The Ugly Truth

It's 2:30am (GMT +01:00), and I'm lying in bed typing this on my phone, because I don't want to disturb my roommate (my boyfriend's sister) with the click-clacking of MacBook keys or the glare of my computer screen. I have insomnia (a common side-effect of certain medication) and my mind has decided sleep ain't happening any time soon.

I'm tossing and turning thinking about the photos I recently uploaded to Facebook, when my long-distance boyfriend came to visit in July. I have spent hours composing this album. As with all the albums I upload, II carefully scrutinise each image, deleting any unflattering ones and meticulously editing the 'suitable' ones. It's quite an intense screening process! The selection is guided by questions like: “Do I look happy / attractive / carefree enough? Will it garner a respectable number of likes? (Many of my photos mysteriously disappear if they fall below my 'minimum’ threshold) Will these photos inspire jealousy in my acquaintances?” (Most of whom, if we're honest with ourselves, are not really our friends, but people we want to stalk from time to time for curiosity and comparison). Housemates are consulted - “Is this photo ok, or does it look too much like I’m posing?” (The new “Does this dress make me look fat?”)

And yet, for all my vanity and narcissism, I'm still not comfortable posting my ‘cream of the crop’ photos: the problem being they only reflect one side of my life. I once read a wise quote (can't remember where) which said "don’t compare your behind-the-scenes to everyone else's highlights reel". I KNOW I'm guilty of this mindset - and anticipating it, even exploiting it in other people. Don't get me wrong, I love Facebook - it's incredibly useful for organising things via groups, and I love when friends share interesting articles, fun photos or exciting news! But I feel fed up of deceiving people with this two-dimensional, concentrated-happiness version of myself.

I appreciate that Facebook is not an appropriate medium to air your dirty laundry or reveal the skeletons in your closet. However, I can’t help but feel that my Facebook profile is astonishingly dishonest or at least only presenting a half-truth... Which is why, in addition to posting my finely-tuned, carefully selected photos, I am writing this blog to balance things out.

If you've looked at or followed my profile over the last year, you may have seen:

- Lots of photos of me having fun with my fellow church interns (no signs of tension, tedium or stress)

- Photos of awesome, luxurious food cooked by culinary housemates (no evidence of arguments over cleaning)

- Photos of my idyllic trips abroad, including a holiday in Tunisia (it really wasn’t hot enough to warrant a bikini)

- Gushing statuses and gooey-eyed photos of me and my gorgeous (sorry, obviously biased!) Italian boyfriend

These components of my life are genuine, and I'm very grateful to God for them. But it's nothing compared to what's been happening beneath the shiny veneer...

Last August my depression returned with a vengeance, and I've been battling it ever since. I'm on a higher level of medication than I've ever been before, due to destructive behaviour including self-harming and forgoing food. It's put a considerable train on my relationships, particularly with family, my boyfriend overseas, and my colleagues and fellow church interns. It also caused me to wrestle with my faith in God, given I believed I had been permanently and miraculously 'cured' of depression forever. (see last blog post)

Two months ago, I experienced a mental breakdown and was failing to look after myself, depending on housemates a great deal and failing to fulfil church commitments - such was the extent my self-neglect that I became ill a lot and ended my church internship prematurely on doctor's orders, quietly slipping away to recover at home with my mum and cutting contact with almost everybody for a time.

I am taking a risk sharing this sensitive information with you, but I'm doing it by way of apology for misrepresenting myself for so long. I'm not trying to play the victim by telling you these things, seeking sympathy or warped praise for powering through (I would be nowhere but for God's strength and the love and support of friends and family). If this does alter your perception of me, I am sure it can only be a good thing. I may have a very privileged life in many ways, but I have my share of heartache and flaws - I just keep others in the dark about it most of the time.

I hope this blog entry will be the first of many,  regardless of how many pageviews it gets! I think it's important to be honest and vulnerable for as long as I'm flaunting the somewhat-sunnier aspects of my life. From now on, I will write with honesty and openness about things that are important to me, both the good times and the bad - my faith, my long-distance relationship and particular my experience with mental illness. (A deliberate effort to combat stigma around depression and increase understanding and awareness).

What I hope to achieve is an accurate portrayal of my life, which I invite you to share in. (If you're actually interested!) I'd also like to say SORRY to anyone whom I've made to feel crappy (inadvertently or otherwise) through what I have posted, for whatever reason. I remember in particular how awful it felt when I was (perpetually) single, resenting couples who uploaded endless photos of their relationship bliss (and engagement declarations that get SO MANY LIKES!) - and now I admit I’ve been a total hypocrite doing the thing that once hurt me and damaged my own self esteem. If that’s you, I apologise - I hope you will forgive my self-indulgence!  

Feel free to pass this blog on to anyone it might benefit - I hope it's helpful!

