I was diagnosed
with depression in October of last year. In reality, it had most likely been
going on for most of my teenage years but the summer after my first year of
university was where things got bad enough that I couldn’t cope. My friends
quite literally ordered me to go to the doctors – with one memorable threat
that I’d be picked up and dragged there if I kept putting it off – as the
changes in me managed to destroy my relationship with my then-boyfriend and
were clearly visible to the people around me. In fact, that’s what this
testimonial is about, really: my friends. Yes, anti-depressants and visits to
the Open Door team helped me, but my friends have been the driving force behind
my recovery so far. There was one piece
of advice I received shortly after diagnosis that has helped me more than
anything: don’t let it be a secret. So many people see mental health issues as
taboo, and keep them quiet, but if the people closest to don’t know what you’re
dealing with, they can’t help you when you need them or cut you some slack when
you’re at your worst.
Last year I was, to be perfectly
blunt, a fairly rubbish friend. I missed birthdays and skipped meet-ups, and
when I did show up, I spent most of the time sat in a corner feeling awful or
trying to pretend everything was ok when I wanted to be back in bed ignoring
the world. I was much the same with lectures – attending a 9.15 was a rarity,
and workshops and tutorials pretty much ceased to even exist to me. But despite
all this, my friends never once refused me notes to copy up or help with work
and the invites to events kept coming. I honestly expected them to turn their
backs on me, not through malice but just because being friends with me must
have been akin to being friends with a brick wall or a goldfish.
I will forever
be indebted to my best friend and housemate, who managed to curb the worst of
my thoroughly self-destructive habits. I never self-harmed, but my sleep and
eating habits became more messed up than I thought possible: some days I ate
near-constantly, as if I was hoping to counter the deep, gnawing pain I felt
with copious amounts of food. Other days, I would look at the clock and realize
it was nine or ten o’clock at night, I hadn’t eaten a thing all day and I
wasn’t hungry in the slightest. She kept me from eating only chocolate,
reminded me – and occasionally outright ordered me – to eat something, and is
probably the main reason I didn’t end up with severe nutritional issues, as I
sometimes went days without wanting to eat. She also offered an ear, a shoulder
and a hug whenever I needed it, and let me ramble on about what was going on
inside my messed up little head without judging.
There are a few
more people (who will probably know exactly who they are, if they happen to
read this) who I will probably never be able to repay for their friendship. I
have one friend who was pretty much the only person to get real smile out of
me. Another who must have given me a few hundred hugs in the past two years.
Yet another who would tell me outright if I wasn’t telling them the things they
could actually help with and then give me solutions to the problems he could.
These and others are the people who have kept me going, and the people that I
could not have gotten through the last two years without.
To anyone
reading this who is suffering: tell your friends. Don’t beat around the bush
and hope they guess. Sit them down, and tell them you’ve been diagnosed with
depression and exactly what that means. Let them know that if you don’t see
them as much it’s not because you don’t want to, it’s because you can’t face
the world today.
To my friends, thank you from the bottom of my
heart. I’m getting better now, but even if and when I’m fully recovered, I will
NEVER stop owing you.
Anonymous
