A misunderstood illness - my experience (My Experience of Depression)

Member Name: jopassmore

Product:	My Experience of Depression
Date:	01/10/01 (62 review reads)
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Many people don't understand mental illness. I don't really blame them because unless you have suffered from it, you cannot really ever completely understand how it feels. After all, it is usually fairly invisible. If you broke your leg or got a bad case of the flu people would sympathise with you and agree that you needed some time off work. If you suffer from depression or anxiety from time to time it is a different story. People assume that you are 'just a bit fed up' or that you couldn't be bothered to turn up for work. The moment you smile, they assume you are better but you can be feeling like your world is coming to an end and still put a brave face on it.

I have suffered from a couple of bad bouts of depression and anxiety. I know how it feels and would trade this illness in for 10 broken legs or bouts of flu. I am writing this opinion as much for my own sake as for anybody else's. I have not written down my feelings on this subject before and feel that by doing so, I might be able to better accept what I have been through. Hopefully, at the same time, this op may help others who are going through a similar experience or those trying to help a loved one with a similar problem. I apologise in advance for the length of it - please feel free to go now and read somebody else's op - I won't be offended!

My first experience of mental illness was when I was 22 years old. I was in my final year at university and was just about to take my final exams. I had returned home (or at least to my fiancés home) to study and make the final plans for our wedding which was due to take place 2 months later. We had just bought a house and I was excited about preparing it for us to live in after our marriage.

Okay, so a lot of stressful stuff was occurring at once, but I had coped with this kind of busy life before. And most of the things I was planning for (bar the exams) were wonderful events. I had
waited 4 years to marry my now husband - we had had a long distance relationship throughout my time at university and I could not wait to marry him and move into our new house together. University was going fine. I was on track for at least an upper second degree and had been told that I merely had to turn up for the exams to pass. So what exactly went wrong?

I can only explain it by saying that mental illness is not something anybody can have control of. Like all sorts of other illnesses, it can suddenly hit you and there is nothing you can do about it. Although not visible, it is often a physical condition with chemicals in your brain or changes in your hormones causing your body and mind to react in strange ways.

It began with my doubting my ability to pass the exams. I would lay awake at night panicking about whether I would pass. I would eventually fall into a deep sleep, only to wake up a few minutes later in a complete sweat. During the day, I would try to study, but my mind would just wander and I would have to give up. I would go for long walks along the beach to try and clear my head but when I returned to the house things were just the same.

After a few days of this, I really started to panic. How could I possibly pass my exams if I could not study. I rang all my friends and my tutors at college who all said the same thing - of course I would pass - I was top of the class - why wouldn't I pass. I would believe them for a while and then the doubts would creep back. Disturbed nights turned into sleepless nights with me pacing the floorboards all night. I would often wander into my fiancé's bedroom in the early hours in a panicked state. He would try to calm me down and then fall straight back to sleep leaving me to work myself up into a frenzy again.

By this time, my physical state was beginning to deteriorate. I felt extremely weak and yet at the same time full of energy and unable to stay st
ill for even a few moments. I could feel my heart beating in my chest and was convinced that it was beating too fast. A few years previously my mother had died of a heart attack and I was sure the same was about to happen to me. I scoured the medical books and decided that I needed some beta blockers and then visited each doctor's surgery in turn (as a temporary resident) until somebody prescribed me what I was after.

To cut a long story short, it went from bad to worse. Not only was I worried about my exams, but I was now worried about my health. I convinced myself also that if I didn't get my degree, I wouldn't get a job, we would loose the house and never be able to afford to have children. My solution to this was to call off the wedding, much to my fiancé's dismay. My family, his family and my friends all tried to reason with me, but by this stage I was beyond listening to reason.

Then the crunch came. I had a major panic attack. The feelings I had are extremely hard to describe but I think they can best be summed up by saying that I imagine I had a similar feeling to some of the employees of the second World Trade Centre tower that collapsed. If you can imagine the feeling they had when they had seen the first tower collapse. By this stage they probably realised that there was no way out of the tower and that their own tower would almost certainly collapse with them in it. The panic and fear faced by these people is indescribable. I am not meaning to be insensitive - I have put myself in their position in my mind many times since the tragedy happened and those old panic feeling return temporarily, reminding me of what it was like. Their fear was rational. Mine was totally irrational, but to me it was completely rational. I felt that I could not cope anymore, I wanted to get out of the situation, to escape, but there was nowhere I could go or nothing I could do to get out of myself. If there had been a dangerous
implement nearby, I would have ended it all there and then.

