Meet my Big Black Dog

Some of you may have seen this video, but I think most of you have not. However, most of you either knows someone with depression or has (had) it themselves. Even though the prevalence is extremely high, there’s still a huge stigma surrounding mental illness. Which is something I find myself struggling with, so I have decided to open up about it to: make an attempt to get rid of this stigma and to practise talking about my own experiences having a mental illness the bad and the ugly.

For several years I have been living with depression. It has played a big part in close to everything: my relationships with the people around me, my choice of studies, my ambitions, my hobbies, the list could go on and on. Which leads me to my most prying question: is it part of my depression or part of my personality? Recently I’ve found that most things aren’t solely my depression or solely my personality. My depression influences my personality and vice versa.
“But you don’t look depressed!” I think it’s a common misconception that there’s such a thing as ‘a depressed look.’ Yes, of course there are the well-known and visible symptoms like lack of personal hygiene, but even those aren’t always what you think they might look like. For instance, to me it can feel like an immense task to brush my teeth even once a day, but I almost always brush my hair. I have the hardest time getting myself in the shower, but I make sure that when I go out I always wear clean clothes.
In addition, all around you, you can see people that look like they really have their lives sorted out. It’s just a matter of copying that socially desirable behaviour. Up until about two years ago I had never really told anyone about my forever growing Black Dog. I felt like no one would understand me, I had no right to feel miserable in my seemingly perfect life, and most of all: I didn’t think it was such a big deal. Only to find out that not everyone secretly wants to die. Piece by piece I have been (and still am) trying to open up about my thoughts and feelings hoping that it will lift some weight of my shoulders. When I first started to carefully open up to some of the people around me, it didn’t take very long to realise that this isn’t how someone is supposed to be feeling. I took the advice of one of my friends and decided to get professional help. To me this was a really big step. I find it hard to talk about my depression thoughts and feelings (and I have quite a few of those) and because of my lack of energy to do anything at all it seemed like a daunting task to start the process of getting help. Also, going to see a psychologist meant I would have to get a diagnosis. It made me feel like there was now officially something wrong with me. This feeling would come back later on: when I first got to go for more intense treatment, then when I got medication, and then inpatient care in a clinic. I went from “I’m sure almost everyone feels like this” to being one of the few who get inpatient care for their depression within three years. After three years it still feels like depression is a topic you can only discuss with the people closest to you, as if it is something to be ashamed of. Of course people aren’t really interested in hearing that you’ve only managed to shower once this week, but it’s an all-or-nothing deal. Keeping out the ugly, and often gross, bits creates an incomplete (and glorified) perception on depression, which will undoubtably lead to feelings of being misunderstood.

It may be hard to understand how a simple task like showering or brushing your teeth can be too much for a person. Eating, keeping in touch with friends, cleaning your room. These were all things I didn’t have to think about, I just did them without thinking (okay, maybe not the last one). How does one get from going to school and having a routine, to dropping out of university and staying in bed all day? It’s hard for me to think back on times before depression. At times it feels like I’ve been depressed my whole life, which rationally I know isn’t true. Looking back at pictures of my childhood I remember  the happiness I felt, the things I loved to do. As of today, my Big Black Dog has filled the entire room and, even though it makes me feel empty and miserable, it gives me a sense of comfort because it’s familiar. It takes a lot of energy to be depressed, but it takes even more to pretend you’re not. So slowly I started to retreat to my room more and more, watching films and series to keep my mind from spiralling out of control. It didn’t take long to find that that is just a temporary way of dealing with my overwhelming thoughts of self-loathing and death, but in the long run it left me feeling worse. Unfortunately, it felt like it was ‘too late to do anything about it’ once I realised it wasn’t just a bad week, a bad case of puberty, or a result of the events going on in my life. So there I was: not just empty and miserable with overwhelming thoughts of self-loathing and death, but now also feeling isolated and guilty for not making more of my life. It takes a lot to get yourself out of those negative patterns especially because I thought that everyone around me was dealing with the same kind of demons, but they were just more capable of keeping them in line. So all my hopes were on life after graduating from high school. I would be forced into a new environment with new people. However cliché it may sound, I would get a fresh started. Turns out, my Big Black Dog didn’t care where I would go, he would always tag along. Every time I hoped that the changes I made would change things for the better, but every time that Big Black Dog would win and leave me feeling even more empty, miserable, isolated, guilty, desperate and hopeless. It’s been four years since graduating from high school now and although I’m still working hard to find a way to battle my depression, I’ve been focussing on finding ways to make it manageable. My ways of trying to make it manageable are mainly about setting priorities. Sometimes that includes cancelling plans last minute or not replying to messages, sometimes it’s flying to Norway for the weekend or putting on facemasks with Roel. Some times it’s taking some time to recharge and sometimes it’s getting dressed and forcing myself to go to the supermarket.

Writing about my illness is scary, but I’m hoping it will help me in learning how to talk about things that people might not want to hear, but I do want to say. It’s about how to speak up even if it is on the internet for everyone to read. Sometimes it’s just easier to talk to strangers and acquaintances than to your close friends and family.