I've struggled with depression, anxiety and low self-esteem for almost my entire life. Now that I know how these things affect me, I know at least some of those problems were present in my head as far back as infant school. I have some thoughts as to why but I can only really speculate and it's not all that relevant, except perhaps to say that there's a bit of a history of depression (and I think anxiety too) in my family.
At school, I had no confidence: I was physically and emotionally small and vulnerable. I felt like a victim, I acted like a victim and I became an easy target. And so began a cycle of being targeted and then reacting in a way that encouraged classmates and others to target me. If I wasn't unwell to start with, I certainly developed mental health problems in my early years at school. Teachers either didn't cotton on to the fact that I was unwell or just didn't know what to do about it. I don't know if anyone ever spoke to my parents.
That continued right through infant, junior and high school - and even college. I hated myself (if I'm being honest, I probably still do) and I think I acted so immaturely that people couldn't accept me as a peer. I think I stood out as a misfit and I desperately wanted to be building friendships like others seemed to be doing and I tried too hard. My social skills were very under-developed and I made countless clumsy attempts to assimilate, each time ending up looking even more out-of-place. Eventually, with watching and learning and as I and people around me matured, it started to become a bit easier. I still make a tit of myself on a fairly regular basis but I have begun to fit in a bit better and although I'll probably always feel like a bit of an imposter, I'm not always on the outside looking in.
However, when times get hard and challenges arise, I'm taken over by that angry, immature, reactionary person who often finds himself virtually immobile, unable to find the spirit to get off the floor, or shower, or leave the house. I've probably been guilty of what seem like cries for help although for me, they're much more like proclamations of my self-loathing. Because when I'm in trouble, I don't feel I'm worthy of help. I want people to know I hate myself even though telling them (in as subtle a way as I can muster) will only make me hate myself even more. People who have seen me like that surely can't feel the same about me ever again. I know one thing: I would love to be able to disappear and start again, removing anyone from around me who has ever seen me in the throes of depression.
Triggers so far have included loneliness, redundancy, stress and bereavement. With many years of experience behind me, I have a lot of insight and awareness and I even felt my most recent episode approaching. I was powerless to stop it, of course. With understanding and learning, I've turned myself into a mostly-functioning adult, husband, father and manager (thanks in part to Citalopram: having previously decided against anti-depressants, I knew I needed some extra help this time). My depression, anxiety and self-loathing hold me back and that's sad but, to be honest, for me it feels normal and in some ways, safe. I still don't really feel that I deserve any better: I don't feel that I deserve a wonderful wife, a brilliant little boy and good friends.
When I'm well, I'm much better at projecting a positive outlook than I used to be. In the past, I didn't want to lie about myself, or about anything but now I do it for the benefit of others because it doesn't help me to know that I'm making life hard for the people who keep me going.
Sometimes my mask slips and I feel ashamed. I'm trying. Hopefully the more people understand about conditions like mine, the more they will forgive me.
