Can we talk about depression?

If you are living in the age of 2020 and have social media then you must have seen, heard and read the 'This is what depression looks like' posts. Oh I know I'm doing a cliché but I don't take selfies when I'm in despair and my heart is racing because my anxiety is spiralling out of control. When I took this picture I was feeling anything but depressed. In fact I was feeling rather sassy; I was  enjoying the sun, banishing my 'winter blues', Mr Poachie and I were on our first holiday and he had passed the all time couples test of airport protocols. 

Its mental health awareness week and whilst I think it is great that people are becoming more open to talking about it, its still something I am a little uncomfortable about doing myself. I've had depression and anxiety for over ten years but only recently done anything about it and now, when I look back, I wish I had helped myself sooner. Hindsight kids, its a bit of a bitch.

We all have tragedies and periods of sadness in our lives. It's when you don't recover from it, when you don't bounce back but instead you are in a downward trajectory of feeling miserable, that's when you are in trouble. Now my story sounds like a terrible episode of EastEnders starting with my dear mum or 'moomin-troll' as me and my brother used to call her, being diagnosed with cancer. After beating it, it came as a shock when she died unexpectedly some months later. I was 16. A few years later my Papa Bear who lived in Australia got diagnosed with cancer and then he died. I was 22. I had trouble starting my own family which resulted in a miscarriage then, months later, I had to terminate my second pregnancy for medical reasons, which in part led to the breakdown of my marriage and now I am getting a divorce.

Is it wine o clock yet?! 

Bear with me, this isn't an X Factor audition sob story! What I am aiming to do is to possibly help someone else who might be in a dark place. Throughout my 20's I had this inability to open up, I couldn't communicate what I felt and I was so frustrated all of the time, I lost interest in everything, I self-isolated before Covid told me to. I refused therapy as I was stubborn and wanted to do it on my own - WHY! You don't get any prizes for it. I didn't want to go on anti depressants as I was worried about the side effects. So instead, I chose to suffer. Way to go Lilly!

Last year I had reached breaking point, I have had insomnia since my teens but the lack of sleep was making me ill. I felt I couldn't talk to my friends about it as they had babies and were suffering from precious little sleep themselves; I didn't want seem like I was whinging about something they were dealing with. 

I finally made a call to my Dr as I couldn't stop the tears, I was a mess and I didn't know what to do. I was in a horrible cycle of drinking too much wine each day but fighting depression with alcohol is like fighting a fire with a lighter and a can of Elnett hairspray. I ended up being referred to a psycho-therapist, Dr B and a second therapist who specialises in post traumatic stress disorder. After 8 months of treatment but still resisting AD's I then suffered a terrible bout of PTSD as I had finally got to the place of hurt, the place I had buried and it all came out like emotional vomit. 

Now I am in a MUCH better place, I have got my masters in  Dr B's cognitive behaviour school, I like to think I am his favourite patient. I accepted the prescription of anti depressants and again, wished I had done that many, many years ago. I now see it as medication like any other, like a diabetic needs insulin, I don't produce enough serotonin so it is the treatment I need to help me get better. I have done it now and I'm on the path to being bouncy and essentially, happy. 

Anxiety and depression still get me from time to time, they gang up on me when I'm not expecting it, some days I can fight them back like we are having a scrap in the school playground and other days they win and leave me broken so I can't face the world.

One of the reasons I wanted to start my blog was because of a girl I follow on instagram. She had been through a very similar experience of suffering a miscarriage and then in her next pregnancy having to TMFR (terminate for medical reasons) and she had posted about it. I was gobsmacked that she had been so open. Obviously I have seen people be open on social media before (how annoying is Facebook when people check themselves in at hospital?) but it was the rawness of the way she spoke. Anyhoo, in response to what she posted I ended up posting something myself which is something a few years ago I would have never ever done but I was furiously typing away almost like on auto pilot because I felt so passionate about it. We then messaged a few times and it was so helpful to me, the response I got from family and friends and colleagues was overwhelming and I needed that lesson to know if you want help and support, sometimes you need to ask.

Now I don't expect anyone to actually read my blog other than Mr Poachie, who proof reads them, and I certainly don't expect anyone to take my advice BUT if it did actually reach someone and that someone needed to be reminded that their anxiety is lying to them and that they are loved and are going to be ok, then that's good enough for me.