Chrysteria

And it is an illness that you will not understand, unless you experience it.

Let me be clear; I am by no means implying you will not empathise, sympathise or recognise depression,

But, depression is complex, and I believe you won’t comprehend how challenging it really is.

Why? Because I never understood depression. I ignorantly blasted those who had a “glass half empty” attitude.

Then I realised how powerful a grip it can have on the mind.

This blog post is in regard to my battle with Dysthymia*. My motivation for writing it is purely to try and change common perceptions; and because my university is taking an attitude of “breaking the silence” about mental health.

*Dysthymia is a minor form of Unipolar (clinical) depression. The easiest way I can explain it (by badly generalising) is that Unipolar is often severe but acute, whereas Dysthymia could last for a very long time, even years (essentially, it’s chronic). It is often the case that people have a frequent lack of confidence when failure IS a possibility.

Personally, I’ve possibly had dysthymia for two years. I can remember a time of consistent happiness and confidence - in my first year of university. Another common factor is that it can easily be unintentionally incorporated into your personality: I.e “That’s just Chris, he gets like that sometimes.”

The hardest part for me, is the conflict of heart and mind. You know that your reactions, your gloom, your feelings, are illogical. You do things like end your own birthday night out or push loved ones away because you want to be alone; naturally making you feel lower. You might start to apologise to people for being down, because you think you dampen others good time; or more likely because you’ve gotten used to explaining your behaviour this way.

This is the challenge, changing your thought process. This is where choosing your attitude and forcing positivism work, but this takes so much time and energy.

The second hardest thing to overcome: Becoming open to the idea that you are ill, accepting it. Stepping back completely and properly reflecting on what triggers the changes in your mood.

I’ll start with my story now.

The day before my “crit” (a teaching placement that is strictly assessed); I fell to pieces. I was sitting in one of the many computer labs at my university. Typing away on various things to complete my folder for the placement.

Then it just happened, without warning. I had about ten seconds to storm out of that room full of strangers before “making a scene”.

I made it to the student association building where my other half was, before I had my meltdown.

My advisor found out, and just like that, my placement was postponed for an undefined period.

Instinct reaction? Failure. Feeling like that was it.

My partner said I was mentally tired and the need to keep going is tough, but university is hard, because life, is hard. My Mum said that I should have kept my state secret so that my placement wouldn’t have been postponed.

Suffice to say, this didn’t improve my already devastated sense of self-esteem.

Then my advisor told me, that I was ill. If I’d broken my leg or had the flu, I’d be off sick. That’s all this was, I was unwell and needed to make my health a priority. She asked me to consider it as an emergency shutdown by the brain, warning me to stop and recognise that that I was indeed too stressed and down.

I’ll leave out my weeks of counselling, aside from mentioning that while it was tiring. I’ve never felt so in control and self-aware.

And here I am, in the next stage. The fight to overcome my naturalistic negativity, I can feel fantastic then instantly feel the rug pulled from under me. There are great days, then suddenly you feel tears welling up again and you cant even explain them. But I know to keep going.

For my conclusion; if you ever feel more than one of these, or even just one to a serious degree:

stressed; tired to the extent of wanting to give up; lonely when surrounded by friends; a mental block to completing something by a deadline; overwhelmed, like no one is listening to you, like everyone is giving you a talk on how life sucks (when they seem to be oblivious to the fact that duh, that’s why you feel low), like you just need one person to tell you life is awesome…

Keep talking. To friends, family, your line manager or school/college/university advisor/mentor.

My strength has come from talking to people who have gone through it, talking to people who know when to talk and when to play Xbox, talking to easygoing people, and yes to my partner. Reminding yourself who your true friends and loved ones are is a great step. Tell them how you feel, and even if you feel stupid, they are at least listening to you. And sometimes that’s all you need (as long as you’re venting, not venting AT them.)

Most of all, consider a counsellor. Someone impartial, highly ethical, highly understandable and entirely non-judgemental. You have to be fully open to listening to them, and as I wrote above, making the positive changes they suggest will be a tremendous battle.

But eventually there’ll be that day when you’re on the way to work, and suddenly you have a powerful aura of happiness. A colleague comments on you smiling and your reaction is to smile more.

Don’t be afraid to reach out.

This isn’t a post which takes a leaf from the Daily Mail, but rather another reflection on how “twenty-somethings”

fucking drink.

Wait a second Chris, haven’t you talked about how you’re “not really quitting” alcohol before?

You people with excellent memories can still continue reading…

Oh how I can remember I used to love getting wasted, or going to the pub for a few pints and some good chat.

