A brief description of one person's version of depression

Hello, friendlings and/or people I’m only still friends with on Facebook because you post bang tidy strong memes. I’m going to chuck you right into this blog post: I've just forced myself to go on antidepressants. Whoa! 

I ain’t gonna bore you with the origin story of my mental woes, mostly because I’m saving it all until whoever directed the latest Guardians of the Galaxy decides he fancies bringing my brain to the big screen. Nah, I’m gonna chuck you straight into the – deep end? I mean, I want to say ‘deep end’, but in reality my depression is essentially just me floating around in a Frozen-themed paddling pool and occasionally nearly drowning in a centimetre of water like an inept toddler. 

I suppose that’s the tricky thing about depression, really. For most of those reading this, you’re gonna be like, “Wait, what? How on earth can she have depression when I can clearly remember her smiling approximately seven months ago?”  That’s just it, really. My depression has always been there, but its strength is very inconsistent. Some days - my worst days - I can't get out of bed because the sheer weight of self-loathing and fear of socialisation won't allow me to move. Those are the days when I genuinely want to go on antidepressants, regardless of my fear of their intense side-effects. On other days, however, I’m far too nihilistic to even contemplate healthiness, and I just ask myself: "Why bother?"

Now, let's clarify something. I, like many bonkers-inclined folks, have three different states at the moment: depressive and very anxious; purely depressive; and sort-of-in-between. Fortunately for you, I’ve started referring to these states as the Animals: the Cheetah (shaky and definitely not right but HER BRAIN IS SO FAST), Snail (ain't moving today, binch) and Poodle (shaky and still not right, but more acceptably so than the overly anxious Cheetah).

Right now, I'm in Poodle mode, which is my most stable mood. I'm still pretty bloody sad and anxious, but not to the same extent as I am when I'm in Cheetah mode, when the littlest thing can send me yowling and yelping before curling in a cave and whimpering all day. However, while the Cheetah can be pretty wild and difficult to control, it's actually the Snail that is the most dangerous state of all.

I stop moving, I stop socialising, I stop caring. 

I just bloody stop.

When I'm in Snail mode, I don't give a flying tin of soup about getting better. In my mind, nothing can alleviate the numbness, and I have no willpower to even consider trying. The Cheetah? Oh, trust me, the Cheetah is keen as hell to get better - but her anxieties stop her. She's too frightened to reveal that she's actually insane, so she'll just try her best to hide it all - unless the Carer Dog is present. Now, the Carer Dog represents the best friend, or the parent, or the housemate, or the partner in which the Animal decides to confide her woes. Often introduced to zoos when captive cheetahs are too absolutely flipping insane to behave like actual cheetahs due to their naturally anxious behaviour, the Carer Dog reduces the insanity a bit and brings clarity. When the Cheetah and Carer Dog are working together, the Cheetah is finally able to tackle her brain in a rational and productive way. In the real world, actual captive cheetahs then start reproducing, but that’s fortunately where this extended metaphor ends. 

Unfortunately, the Carer Dog is not always around - but that's not the end of the world. After all, it's good for the Cheetah to be independent! However, being a very anxious and high-functioning Cheetah is very tiring, so she's never around for too long. After weeks of panicking over the smallest of details, from to-do lists to what she’s wearing that day, the Cheetah finally crashes and retreats to her cave.

We now have two potential replacements: the depressive Snail, or the passive Poodle.

The Poodle is essentially a calmer version of the Cheetah, which is good when it comes to being productive, but terrible when it comes to long-term productivity and treating her mental illness. "I'm fine," she insists. "I've felt fine for a solid six hours!" She won't seek for help – I mean, what's the point when she already feels all right? Fortunately, the Cheetah bloody well knows that the Poodle is an irritating little knicker-stain. The Poodle just wants to look pretty, have lots of belly rubs and win a couple Best in Show awards. She's easily distracted by self-care and pseudo-therapy that makes her feel temporarily better. She has no sense of past or future: she feels all right at the moment, and can't remember how grim she felt in the past. She may feel some leftover anxiety from one of her previous reincarnations, but that's all. 

Luckily, the Cheetah remembers, and she's already made a plan. Knowing that she was about to be replaced by the Poodle, the Cheetah drafted in the Carer Dog a few days in advance. "But I don't need a Carer Dog," the Poodle will snap when the Carer Dog suddenly lands in her cute little dog basket. "I'm fine!" The Carer Dog knows this is a lie. He knows the Cheetah like the back of his palm, and knows that the minute the Poodle transforms back into the Cheetah, she'll start yelping for help again - before being overcome with anxieties and becoming too bloody insane to do anything about it.

Again.

 

So, the Poodle needs to allow the Carer Dog to help. It’s worth bearing in mind that the Poodle does not enjoy looking weak; she likes looking pretty, and confident, and a liiiiittle bit eccentric but overall socially acceptable. By allowing the Carer Dog to help, she allows herself to look weak, which means her self-loathing and low self-esteem will return, and she'll be promptly replaced with either the Cheetah or the Snail. If it's the Cheetah, the Carer Dog is in luck: they get on well, and it'll hopefully be quite easy to drag her to the vets. If it's the Snail, he's bloody doomed. "Vets don't treat snails," the Snail will grumble. "There's no cure for being a snail." Hopefully, when the Snail buggers off again after a month-long period of being a depressed mushroom, the Cheetah will be able to go to the vets (or the Poodle will get dragged there on a leash by the Carer Dog) and get some treatment. However, if there's anything the Snail, Poodle and Cheetah have in common, it's this: they are absolutely terrified of the animal that replaces them when they're medicated. 

The Snail is terrified of the side-effects that make things even worse. The Poodle is terrified of being perceived as weak because she needs medication. The Cheetah is just terrified in general because of her insane nature.

Who is this animal? They can't remember. A key part of depression is brain fog and memory loss - at least, it is for me, and this isn't my first tango with the world of Prozac. The Poodle, Snail and Cheetah honestly can't remember this fourth animal because any memory of their time on antidepressants feels - wavy. Blurry. Not quite there. But honestly? I know that fearing the unknown is better than fearing being myself, fearing my life, fearing being outdoors, and fearing being alive. I know I need to go on them, even if it's just for a few weeks until I feel strong enough to tackle the bigger problems.

Whatever the bloody hell those bigger problems are. 

Theresa May, probably.