I don’t blog about my depression a lot because to be honest thinking about it too much makes me depressed in itself. I was depresed as a teenager but never officially diagnosed and received no treatment because my mother just didn’t feel that a teenager could be depressed. She didn’t understand that children could be mentally ill (despite teens these days having higher anxiety levels than 1950s mental patients o.O)
Now life is still hard with it because despite having it herself I feel like my family don’t take it seriously at all. I feel my depression is seen very differently to my mother’s and having that sort of inequality in my own home is very hurtful and difficult to deal with. I find that in my community, both online and off, the idea that as a white, straight passing, working to middle class female I cannot be depressed is very rare and quickly stamped out. However, there is always someone lurking ready to tell me how to deal with my mental illness. They know how to beat it because they read a book, a blog post or watched a TV show with some famous doctor on it. That sort of thing is not helpful and frankly it can make me feel more depresed because it reminds me my illness is there and what all my symptoms are. Too often these days I feel down, so when I am feeling ok the last thing I want to be reminded of is the depression waiting to crash down on me again.
Anyway, enough of that. I have been having more days where I’m feeling depressed and that depression has been far deeper. My doctor agreed to increase my medication and despite my dose being very small compared with many others and my experiences bad he has stated he won’t increase them further. He feels medication can only do so much and I completely agree. However, it feels daunting to think that this is it. The rest is up to me now. I am being refererred for more therapy but essentially I need to beat this depression back myself now. I know I did it before as a teen but I had far fewer gremlins hanging off me back then. Of course my doctor isn’t washing his hands of me but it kind of feels that way. It came from no where and felt rather blunt. He didn’t want to even talk about trying a different medication but only insisted I needed to do more things to make me feel brighter. I know this and I am trying but there are my other gremlins to consider. Some days with all the will in the world I cannot safely leave my house to do things, concentrate on something like a TV show or a book.
I am confident that I can get better and that I will cope but it still feels a little like my apron strings have been cut. I’m lucky to have friends I can talk to but there is always that worry that there will be a ‘well I read this’ or ‘you just need to do that’ and frankly that is the last thing I need that right now. The very last thing.