Diagnosis: The D Word

So it's been over two years since I blogged apparently. Sadly life happened and got in the way but now I hope to be back and doing this. Blogging helps me concentrate my thoughts coherently and in a manner that I can go back and edit so that I can make mistakes as I go along. Which I need right now as I have just been diagnosed a couple of weeks ago with severe depression. As one of my friends pointed out today, I don't do anything by halves. Of course it has to be severe depression. Sadly I seem to be displaying most of the symptoms, which include forgetfulness, weariness, mood swings and irrational anxieties. That is the reason why I'm back blogging. As I said this helps me concentrate my thoughts and get them out in a coherent manner. Something I am finding very hard due to my mental illness (that's hard for me to admit but I will elaborate later). Also it is calming and relaxing so doesn't contribute to my weariness. Additionally it helps to ground me and remind me of the positives and gives me a record of all the good things. This helps to combat my mood swings. Finally I just really enjoy it. There doesn't seem to be a combat to my irrational anxieties yet because they are irrational. My logical side tells me very strongly that they are and I know that they are, but that does not stop me from feeling them.

Anyway today I want to start delving into my experience of the D word so far and with that word is where I shall start. Depression to me has been split into two meanings. There is the first one: somebody feels down and is feeling a bit glum today so they are a bit depressed. Everybody experiences it and uses the term, it is a part of daily life. However we know it's not the diagnosed medical depression it is just a low mood.
Then there is the second term: the horrifying mental illness that cripples a person and prevents them from functioning until medication alters their mind and they can get out of their deep dark black hole and join the rest of civilization in the real world. How my understanding was so wrong. However that is to some extent how I am feeling. That I have been officially diagnosed with a mental illness so I am now no longer a functioning, civilized being that contributes to the world. When I first left the doctors I got in my car and burst into tears. As far as I am/was concerned I have/had failed. I've let my family down because I couldn't stay strong, I had failed my friends because I couldn't stay positive and support them and I had let myself down because I couldn't stay true to me. The reason i say "am/was" is because at first the feeling was overwhelming and flooded inside of me but has become a lot less, yet still lingers in my mind ever so slightly.. I was drowning in it at first, desperately trying to keep my head above water and see light. Then I texted a friend. I explained how I felt and he responded in a most loving and caring manner. He told me I hadn't failed anyone and I would have only failed myself if I hadn't have gone.

Being diagnosed with depression has been possibly the most shaking event of my life to date. The reason being is that it has completely changed my perception of myself and why I do things. Have I been behaving oddly because I'm depressed or because I'm me? How long has this been going on for? Which were my bad days because of my depression and which ones are the ones that caused it? Were there things that caused it or is it purely hereditary? When does my personality and behaviour stop being me and are actually due to my illness? When will it end? Will it end? All this in less than 12 hours of diagnosis came flooding through my head.

Weirdly the step that I perceived as my biggest failure, my step into the doctors and being diagnosed with depression, everyone else has perceived as a great success, as a victory. Today I went along to youth group and it was a really big struggle but I did it. Part way through I went and had a chat with Gina, my vicar, and I burst into tears and told her about the diagnosis and my condition. She said that today was a victory and that I should celebrate it. I immediately felt frustration and joy. My frustration stems from the fact that tasks that seemed so normal, so mundane, in my everyday life have become difficult and sometimes scary. Yet joy because she was right. I had a small victory. Even before medication and any form of therapy I have faced my fears and won. This is the bit where it gets Goddy and it stays true to me and who I am. Suddenly I have reason, although it may be stemming from a distressing place, to celebrate the little things and the small things. The Daily Breads. They have suddenly turned into massive challenges and massive victories. Making small chat with a cashier, a big victory. Using the phone at work, a massive victory. Honestly telling people how I am feeling today, a massive victory. In all of this there is one saying that rings through and helps me to stand: In our weakness He is strong. All of a sudden when I say the Lords prayer I will be saying "give us today our daily bread" with a lot more feeling than before. Give us today our Daily Bread, give us today our victory.