Naomi, Cambridge
Depression comes from the mind and invades the mind. It’s like an unstoppable force. Were it not so evil, it would be impressive. It zaps the joy of sleep and relaxation. It causes aches and pains and exhaustion. And then it weighs this tired body and brain down with apathy and robs me of enthusiasm. And just when you get used to the apathy and accept that you will amount to nothing more than a TV-watching, Netflix-browsing, Candy Crush-playing robot, it hits you with panic.
The panic makes you crave company and someone to stabilise you and tell you that it’s fine. But only then do you realise the full extent of the invasion. It has conquered you and you didn’t even notice. There is no one. You’ve asked for help one time too many, you cried and broke down and scared them or bored them (or both) once too often. And they were kind so they let you do it again and again, but eventually they had to look after themselves and their own sanity and they backed away while you weren’t looking. And you’re left holding on by a thread to those that are left, but you can’t risk breaking that thread so you pull your lips into a smile and you weaken yourself further by pulling yourself into the shape of a sane person.
The second wave hits with self-loathing. It hits you with all your foibles and all your huge gaping faults. It opens your eyes and makes you understand in graphic detail why everyone hates you, why you’ve been alone for days, why you’ll always be alone, why friendship and companionship is something for other people. Not for you. The second wave leads to the third: regret. Regret after regret after regret. All the things you said and did wrong. All the misjudgments and missteps, all the failures.
And then the final blow: happiness is gone. Not just missing, but gone. There is only sadness and regret and panic. I can’t remember the last time I was happy and I can’t remember what happiness feels like. I know there were times, lots of times, when I was happy. I try to recall them, but I can never get a clear picture. Was it a night out? A country walk? A hand held? A roller coaster cresting a summit? I try to summon up these moments and the people I spent them with. It’s like looking at a stranger’s photos. No emotion comes to the surface. Depression is sadness for times gone and chances never taken. It is missed opportunities and a missed future. It’s missed friends. It invades and leaves you right on the edge of the cliff of sanity. And then the ridge gives way.
Sophie Adams, Cardiff, 42
I’ve experienced mental health difficulties – primarily depression – since my late teens. The piece I’ve submitted is part of Spring Back, Fall Forward, a multimedia art book. It represents one year in my life, a year lost to illness and isolation, when I rarely ventured beyond my bed; a bed whose bounds transcribed the bounds of my life, for a while at least.
Michelle Baharier, 52
I have complex depression and post-traumatic stress disorder with somatic symptoms. I make these images to try to stay well.
Anonymous
I’ve experienced what I would now loosely term as “depression” since I was about 14. That’s the first time I remember having an extended period of feeling overwhelmed by my own mind, by a profound sadness I couldn’t explain to anyone. After a while, it just went away, as suddenly and inexplicably as I’d felt awful. And so it’s gone ever since.
That’s not to say I breeze through these bad spells. I’m only just out of one of the worst spells I’ve had in a long time; 12 days with little to no sleep, the same, very specific suicidal thoughts (specific because I’ve planned meticulously over the years what I feel is the optimal way to do it – the least harmful and hurtful to others) playing on a loop. It’s like being attacked by yourself. No one has access to your private repository of past disappointments and humiliations, and no one can twist them and filter them through skewed levels of self hatred like you can to yourself. My mind is so thick with the fog of “everything, but mostly me, is awful” that I can do stupendous acts of doublethink on myself. I called a friend one night totally deranged with all of this. It’s just horrible. All of it is horrible.
This innate self hatred, this will for death, is compounded by the guilt I feel burdening others with this. Everyone has their own stuff. I’m not unique. This thought, along with the fact that no one wants people they love and admire to think that they’re “crazy”, doesn’t really incline me to be open about it in the moment. Luckily for me I’ve got well informed, loving friends. I’m very fortunate to have them and my own way of dealing with this, it means that (so far) I’ve emerged from these spells relatively unscathed.
In terms of treatment – well, nothing has worked better for me than a process of learning to rationalise it, and exercise. Exercise is key. I’ve been on anti-depressants and found them unbelievably unhelpful – when it took the bad thoughts away it also robbed me of the capacity for joy, or any pleasant feelings. I’ve become very pragmatic about the whole thing; there is no secret trauma eating away at me, my life is good, it’s social, I have good friends, I like my job. I see it purely as a chemical deficiency, or an inability to regulate levels of serotonin.
In the UK, the Samaritans can be contacted on 116 123.
In the US, the National Suicide Prevention Hotline is 1-800-273-8255.
In Australia, the crisis support service Lifeline is on 13 11 14.
Experiences of depression: "It leaves you on the cliff edge of sanity"
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