Well, it's now 03:26, so I'm going to have another crack at sleeping - and if that fails, I can always write another blog entry ;) The next one will be much more positive!

Ciao for now,

S.A.

My Dirty Little Secret

Depression is one of those things I assumed only happened to people who had experienced something significant and life changing – divorce, bereavement, redundancy or something similar. In my head it was not something that affected an 18-year-old student with a cosy middle-class life.

Yet there was an undercurrent of deep, pervasive sadness in my life. I don’t know when it started, but it wasn’t until my gap year that I realised there was a problem. The most frustrating thing for me, however, was that I couldn’t identify the ‘cause’ or root of my unhappiness.

Depression is not just ‘feeling sad’ – it is crippling despair. It could start with a passing negative thought, and spiral down into a sense of complete helplessness and misery. Moreover, the sense of sadness is intertwined with feelings of guilt and shame.  Often the thoughts you have are totally self-deprecating: “I’m a rubbish person, I’m so weak, how could anyone really like me?” But you worry that sharing these thoughts will make you sound self-absorbed, attention seeking or irrational. You feel like there’s something wrong with you for thinking this way – that you’re broken and faulty, that you’re never going to get better, and the best thing to do is stay silent and hope nobody notices that something is wrong. You feel so ashamed and lonely. And fighting it - putting on a brave face, acting 'normally' - is exhausting.

Being a Christian complicated matters for me. In my mind, Christians were supposed to be joyful people, content with life no matter what their circumstances. Yet I just could not feel happy.

The strange thing was, I had every reason to be happy - I loved my university, enjoyed my course, joined an awesome church, met some incredible people and life was good. But the depression kept getting worse. There were days when I was fine, but equally there were times where I would isolate myself in my room and spend evenings curled up crying and feeling like I just wanted to disappear from the face of the earth. Even when I wasn’t feeling low, the fear of slipping back into that place of misery hung over me like a guillotine. I even turned to self-harm as a kind of release from all my pent-up emotion, but it only increased my shame and guilt.

I was on medication for months. I didn’t want to go for therapy because in my mind that just confirmed the notion that I was somehow crazy and abnormal. The pills helped a bit, but instead of feeling sad I just felt numb and sometimes found it impossible to cry, which was weird. If I forgot to take a tablet I’d feel sick and get a weird buzzing sensation in my head.

I was lucky to have amazing support from certain people my church, and in a couple of close friends who were going through or had been through the same thing. I felt I could open up to them without fear of judgement or misunderstanding. But there was on-going frustration at the fact I didn’t seem to be getting better, in spite of prayer and medication, nor could I pinpoint why I kept feeling so low.

The turning point for me came in June 2012. I had just finished my first year of university and had resigned myself to the fact that summer would be awful. My parents were going to separate and I was facing 15 weeks away from my friends and church.

I was praying one morning when suddenly the word ‘inadequacy’ hit me like a brick. Something clicked and I realised that THAT was the root of my problem. I felt totally inadequate. Moreover, I was looking to people to make me feel adequate – to affirm me and give me a sense of belonging. Don’t get me wrong, people are great - we definitely need to be in community with others. Ultimately, however, I was defining myself by how I thought other people perceived me.

I remember saying (somewhat flippantly) to God, “No offence, but you’re invisible and intangible most of the time. How am I supposed to be feel affirmed by what you think of me, compared to physical human beings?”

I suddenly remembered something called ‘The Father’s Love Letter’, which recalls some of the most beautiful verses in the Bible. These verses from Psalm 139 (vv.13-18) particularly resonated with me:

For you created my inmost being;


    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;


    your works are wonderful,


    I know that full well.

My frame was not hidden from you


    when I was made in the secret place,


    when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.

Your eyes saw my unformed body;


    all the days ordained for me were written in your book


    before one of them came to be.

How precious to me are your thoughts, God!


    How vast is the sum of them!

Were I to count them,


    they would outnumber the grains of sand –


    when I awake, I am still with you.

For some reason at that moment it just felt like God was saying to me: “I love you more than you can possibly imagine. You don’t need to earn my affection, you already have it. You don’t need to worry about what others think of you – only my opinion matters, and you mean the world to me. You are NOT inadequate.” I am so grateful for that truth.

I got better after that - I was off anti-depressants and cold turkey for a couple of years, at least. I'd love to tell you that I was healed of depression for good. Sadly, that's not the case. I was re-assessed and re-diagnosed last November, and once again I am back on the antidepressants. In some ways, it's harder when you relapse. But I'm ok because once again, I am getting better, and I know the support is there when I need it.

If any of this resonates with you: please, please talk to someone. Message me, I’d be more than happy to talk or meet up if it's feasible. You don’t have to be a prisoner to depression or mental illness. You are not alone in your struggle. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Only by coming forward and supporting each other can we get rid of the stigma attached to mental illness. It’s #TimetoTalk.