Hi, I’m Vic… and I have depression

This is perhaps the hardest thing I’ve ever had to write.  There is a lot of emotion behind the words I write here, and I’m trying to keep that out.  If you were expecting the latest snippet of technical insight from me, I’m sorry.  Maybe next time.  This post is about me.

In the first six months of 2004 I changed employer, my first child was born, and I suffered a mild heart attack.  For some time I’ve believed that this set of major events occurring over such a short period was responsible for the way I feel.  If I’m honest though, there’s every likelihood that it was there long before, and 2004 just pushed me off the top of the slippery slope.

People’s reactions to near-death experiences vary almost as widely as the events that bring them to near-death.  To me, how someone recovers from such an experience will depend very much on how they can rationalise who is at fault for the experience.  Experiences like being a victim of armed robbery or a car accident are fundamentally different from health-related near-death because when it’s health-related there’s no-one to blame but yourself — you ate the wrong food, you didn’t exercise enough, you got bad genes, etc.  You can try to blame someone or something else (blame the fast-food chains for your diet, blame the TV programs or the computer games for your lack of exercise, blame your parents for your genes) but deep down you know it’s all on you.  The effect this can have on self-esteem and self-worth are immeasurable.

I say this all in my context of course — for me it was too tempting to blame that heart attack for feeling bad.  I’m sure others have felt the same: despite all the other things in their life that might be causes of concern — stressful or unrewarding job, young children, difficult relationships, money problems — the health problem that nearly killed them becomes what they use to define themselves.  This was definitely the case for me: I was 34 years old, I had been overseas for a week for work and was supposed to be at home helping to look after my 3-month old son, what the f**k was I doing in a cardiac hospital after suffering a myocardial infarction?  I was broken, a product of a gene pool that produced 11 out of 13 immediate blood relatives with cardiac issues.  People would tell me this was my “wake-up call”, my “second chance”, but nothing could break my resignation that the deck was stacked against me.

I saw a psychologist for a while in 2005-06, and was on antidepressants for a while around the same time.  I thought I was feeling good about life again.  My last visit with the psychologist was just before I went on an overseas business trip with a colleague in March 2006.  I got a script for more meds before I went overseas (the doctor actually joked with me about how having a psychotic break while going through US airport security wouldn’t be a good thing), but when that script ran out I didn’t bother getting a new one.  Looking back, I was in Zoloft-fuelled denial of my real mental and emotional state.  I actually thought I was better, so I didn’t need the drugs any more.

The denial of my mental state has continued until almost the present day — except that it was no longer fuelled by antidepressants.  Over the last six months or so, denial came from a self-fulfilling belief that there was nothing worth doing.  When I thought I was feeling good about life, I failed to see that what I was really feeling good about were things in my life; in times when things to feel good about became fewer and farther between, so too would my moods get darker and darker.  I’d have good days and bad days, but even on good days I’d be a hair’s breadth from falling into a dark black mood in which even just moving seemed like too much effort.  I have been denying my state of mind — except when it suited me to say “I don’t feel like it” to get out of doing something.  I’ve told myself that my poor diet and lack of exercise led to my heart problems, which in turn made me depressed, causing me to want to withdraw further from family and social situations.

Recently though, I’ve realised that the opposite is true: that all the things that I thought have derived from the heart attack have actually come from a different — but no less real — condition: clinical depression, or “a major depressive illness”.  I’m actually on the border of bipolar disorder, but I’m told my “highs” aren’t quite manic enough to fit that profile.

Some of you reading this will unfortunately think that now that I know what my problem is I can just get over it.  While knowing what my problem is allows me to find proper treatment, it’s a long way from getting over it.  Let me ask you: if someone has a broken leg, does being told that they have a broken leg make the leg any less broken?  “Okay,” someone might reply, “so you just pop some pills to feel better.”  Again: if someone has a broken leg and they take medication for the pain, is the leg any less broken?  “Well, go and talk to a shrink then.”  If you’ve got a broken leg and you talk to someone about the experience of having a broken leg, is the leg any less broken?

Our protagonist with the broken leg starts the road to recovery when the break is set and the leg is cast.  Pain killers might be needed, along with crutches or a wheelchair for mobility, perhaps even a ruler to scratch the skin irritated by the cast.  Physiotherapy to rebuild muscle and supporting tissue might be needed as well, once the bone is sufficiently restored.  Our protagonist might walk with a limp for a while, but will eventually return to full health.

I have started to get help, but I have no idea what my road to recovery will look like.  I saw my GP a few weeks ago and he referred me to a psychiatrist, with whom I’ve had my first session.  Medication will be involved, but I’ve already felt the effects of the other actions I’ve taken: exercise, eating well, and treating my after-hours as my own time instead of an extension of the work day.  I’ve started to lose weight as well (2-3kg so far) — something that I’d always wanted to do but felt was beyond my mood-locked abilities.  I still have dark times though.

Now the really hard part.  Some of you might be wondering if there was a catalyst to all this self-realisation and affirmative action.  I’m not ready to talk about that, except to say one thing: this illness I have is like a cancer — ruthless, vicious, absolutely silent, and often detected way too late.  Unlike cancer though, many people don’t take it seriously.  Don’t take anything for granted.  Depression will take things away from you that you don’t know you’ve lost until they’re gone, and what you lose might be the very things you’ve always needed to make it through to the end of each day.

Don’t wait until RU OK? Day…  if you’re depressed, talk to someone; if you know someone who might be depressed, talk to them.  Please.

Online resources in Australia for depression and bipolar disorder (not an exhaustive list, nor a list of endorsements):

• Black Dog Institute – www.blackdoginstitute.org.au
• beyondblue – The National Depression Initiative – www.beyondblue.org.au
• DepNet – www.depnet.com.au
• RU OK? Day – www.ruokday.com.au