WebWordsDepression - are you a sufferer?

Unless you have experienced depression for yourself, it is difficult to understand what all the fuss is about. Why do so many people claim to be affected by something you can't see? Why don't they just "pull themselves together" and get on with life? If only it were that simple.

If you have never suffered from depression, you cannot possibly begin to understand how it affects people. You can sympathise and try to understand, but, in the back of your mind, you will always be questioning what it is all about. I don't blame you. Depression is not something one can put a sticking plaster over, or some ointment on and wait for it to clear up of its own accord. It is an illness in its own right, but because it cannot be seen and because it is different for each of its victims, it is made even more devastating, because most people just don't understand.

You are an individual; you are a product of your genetic make-up as well as your upbringing, surroundings and a whole raft of other things. Depression is your own "child"; it is born from your psyche and it is as individual as you are.

I am writing from my own experience. Depression has been a part of my life for many years. When I was younger, it didn't affect me too much, because I was young and because I had lots of things happening in my life. As I have matured and as my life has changed, I have found that my "coping mechanisms" have begun to be less effective; much like antibiotics are becoming less effective against certain bacteria. Over time, depression wears its victim down, often to the point where they lose the will to live.

This devastating illness has "themes", much like the rooms of a house, which are all decorated differently. They convey a different theme and a feeling to those who enter. Depression does the same for me. I have a few, brief days where I am "lifted" from the feelings of despair and emptiness. After that, the thoughts and emotions return and I find myself plunged back into the darkness of the lonely and empty world that depression has dragged me into for so long.

At present, my feelings turn to my life and, unfortunately, death. It is pretty unpleasant, but that is precisely what depression does; it highlights the bad things in life and projects them into one's psyche and makes them all-important.

Next month, my feelings may be different; I may be depressed about the latest findings about the universe, or even the fate of the earth. As I am driving along, my eyes fix on some object and it fills me with depression, whereas for anyone else, it would probably not register as anything other than just another object.

I have been fascinated by physics (I have little or no expertise in this field, but it still fascinates me). In particular, I am interested in learning about sub-atomic particles and how the universe works. However, the more I delve into the depths of science, the more my depression affects me. How absurd and totally irrational to be depressed about the make-up of an atom. I don't know why I am depressed about the fact that the earth will be destroyed by the sun in several billion years, when I, myself, won't be around to witness it. Whilst somewhat understandable, there is also no point in being depressed about my death: it is something nobody can avoid and which everyone is powerless to prevent. I suppose, though, it is because of the finality; the end of everything, that I am so affected. However, were I not suffering from depression, I, perhaps, might not be so consumed with matters beyond my control and I would be enjoying things that are more likely to benefit me, such as going out and enjoying my precious life. Unfortunately, depression does its best to prevent one from doing that.

From tidying the house, to taking beautiful photographs, even to writing this piece of prose; depression controls my life because, quite frankly, I can see no point in anything. I do not believe in an afterlife, neither do I believe in a divine creator. Thus, the only thing I do believe in is the utter futility of life and the meaningless actions we undertake each day, because that is the way we are "programmed".

I do manage to do things, however; I go to work (in fact, I find myself less depressed when I am working, because my mind is occupied on other things). I do go out and visit places and take photographs, despite believing there is absolutely no point in my doing so. I will sometimes find my mood lifted at a strange time of day and this prompts me to tidy and clean my house. I have to persuade myself to continue, even though it may be 1 O'clock in the morning, because I know that is the only time I will feel able to do anything. Other than that, I cast a sad eye on the things about me and I just don't care. I look at the only companion in my life - my cat - and feel sadness that he, too, will one day no longer be there to give me comfort and companionship. It makes it sometimes difficult to enjoy him while he is with me.

I frequently wish I hadn't been born; it would have been far simpler. I wouldn't have had to experience the sadness and emptiness I do so often. I, of course, enjoy the benefits that life gives me, but there is still no point; once I am gone, everything I have achieved will be for nothing and once everyone else has gone, everything will have been for nothing. Life, for me, is a total waste of time, yet I still don't want to die.

A couple of years ago, I went out one Summer's day with a very special friend of mine. I was extremely fond of him - more than he ever realised - and I so much loved his company. We went to a most beautiful and peaceful place in the country. Despite the rays of the warm sun and the greenery, with life in abundance, and the presence of someone so special to me, I was sad. To make things worse, that was the last time I ever saw my special friend.

The next day, I started a new job. I found myself in a small office, looking out across a river into the green fields beyond. It was as though I was a prisoner in a cage, longing to be free and to be in the fields I could see. My mood worsened; I was depressed and sad. I didn't feel good about myself. I just wanted to be free but, more than anything else, I wanted to be free from depression and the loneliness it has caused me. Eventually, I had a complete emotional breakdown and I had to leave the job, which put me in a precarious situation. I felt so angry with myself; so ashamed. It had never happened to me before and, after that, I was afraid it would happen again.

I genuinely understand why some people become so consumed by their depression that they decide to end their life. It isn't easy, but when one has an overwhelming feeling, that is as strong as love and hate, consuming one's soul and destroying one's ability to exist with a harmonious and happy disposition, it robs the sufferer of everything, save from the will to be free. For many, the only end to their depression is to end their life. It cannot be easy, but it can be understood. The underlying theme of their depression is so strong; so powerful and devastating that it overwhelms their being and forces them to give up the precious gift of life, itself.

I can only hope that I never become that bad; I will always strive to keep enough activity in my life, in order that I may forget, even if only for a short while, the utter sadness that depression brings to me. There are times when I sit alone, or even in the company of others and I am suddenly consumed with despair. I can do nothing, save for shake myself and occupy myself with something, because if I didn't, I know I would begin to shed the tears that have been held within me for so long. Perhaps that would be a good thing, but with nobody to take away my sadness or to give me some reassurance and a little love, it is as futile as life itself.

I envy those who do not feel as I do; who have not the consciousness and understanding that I have learnt over the years. Unfortunately, though, that is my fate. Since my depression focuses on losing my life, there is no point in taking my own life, because that would be to succumb to the desire of my depression. The only thing I can do is just to carry on and suffer, doing what I can to occasionally enjoy the precious hours of my life and allow nature to claim it back from me when it is ready. Maybe, one day, I will just accept my fate. I hope so.