Content Warning: discussion of mental health and depression. If this troubles you, please feel free to skip this post. I have, though, included some helpful links to organisations that can help with depression and mental health at the end of the post.
I know I am not unusual in having depression. Millions live with what can often be a debilitating mental health condition. It was only in my forties I properly realised the regular low moods I experienced were actually depression.
I have not actively sought treatment for my depression. Recognising the start of an “episode” became easier once I admitted to myself what it actually was. As I have worked for myself for a couple of decades, now being almost retired, I allowed myself to, as it were, ride out the storm. My natural cycle would generally bring me back out of a depression in a day or two. During the lows I could make up my own mind to try and carry on with life, or just let it overwhelm me. In the latter course, I’d leave anything breakable well alone, often just slumping in front of the television, losing myself in some radio drama, or reading a book.
I don’t make light of my moods. I have given my depression a name, though. Many would refer to a “black dog”. Considering one side of my family has roots in East Anglia, naming my depression “Shuck”, after the devil dog of legend, could have been an option. Instead, I’ve named it Muttley, after the dog in the Hanna-Barbera Dastardly and Muttley in Their Flying Machines cartoons from my childhood.
When feeling relatively normal, I generally enjoy my work, my hobbies, the company of others. Muttley is in another room, locked away. Then comes the inevitable slide back down to my own personal Slough of Despond. This can be triggered by something quite innocuous, but very often something larger will set me off. Then, even the things that give me most pleasure are repellent to me. I can’t concentrate on tasks, then I get angry at not getting on with the stuff I need to do. It’s a vicious circle.
Over the past several years, I’ve found Muttley remaining too close, making me more apt to become tearful, stomp around huffing and puffing, slamming cupboard doors, or shouting angrily at inanimate objects.
What can be causing this? After all, my life is fairly steady, I don’t have any serious worries or concerns — especially compared to so many others.
The problem, I suppose, is that our world is currently not in a happy place. The prospects are not good for our planet’s climate, and there is still so much war and disease and famine affecting large parts of our world. It can all become quite overwhelming. I feel a sense of utter hopelessness, that nothing I can do is going to make the slightest difference to anything.
Of course, I can just look away and concentrate on the things over which I have some measure of control. Sometimes, this works. Sometimes, it doesn’t. I’ve been going through a depressive patch of late, and I’m finding it very hard to push it away and return to some kind of even keel.
Eventually, I come back up. I can function normally once more. The problem for me is that I know it isn’t going to be long before I find Muttley snuffling round again.
Places where you might find help if you are also suffering from low moods or depression.