This panic attack resulted in my collapsing and doctors being called. I was given a cocktail of drugs to sedate me and give my body time to recover. I cannot remember exactly how many drugs I was taking, but there was one drug for this and another drug for that and a drug to counteract the effects of the first drug etc. I was more or less unconscious for a few days. I can remember little about this time, other than the faces of my family and friends who would visit me from time to time. The doctors wanted to take me to the local psychiatric hospital but my husband's family were very much against this idea and instead arranged a round the clock rota between them for my care.

As soon as I started to come round the drugs were reduced and the panic returned. I spent the next few weeks in varying states of sedation, despair and anxiety trying to be free of the addictive drugs. At certain times of the day I would begin to feel a bit more human (usually in the evening), but then a few hours later I would be in the depths of despair again. The drugs enabled me to fall asleep at night but I would wake up screaming and charge around the house like a wild animal. I remember occasions when members of the family would have to physically restrain me until I fell asleep. I could not be left alone for a moment, day or night. My mother-in-law gave up her job to look after me and various members of our church (some who I didn't even know at the time but have since become good friends) offered to have me in their homes on a regular basis to give the family a break.

I had turned from a happy, easy going, self sufficient, confident, intelligent person into a complete nervous wreck who need constant supervision and did not even have the confidence to visit a local shop to buy a bottle of milk! That was quite a humbling experience, I can tell you.

My recovery took quite
a number of weeks. I started seeing a wonderful physiatrist who not only took care of my medical needs but tried to help me practically as well. For example, he suggested that I set myself little tasks each day that I felt I could achieve. On the first day this might just be one little thing, like 'get up and have a bath'. Sounds silly but even this was an achievement, as I would spend most days in bed if I was allowed. The one task turned into a number of tasks and gradually I began to regain my confidence. Spending time in normal environments was very helpful as well. My family tended to wrap me in cotton wool and treat me like an invalid, whereas other people just treated me as me. Spending days with young children was the most helpful as they have no concept of 'mentally ill' and treat you like they would one of their own friends, especially if you are prepared to play with them.

I managed to recover in time for my wedding. I had lost about a stone in weight by then and had to have my dress taken in. We also had to scale down the celebrations, which was a shame, because I would not have coped with a whole day of jollity. Needless to say, I did not return to university to take my exams. The university gave me my degree based on the good work I had done up until then and the prediction that I would have passed the exams had I been well enough to take them. I went back to uni a few years later and achieved a distinction for my masters degree. I did this really to prove to myself and others that I could cope with the pressure and did have the ability to succeed academically.

I would like to say that we lived happily ever after, but unfortunately exactly the same thing happened a year later, only this time it lasted for 6 months, not 6 weeks. I failed to respond to the drugs this time and was eventually diagnosed as a manic depressive. I was put on a drug called lithium and expected to stay on it for life. After a
lot of prayer and to the amazement of my doctors, I came off this drug to get pregnant with my daughter and 3 years later I am still fighting fit. I do still have to be careful about my stress levels and have learnt to take things in my stride much more than I would have done before. I think this kind of experience does alter you for the better. It also helps you to understand other people going through similar experiences and to help them come through it.

So, there you go. I said it would be long. The aim of this op really was to demonstrate that all types of people in all different circumstances can become mentally ill. There should not be a stigma attached to it. I am fairly open these days about my medical health and so far I haven't suffered as a result of this honesty. Unfortunately, there are many people in my position who do suffer unfair consequences or discrimination because of their medical history. This is not just and should not happen. The only thing I can say about this is, the next time you hear that somebody is suffering from depression, don't dismiss it as them 'just having a bad day' but instead, try to get alongside them and understand what they are going through. Not everybody suffering from this illness has a family and friends around them like I do, so you never know, you might just be saving their life!

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