Is depression an illness or simply time for a reality check?
Some 11 years ago I was diagnosed as suffering from clinical depression. This came following twenty years of life experiences during which I got married and divorced three times, one of those saw me placed into a shelter for battered wives; I moved house twenty times in 13 years and found myself penniless, jobless and homeless following whistle blowing whilst working for a care concern service provider. Seven of these twenty years saw me have regular psychic and multidimensional phenomena that often saw me leave the body and explore other dimensional realities. You will find details of this in my autobiography A New Human.
Depression was the logical result of these life experiences. Until knowledge came that placed a different perspective on all I had undergone I was content to be labelled depressed. But it did not stop me searching, learning and discovering. I refused mind numbing medication because when you’ve gone as low as you can go there is only one way out. I chose to live instead of committing suicide. I chose to dig deep and deeper still for truth until I had uncovered all that my shattered psychological persona could accept. Then there was the long and winding road to rebuild this shattered persona.
I felt I did not receive the support and help I wanted and needed from family and friends. In hindsight no-one knew the hell I was experiencing because the shame of what I felt was too much to admit. Fortunately and very timely I had a major breakthrough, that some may regard as a complete breakdown; it was through this I was able to see how I had sustained a very long period of stress that saw me with little domestic or financial security and no consistent supportive relationships. During my wild swings from brave heroine to helpless victim with a few glimpses into models of martyrdom and poor me my relatives and close friends must have become quite confused not really knowing who or what I was. It was a deeply disturbing time for everyone but one that thankfully I have emerged from, stronger and wise, but still a wounded healer.
I see clearly now how long I sustained a facade; not being quite real or authentic. Perhaps the horror of what I had sustained during early childhood followed by the traumatic experiences as an adult caused a shutting down or cutting off of major parts of my psyche. Only as I grew stronger was I able to open the doors and see the full spectre of the child who refused to play the game of pretence anymore.
There may be many reading this that has experienced worse and others who have suffered less. The only way out of depression is through and that demands full and complete self honesty and if experiences undergone during childhood are so horrific then psychotherapy may be the answer for some but be discerning it is not all “professionals” who can offer the compassionate listening that is vital, especially if they only have degrees and little life experience. For me I turned to my soul source and made the bridge from my alienated self to my soul and my road to recovery was assured.
“I didn’t want to wake up. I was having a much better time asleep. And that’s really sad. It was almost like a reverse nightmare, like when you wake up from a nightmare you’re so relieved. I woke up into a nightmare.”
― Ned Vizzini, It’s Kind of a Funny Story.