Neurodivergent

Just for something a little different as my first regular post, here's an essay that the other best friend wrote for her Creative Writing project last year, on depression (or should that be Depression?).

I expect you'd be pretty put out if I didn't at least put some sort of update on how everything else is going, so here's a quick precis of this week. I'm doing quite well at starting to incorporate the new diet. As I run out of things I'm replacing them with things that comply with the strict no dairy, no gluten and no legumes regime. I'm slightly intrigued as to what I'll replace cheese with... I've been told about non-dairy, vegan cheeses, so I might have to try some of that, and if that isn't any good I'll just have to cut it out completely. As for weight, I seem to be around about the 15st3 mark at the moment, which is better than the 16st that I weighed in at earlier this summer, but it's still waaaay too heavy for my liking, so I'm hoping that the diet will help me shift some of that. And last but not least, fitness. Well, I'll be back at spin on Wednesday night, so hopefully that'll go well, then I'm away over the weekend, but I'm going to try and do some walking as well so I can start working on endurance. When I get paid I'm thinking I might have to book a session with a Personal Trainer to pick up a few tips on how I should go about getting in shape for the marathon.

Anyway, here's the other best friend's brilliant essay:

“I know I have a good life. That's what's so depressing. I can't help it.”

– Stephen Fry

Nowadays, you hear a lot of people talking about depression. It's got a lot more mainstream as a diagnosis, and it's actually possible to admit you have it without people misunderstanding.

But that's still a very rare occurrence.

I have clinical depression. No, I'm not feeling a bit glum today. No, I am not a whiny emo teenager, nor do I need to get outside and smile. I have clinical fucking depression. It's not like getting a bit sad, or being upset because someone dumped you, or any of that. If you have depression, genuine depression, then you are spending your life walking around with a great big sack of rocks on your head. You can be happy or laugh or enjoy yourself, and like any illness there are always good days and bad days, but that does not change the fact you have an entire boulder balanced precariously up there. 

When I first started getting counselling, my mother refused to believe there was anything wrong with me because “people with depression can't get angry”. Considering that having a short temper is one of the ten main symptoms, I'm not entirely sure which part of her first class psychology degree she pulled that out of, but prejudices are always there. One of my friends has been diagnosed for years longer than I have; even when she applied for a job no less than a year ago they asked her why she couldn't snap out of it and be happy. These aren't isolated incidents; ask a person with clinical depression how often they get misunderstood and you'll be there all week.

I think one of the biggest problems is that there is no way of definitively separating medically diagnosed depression with the kind that people are talking about when they say they're feeling depressed that day. If we had two separate words in our language for them, I don't think there would be quite so many issues. Half the time, you tell someone you've got depression and they'll go, “Oh, I was depressed over summer, but I got out in the sun and it was fine” because they don't understand that the two are discrete. There are countless self-help websites that people will spout, suggesting things like going for a walk or dancing in your room, and these are great techniques. If you're sad. Not if you have clinical depression. Like I said, it might make me smile and on a good day it sure as hell cheers me up. But it's not a cure in any way or form.

People without depression often fail to understand that it's actually a reason for not being able to do things sometimes. I always try my hardest not to let my depression own me or control me, because I am not my depression. But there are days I have to stay in bed because the simple act of getting up and facing the world is so daunting that it leaves me in tears. Keeping easy to eat food in my bedroom, like apples and bread, becomes essential on bad days. Anything more exhausting than rolling over to spread peanut butter on some dry crackers can floor me. Fortunately, with cognitive behavioural therapy, medication and learning to recognise the signs of a down-spiral, I can mostly avoid these now.

Sometimes, though, I can't. And on those days, forcing a smile, eating a banana or listening to cheery music won't help. In fairness, neither does lying on the bathroom floor in my pyjamas, but I'm going to do that because it's about all I can manage. Just try to bear with me and be supportive, alright? Talk to me if I need it. Don't try to give advice unless you know what you're talking about. And above all, remember I am still a person.