The signs were familiar. I could not sleep at night and would be tired and groggy through the day. I felt angry, sad, distressed, and dejected. I shouted or sobbed; ate too much or nothing at all. I did not want to talk to anyone about anything.
But then there were days when everything was normal. I slept well, felt healthy and happy; finished the chores, and even chatted with a friend or two. I knew what was happening to me, but did not want to accept it.
My father was diagnosed with clinical depression 30 years ago, long before it was acceptable to even discuss it openly. I was only six then.
He was posted out of town at that time and would return only on weekends. Even though I looked forward to seeing him all week, I could not get myself to be around him for long. He would send me away rudely and sleep or brood all day long. He got angry for no apparent reason, if not angry he would be sad and dull.
Then there were days he would be his normal self — talkative and cheerful, indulgent and loving. There was no discomfort at home, only joy and laughter.
A few years later, I learnt he was diagnosed as suffering from depression. “It makes him very sad and uncomfortable, so be careful not to bother him,” my mother would tell us. Slowly and steadily, we got used to it. My father, with consistent medical and emotional support, carried on with life normally. Which he does to this day.
Having seen him cope with the condition, I should have had the courage to accept it and seek support, but I could not... and so I continued to suffer.
I severed connections with friends and family, hardly spoke to my girls, fought with my husband; felt anxious all day and wept all night. I even felt powerless, insignificant, small, and unwanted. I contemplated leaving home and kids, running away from family and responsibilities. I would have left home, if it was not for a friend who figured something was not right with me.
This friend, who has known me for years, was aware of my mood swings, and insisted I speak to her. She would call persistently until I picked the phone.
I had even told her to leave me alone. But she’d call again and I had to give in. As I began to accept I was in trouble and needed help, I started to feel better.
I took charge of things and sorted my problems one by one. Slowly, I started to regain confidence and felt better about myself. My relationships started getting back to normal, my loneliness too reduced.
In short, life started limping back to normal.
I still struggle with gloom and despair sometimes, but I try to dispense it by doing things I like and being with people I love. I realise this is not permanent – being prone to mood swings.
Depression can come back to me any time. But this time I am prepared to ask for help. After all, there is no shame in seeking support.
***
Look out
If you spot someone around you being unnaturally quiet or withdrawn, do check if he/she needs support.
A few things you can keep in mind while doing so:
* Give the person time to open up
* Give them space (physical as well as emotional)
* Be available at all times (even it it means getting calls at3 a.m. or 5 a.m.)
* Spend time with them even if they do not talk (they need your presence, more than your words)
* Assure them that the matter will stay with you and be confidential
* Tell them you trust them and their feelings
* Make them feel important and valued
* Tell them they matter to you and the world
* Offer to get professional help
* Most importantly, do not label or judge the person, he is as normal as you are
There is nothing a disturbed person needs more than support and understanding. Medicines and doctors can only treat, but it is only love that heals.
