"I felt a sense of unease as early as age 2." What I've learned from 36 years of depression.

This post discusses suicidal thoughts and might be distressing for some readers.

This is my sixth day in a deep depression, preceded by months of a functionable lull. Sure, the house was a mess, my mind in overdrive and laughter an effort, but the kids were fed, bathed, and dressed whilst work was being ticked off. I may not have been thriving, but I was surviving. Then with no rhyme or reason, tears slid down my cheeks, first silently then accompanied by guttural sobs. Thoughts of not living swayed in and out of my mind, accompanied closely with feelings of resentment that I would not do that to my kids. Not me, not today, no matter how much I understood those who did.

These feelings have accompanied me for the best part of four decades. Often dormant, but always ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. I remember a sense of unease as early as two, looking around day-care, perplexed as to why others always looked so happy. The words to describe these intermittent feelings did not come until I my teens, by which point, seeing the world through a darkened lens came much easier than rose coloured ones ever did.

While you're here, know the difference between sadness and depression below. Post continues after video.

In the years since, I have tried every possible treatment, be it science based, holistic or "give me all your money for a cure" advice. Two times as an inpatient; decades of psychology; a multitude of medications and periods of no medication. Depression, Bipolar Disorder, Borderline Personality Disorder, Generalised Anxiety Disorder, PTSD and most recently, ADHD. With each new therapist came a new diagnosis and a removal of the old. Each time, me clinging to the hope that this was the answer I had been waiting for. If I just followed the regiment for that diagnosis, I would begin to function and feel normal. Whatever normal might be.

It is safe to say; I have done the work, and it helps. Sometimes. But not every time. When my brain is laden with fog, and each inch of my body aches, as if I am carrying a hundred kilo dead weight, across a never-ending desert, well on those days, the work is only a mirage of water in the distance.

In the beginning, I would determinedly seek a reason for each depressive episode. Be it a relationship conflict; my personality flaw; hurt feelings; the wrong job, location, degree; or the simple fact that I was not living the life that I should be. That I was entitled to live. Yes, entitled. Because I had done the work, for f**k's sake.

I would pour all my energy into blaming then taming the perceived problem, which would help, for a moment. If in no other way than by distracting me from the fog. But a Band-Aid doesn't heal, it just covers the wound until the pain stops hurting long enough that we forget to put a new one on. By continuing to share each unfiltered, poorly constructed thought about why I was depressed, with all who would listen, I created new wounds. For myself, and others. Hurt people, hurt people and I was hurting.

Next came lessons in how to keep my thoughts on the inside, rather than viewing them as gospel to be heard by the masses. I developed an ability to remind myself that my mind was playing tricks, and it was time to keep my mouth shut. The new rule I lived by, for years, was to not raise an issue unless it was still there a week later. Sure enough, I had forgotten about it by then. Genius! I had found the solution. My relationships presented easier, co-parenting was less of a struggle, and I received promotions at work. I just had to keep my mouth shut. 

Only, when every issue remains unspoken, they are left to circulate inside. A constant hamster wheel of anger, sadness, irritability, and confusion bubbling under the surface. Wearing me down day by day, minute by minute. Not maintainable. Not for me anyway. Cue the next crash. Only now I would blame nothing external, only myself.

I am the reason I am like this.

Entitled. Lazy. Incapable. A sook.

Why can't I just do better? 

It must be my mindset.

So now I have spent the last few years delving into every mindset course, book, podcast. Constantly reminding myself that if I just think differently, I will become different. There are weeks, sometimes months, where I think, I have cracked the code. I did the work, and now I am better. And in many ways, I am, because each bit of learning has helped me to function on a day-to-day basis; understand my triggers; explain myself to others who surely wish I would just harden the f**k up; and often, even find joy and beauty in it all.

Image: Supplied.

But undoubtably there comes a day where my routine gets shattered, sleep lacks, and boom the tears are flowing. Tears matched in their intensity only by the immense shame there is in knowing, I have failed again.

I did not work hard enough. 

I have let everybody down.

I do not deserve this life. 

This was the soundtrack of my mind last week, like many times before. Only this time, I challenged it, allowing myself to have trust, if not comfort, knowing that I have done the work. To acknowledge that this depression requires nothing of me in this moment, except to let it pass.

Listen to The Quicky where Gemma Bath discuss the disorder that only affects women and causes severe irritability, anxiety and depression. Post continues after podcast.

I am embracing the fact that perhaps this is my challenge to face in life. No worse than many others, but significant to me. It is something I will forever need to work on, but only when I am able, not in the middle of it. I will get depressed, and it will suck. I won't know why, nor when it will hit, but thanks to the work I have done, I know it will pass. Because it always does. In fact, I can almost feel it passing now.

If you find yourself needing to talk to someone after reading this story, please call Lifeline on 13 11 14.

For children and young adults, Kids Helpline is available on 1800 551 800.

If you or someone you know is struggling with mental health, please reach out to SANE Australia on 1800 187 263. 

Feature Image: Supplied.