Living with Mental Health | Family, Friends and Depression

I think my experience of the way illness can affect your life started when I was thirteen. My mum got physically ill, and I started to feel increasingly alienated from her. I often felt that I was at fault in situations that, in reality, were outside of my control. Looking back, I understand that she was frightened and having to deal with a lot herself, but at the time it was very difficult to see that. Nevertheless, my relationship with my Dad was strong and, apart from the usual day to day stresses of being a teenager, things were generally fine.

But aged about sixteen my relationship with my dad started to deteriorate too. Sometimes I would make a comment or snap at him a little when things were tough. Things he would previously have tolerated, at worst. But instead of tolerating them he would ignore me, perhaps for a few hours, perhaps for longer, even when, at times, I would stubbornly continue to talk at him. He never shouted, just sort of withdrew instead. Again, it made me feel that I must be doing something wrong to deserve that sort of treatment: that I was a terrible person and an even worse daughter.

I'd always worked hard at school, but I became even more determined: determined to prove my worth to myself, my teachers and above all my parents. Exam results and making my parents proud became my God. But exam result after exam result failed to change the situation. I knew deep down that my parents loved me, but this only made me feel worse: here they were, feeding me, clothing me, and yes, loving me, and all I could do was make them angry, disappointed, cold and withdrawn. I was hurt and frustrated but I was sure I was at fault and didn't want to cause my parents any more anger and upset. Instead I often turned my anger inwards. I was filled with self-loathing, desperation and despair, and self harmed regularly.

I didn't tell anyone about it at the time, what reason would I have to do that? I was a disappointment, I was the one at fault and the only person that I could take out my pent up frustration on (and the only person I thought deserved to be hurt) was myself. It was simply my own logical decision. I didn't want anyone else to know, especially not my parents, who I thought would just be even more hurt and disappointed by my selfish attitude.The stigma attached to and lack of understanding that many people have for self harm can make it seem impossible to talk about. The thought of it often still fills me with tongue tying, heart racing panic. But I am blessed with close friends and over the past few years, with their help I've been coming to terms with this part of my life, gaining more of an understanding of why I acted in that way. I still self harm sometimes, but more often than not I don't.

This week is about Mental Health Awareness. I am yet to discuss my experience with a doctor. I feel safe talking to my good friends and I know that although they don't always understand, they still love and accept me; and they've been helping me to love and accept who I am too. My relationship with my parents is much improved and we're all healing in our different ways. So I'm not sure I'm really talking about me anymore.

Instead, where did this start? I think it started with the social stigma of depression. We just don't talk about it, do we? It's something bad, something that weak-minded, self-centred people (or perhaps usually strong people who are just going through an awful situation at the moment) suffer from, isn't it? Why don't they just get a grip, man up and muddle on with that oh-so-British stiff upper lip like the rest of us? But depression isn't like that; it isn't just about being a bit sad sometimes. Depression is an illness, just like anything you could suffer from physically. It's time we accept that. If society were more accepting, if people felt able to talk to each other, rather than hiding behind their forced smiles, then people like my dad might be able to speak up sooner.

For people who have friends or family suffering from mental health issues such as depression, I pray that they have shared what they're going through with you. I hope you understand that they don't hate you, they aren't ignoring you, but that sometimes that is the only way they feel able to deal with how they're feeling, particularly if they don't want to hurt you by shouting. It also really isn't your fault, no really, it isn't, just as it isn't their fault. After all, nobody is to blame when they are diagnosed with breast cancer, likewise with depression! So simply, I urge everyone who is reading this, whatever you're going through, to set aside your mask: be more open and willing to talk with people, laugh and cry with them and seek to truly understand what they are experiencing. No-one should feel like they have to suffer in silence. It's time to break free from the shame of depression and the damage that shame can cause.

God be with you,

Anonymous