a moonless night. I made the call to my GP and I asked for help.
I imagine a seesaw in my head, on one end is my self worth and on the other end is what gives me my self worth, unfortunately there isn’t much on that end so my self worth on the other end is going down, something needs to go on this end to balance the seesaw, I know... Alcohol! Did Alcohol balance my seesaw? Not even close. Alcohol dulled the senses and removed the niggling discomfort of the mental health conundrum. Alcohol helped me find some temporary comfort before jumping on to the other end of my seesaw and plunging my self worth into the ground, Alcohol is two-faced, Alcohol is on Depressions payroll and in my case will probably get a Christmas bonus.
In fear of over-fluffing this particular pillow, allow me to fast-forward to the night when I wanted to die. It is important for me to say that I do not and have never wanted to commit suicide. I have lived with the wish that I wasn’t alive but I am not allowed to consider killing myself, no one is. It was a Sunday and I was low, lower than normal and almost at the end of my rope. The best thing to do to pick myself up is to have a little drink, but I don’t trust odd numbers so best make it two drinks, then four, lather rinse repeat... It wasn’t long before Self Loathing made an appearance, not in a skulking fashion, more like a jack in a box, sudden and loud. Now I want to not be living, now I want to do it, let’s have another two drinks first eh? Why not? I’ll tell you why not, because that is the move of a serial Bell-end. Somehow from somewhere came a lightness, a glistening beam of common sense bore down on my pity party with disarming accuracy and persistence, call your sister. I didn’t call her, I was ashamed of myself and couldn’t rally myself to have that conversation, instead I sent a text...
“I need help”
“I want to kill myself. I’m sorry, you don’t need this but you are the only person I can talk to.”
Sending those messages was the only thing I did right on that miserable Sunday. Unfortunately it was eclipsed by the monumental shit-storm that I then created with the help of my Russian friend. I didn’t decide to drink heavily, my fuck-it impulse came wading in and poured the poison down my gullet, and with that bottle on that day I unravelled my life. I destroyed any slim chance I had of living happily ever after with my soul-mate. I caused upset, panic, worry, pain, anger... not one of these is a positive emotion. My meltdown unleashed a torrent of negativity that engulfed my possible contentment and ended that chapter of my life. In a way, I did die that day. The selfish, drunken imbecile that once piloted this squishy vessel was about to go head to head with the unbeaten, undisputed champions of the world, my family. My oldest friend dropped everything to be with me, my family picked me up, wrapped me up and protected me. That wasn’t the end though, the selfish, drunken imbecile found its way back for one last hurrah, there was unfinished business to attend to, there was a shred of hope for a possible return to the life and home that I loved and that, according to the imbecile and his bottle, needed to be burned to a crisp.
All of this happened over the last two months, I’ve left a load out for the sake of the reader. I haven’t had a drink for two weeks now and I don’t want to think about having a drink ever again. Am I an alcoholic? I don’t know, I don’t think so, I suffer from a mental health illness and I used alcohol as a crutch, not a very good crutch ‘cos I still fell!
As I am writing this I am grateful to say that I am almost content. My brain is clear, I have energy, I want to work, I want to travel, I want to reconnect with old friends, I want to show the world that the imbecile has been banished and replaced with a blank canvas, a canvas ready for adventure, ready for fun, ready for life.
I’m just James, a lowly carpenter, I have no right to tell anyone how to negotiate the perils of existence. I can however share with you my own personal journey and assure you that it does work, It is whatever works for you, for me it is the twelve steps albeit a doctored version. I needed to apologise to certain people, I needed to mend bridges, I needed to allow myself to be pathetic, I needed to own up to things, I am a blank canvas and I will not allow regret and shame to muddy the pallet. When they say that it will be alright and you think to yourself, “how can it be alright? It will never be alright,” know this, I was there and I had those thoughts when they rolled out the cliches and the platitudes. I’ve come out the other side and I’m looking back at those cliches and the conversations and the truth is that they are right, they are absolutely right.
My brain is still a bastard but I’m learning to not listen. I’m still having bad days but the bad days are better than the good days I had last year; soon my future bad days will be better than my current good days, in two days time tomorrow will be yesterday.
Don’t give up, never give in. Listen to the sober people, they know what they are talking about. Talk, talk to family and be honest about your thoughts, talk to friends and explain how you’re feeling, give yourself over to those that want to help you. Call me if you want, I’m happy to talk to anyone about their mental health struggles, I’m not an expert but I am a participant.
We are all in this together, I will share your pain and share your joy.
“Above all, strive to be happy.”