For the past few months I have been sad. Clinically sad would be one way of putting it. Totally depressed is another.
My life has been somewhat chaotic recently, from the breakdown of my marriage, to weird job stuff, and finding out that my deceased father might still be alive were it not for the incompetence of a small group of nurses. Needless to say, I’ve been a bit fed up.
My doctor suggested I try antidepressants, which worked for a short while until I decided to ditch them, cold turkey, at Christmas. Then I went a bit mental (a word I don’t use lightly) so was quickly prescribed other meds, accompanied by great concern from the mental health crisis team.
This month’s article is a bit different so far, innit?
Tricky
Obviously, this isn’t an easy article to write (nor read, perhaps. ‘When’s he getting to the bit about his kids calling him a loser, or something?!?’). There is a lot of stigma attached to mental health, especially for guys as macho and as blokey as me. But, after setting my ‘pint of lager’ aside, and pulling my attention from ‘the match’ for just a few minutes, I feel that it’s an important subject to tackle.
Suffering from depression is a bit like getting repeatedly kicked in the nuts, but nuts that are your thoughts and feelings. And instead of a human foot doing the kicking, it’s life itself. Hopeless doesn’t truly describe the sensation. I felt as if I was slowly being pushed along a long and bleak bridge toward an empty void at the other side. Like crossing the Humber Bridge into Hull. DEPRESSION JOKE!
I honestly never thought I would suffer from depression, what with the jokes coming thick and fast, and my general boyish attitude toward life. But then, after doing lots of reading, I realised I had in fact been depressed for at least a decade. If I’ve met you in the last ten years, it’s definitely your fault. WHAT LARKS!
2-for-1
After long and colourful chats with my doctor about the depression, it was also confirmed that I’m autistic. This came as no great surprise to most people close to me, and it felt good at least to get two things sorted in one go. Like getting a polish after your dentist fits a crown, or when your mechanic cleans your wiper blades after informing you that your car has failed its MOT.
However, unlike my dentist and mechanic, my doctor told me that he couldn’t offer any support with the autism until my “mental health stabilises”. So here I am. Stabilising.
Backstory
For me, it feels like the depression began setting it when I started to lose my battle with those traits and tendencies highlighted by my doctor as autistic. Essentially, I had been increasingly giving it to my natural propensity toward the insular and introverted. I abandoned friendships, cut extended family out of my life, and leaned toward a career that involved mostly staying at home in my pants. Human interaction quickly became a painful chore and I avoided anything – even potentially life-changing opportunities – to limit it.
That might have been fine. After all, another famous Howard – Howard Hughes – really thrived as a recluse. But I also over-analyse. Everything goes through the ‘Sherlock filter’, from what people say, to how their brows crease when they look at me. I was attempting to glean meaning from everything those few people around me did, in a hope to somehow work out what it was they were really thinking. Yep, paranoid AF.
Onwards
This all came to a head at Christmastime with the Dangerous Ditching of the Antidepressants (could be a Lemony Snicket book, that). Going mental certainly helped me to realise that changes needed to be made, if only to ensure I never again hallucinated. Yep, did that, too.
So here I am now, months after the worst of it, feeling pretty positive. The mental health issue is indeed stabilising, and I’m coping better now that I understand the autism and how it works. No, I’m not good at maths. Nor will I accept your invitation to Vegas to make a killing at blackjack. I will, however, meet you for a coffee. Y’know, for chats and stuff. Like neurotypicals do.
Socialising has helped and learning to accept that it’s perfectly okay to spend time in someone’s company without it having to be work or sex related. It’s a shame it’s taken a depressive breakdown to realise that.
So yeah, it’s all cool and I’m feeling much better, thanks for asking. And I’m definitely not a loser, despite what my bloody kids tell me.
How are you?
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