Depression. Even the word is heavy. It presses down on you,
on your life. It impedes movement both physical and metaphorical, and smothers
you to the point of almost suffocation.
I could wax lyrical about the poetic darkness of depression,
and the viscous, black hold it can have over people, but on World Mental Health
Day of all days, and at the point in life I currently find myself it feels
pertinent to make the simplest but truest of statements:
It gets better.
Not now, not tomorrow, maybe not straight away, and not
necessarily forever, but there are places and people who can lift the load, and
tighten the leash, and you will stand up straight and breathe deeply again: I
promise.
There have been times in the past few years where even just
reading that statement would have elicited vicious, unbelieving laughter, so
please; bear with me. There will also be those of you who have never experienced
mental health issues who may wonder why it’s even worth giving such a widely and
(dangerously) naively assumed notion the time of day.
To you, I say that it gets better, not because depression is some "temporary indulgence of the weak," but because it has to. In the most basic of
senses, when a person hits rock bottom the only way they have is up, and even
what may seem, or sometimes even feel, to both them and others like the
smallest of advances should not be diminished. Clichés become so due to an
element of universal truth, and the adage that we are our own worst enemies is
most certainly true. Who else has such absolute power over you? Who else knows
all your shameful, hateful secrets and exactly what it is about those secrets
that scares and haunts you? Who else knows exactly what to say to ruin your
day? When fighting with yourself, with what’s inside you, there isn’t the
luxury of being able to put distance between you and the problem. When you are
the reason you can’t bear to get out of bed in the morning, or leave the house
for fear of having to interact with others, or pick up the phone because you’re
scared of not knowing what to say to the person on the other end, then refuge
is hard to find.
It gets better because having been through depression, I
know that I understand myself so much better as a person and actually, that
without having been to hell and back I wouldn’t be the stronger, more informed and
together person I am today. When in the depths of depression I sought help
through what I saw as weakness and desperation, but as I’ve progressed both
through and upwards I’ve realised that there’s an incredible strength in even
feeling able to reach out for help, and I know that it is the power I have
gained over the illness that has enabled me to feel strong enough to recognise
the signs and understand myself better while putting in place the support network
that I know I can utilise if ever the same thing starts to happen again. I
realise that it perhaps sounds to an outsider that I had a charmed, easy ride
with my depression which, for one, I don’t think is physically possible, and is
a dangerous idea that should be quickly dispelled. Make no mistake: I have
fought to be where I am today. I have battled myself, negative stereotypes and
stigma, and not to mention the god damn depression itself, and I have
encountered stumbling blocks, setbacks and colossal great snakes that have sent
me all the way back down to the start, both within my own mind and from outside
influences, but though the road is long and winding, let me tell you: the view
from the top makes it all worthwhile.
So yes, it does get better, but at different rates and with
different definitions of success for different people.
Better is completely subjective when it comes to mental health,
and there are so many groups and organisations out there waiting to help, just
as soon as you’re ready to let them, so do.