Over the last year, each and every time I down one more vodka and mixer, one more pint of beer, one more shot… the point of alcohol’s existence grows far more illusive.

I can go with one of my closest friends to the pub and chat away over a couple of pints, but even then the “slightly hungover” feeling the next day makes 2 pints of coke (even if that watered-down ultra sweet on tap stuff probably corrodes my liver as well) seem much more pleasing.

The last time a big group of us went for a tour of Stonehaven’s bars, I don’t think anyone even realised I was the only one not getting steadily intoxicated.

From this, I actually began to feel better. I would go on nights out and be perfectly okay leaving at 11 or midnight, I had grown to realise that getting wasted only lead to extreme consequences rather than hilarious evenings like it used to. (One of these resulting in a great relationship, but most of them resulting in arguments, or even waking up with no recollection of how I got to said friends flat…and said friend luckily laughing about how two people carried me up King St.

On Friday, 6 hours before hitting town in the smartest clothes I’ve ever worn (school proms and funerals excluded) I visited a Doctor, who six months ago had warned me my drinking behaviour made me “at risk”.

As another aside - If you want to know what she meant, she meant everything from I was likely to say things I’ll regret in the morning, to you’re going to be yellow in 10 years time.

I told the Doctor the truth about my drinking, about my progress, about everything I had done that motivated me to behave more.

Then I decided Two pints, ridiculous shots, half a bottle of wine and vodka was a good combination…

Let’s just say I ended up in a typical situation where I said some things I heard myself saying, but don’t remember wanting or needing to say them. It’s like I took a vocal adrenaline booster… or to borrow a phrase from Mean Girls, it was pure word vomit.

The difference between this time and all the other times, the other person wasn’t equally drunk.

So naturally, the next morning, those feelings of why didn’t I just drink coke returned, hammering at my mind and burning through my chest.

Alcohol, I despise you.

This post isn’t a beg for absolution, as I’ve allowed myself to accept the forgiveness given (seriously, I’m a glutton for punishment to the extent if someone accepts my sincerest apologies, when I still feel bad, I don’t know what to do with myself). It is only an expression of how it made me feel and what I plan to do… if only I could apply this to my teaching placement like my crit tutor keeps demanding!

This is why I’m currently trying to encourage my friends wishing to meet Thursday, that we do something other than visit The Marine. Sadly, I’m expecting the usual Scottish attitude of “C’mon!”

I’m not going to become a Pariah against alcohol, rest assured. I just think a significant break from it (which will happen anyway with my second crit approaching) will build my confidence.

And of course make me consistently treat the people I love in the way they deserve.

That doesn’t mean you “don’t know them”.

Yesterday at work, I arrived an hour early because of my reliance on public transport. In the middle of the chipped and tea stained break room table was a battered copy of Alan Carr’s autobiography: “My Story.”

Expecting a quick and entertaining read before the start of my late shift, I opened the book and began reading where the pages stopped, uncaring of what chapter. The flapping stopped at “You couldn’t score in a brothel!”

After these words that were calmly striking, Carr writes about what it’s truly like for someone growing up, fully aware they are gay and pretty much everybody else isn’t:

“…like the proverbial trolley dash my trolley wheels were buckled and I kept steering towards the willy aisle. It wasn’t fair. It riles me when people say being gay is a choice. It really isn’t. Why would anyone choose that? Your pants on the science block roof - where can I sign up for that?

You cannot describe to anyone the sheer terror and isolation you feel when adolescence finally dawns on you, and the path of girlfriend, wife, babies is as distant as Narnia.”

And this quote, which is slightly relevant to what I went through:

“Typical! I had been the last person to know I was gay.”

I knew damn well what I am, but not until I had turned 18 after spending two years reflecting on everything from whether I wanted this, to whether I’d ever feel completely secure.

What a difference two years of university can make to feelings and confidence.

What a difference finding so many great people that completely know what it’s like, can make.

When I told my Mum, then my friends, that I was definitely who I am… what were their responses?

“We always knew, long before you told us.”

“I knew long before you did, I just hoped it was a phase…”

—-

I’ve made my peace with those words now.

And I sorta lost track at my main message behind those quotes.

But a point I do want to just put down on “paper.”

You may never fully know what your friend is feeling, thinking about, or even doing. You’ll probably find it difficult to imagine what they’ve gone through to become the person they are now. But you’ll still know him/her for who they are now.

I write that last part, because I sense some of my old and really close friends might be wondering why I’ve changed a little recently. The truth, I got involved in a community of people who understand, yet don’t care at the same time, who I am. And I couldn’t be happier.

That doesn’t mean I don’t miss you all, and wonder what I’m doing, often.