Dealing with depression at Christmas

Dealing with depression – directly or indirectly – is something many of us have to confront at some point in our lives. This post won’t be for everyone but I feel compelled to write it anyway… mainly because I couldn’t find anything to read when I needed it.

Manchild

About 4 years ago, I nearly imploded. I’d flirted with it since I was a teenager. A lot of my young angst came from my perspective of my experience being in a divorced family and the stuff that can go with it.

I still remember over-hearing a parent when I was in third class point me out in a group of kids as ‘the one’ with parents who were split up. I think, at that time, there was one other kid in my year with separated parents and a handful in the entire school. Yes, it was different to now.

In primary school, I was convinced I had migraine headaches all the time. To be honest, I think I did get headaches but I made it out to be worse than it was to get attention. So I was sent to a hypnotherapist. Best thing about it was this relaxation tape he/she made for me. I used the techniques to relax and then used the recording technique to record my study notes as a teenager to fall asleep to. Weird, eh? But it worked for me.

My school reports always talked about my ‘rough corners’ that needed ‘smoothing out’. I thought and acted differently. I felt I lived through a lot of my parents’ relationships – their happiness, their despair after break-ups – not as a child but as an adult with the emotional capacity of a child.

As a teenager (and even beyond) I struggled to relate to people who came from families that appeared to me (often entirely superficially) to be ‘normal’. I envied them on one hand and didn’t understand them on the other.

In high school, we had a system where a group of 15 or so of us would meet the same teacher before lunch every day for 4 years. Once a week we’d spend 2 hours together. One time, we were doing some bonding exercise and the teacher asked if anyone would come to the front of the class to answer any question that someone wanted to ask them.

I stuck up my hand. I wasn’t fearful about that sort of stuff.

What struck me was the question I was asked: “What’s it like having divorced parents?”

It was a weird question to ask me because that’s just how it was. It was like asking a Chinese kid what it was like to be Chinese. I replied: “It’s better than coming home to parents arguing all the time.” I meant it. But I got sent for counselling.

There were so many other much more intense and real stories that I’m not comfortable talking about now – some completely devastating and involving people close to me. Point is, that from a young age a lot of this angst kept building up and I didn’t know what to do about it.

Depression at Christmas – 2005

So, Christmas four years ago.

I was burnt out at work – working late nights and weekends. I’d flirted with insomnia for years and doing the long hours took me there again. Often, it would take a drink to put me to sleep… and I’d spent years mostly sleeping on the floor in front of the TV.

I didn’t know what I was going to do with my own little business, a magazine I’d started when I was 20. It was my identity, my passion, my hobby, my social network, my nights out. It was everything great and everything bad about me. It allowed me to escape into busy-ness to avoid dealing with all the stuff above; but it allowed me to find an outlet as well.

I also didn’t know what I was going to do with myself. Square peg, round hole thing. I knew I had a lot to offer but didn’t know where to put it. I was married and needed to focus on building for the family but felt that everything I needed to do was going to compromise everything I was about.

On top of that, earlier in the year, I’d watched my grandfather breathe his last breath. It was both the most incredible and saddest experience of my life. To breathe him into me as he passed is something I will cherish forever. To lose him – and my symbol of stability – was crushing.

I had some relationship stuff going on that was just painful (not my wife).

Most of my close mates that I could try to talk to about this stuff were all living out of Sydney.

Oh, and I had my firstborn on the way. So, on top of all of the above, I felt under incredible pressure and had no emotional energy to dig myself out of an extremely black hole.

I was lost; an emotional cripple.

I don’t really want to go into what I was thinking or what I did while I was on the dark side; I’d had stints of depression over the years – especially after I’d burnt myself out after publishing issues of my magazine (weeks of 20 hour days at a time). But this was the worst.

And it was Christmas.

What I did about it

I talked to my wife about it… quite a lot. But I felt so alone that I was convinced she didn’t understand what I was going through and that her advice was irrelevant, to a degree.

I just (as in, right now) asked her how she felt during that time. She said: “Helpless, sad. I wondered, ‘What can I do?’” Sorry, honey!

I confided in one or two other family members – but, again, it either back-fired and made me feel more angry and vulnerable, or I felt I’d burdened them with something that would tear them up inside.

I avoided a few friend get-togethers pretending I had to work on my magazine. Truth is, I couldn’t even focus on that.

I looked up a few things online. I Google’d depression. I read about some of the really creative minds that were depressives as well – it made me feel a bit more at peace: “Maybe, feeling like this is just part of being someone who writes a lot?” I thought. I did a few self-tests: fill in a form and it tells you if you’re depressed. I read a few stories from other people but I wasn’t really in the mood for their situations – I just wanted to sort out mine.

Some time after Christmas Day, I decided to visit a GP. I knew it was the right thing to do but felt a little stupid taking the issue to a GP. I wanted more from the consultation – I wanted to walk out ‘better’ – but that was unrealistic.

The GP put me onto a counsellor… but the worst thing about dealing with depression at Christmas is that a lot of people are on holiday. I had to wait 2 weeks to even be able to call her. I couldn’t find any other alternatives.

If you go through this situation – please, please do your best to be patient through this time. If you know of help that is available, please post it in the comments.

Counselling

I eventually went for about 6-8 sessions, once a week (I wanted it to be quicker). I think each session cost about $60-80. I got some money back from the government but it still felt like a big financial commitment.

My two main wishes were to know why I was this way – was it genetic, a chemical imbalance? And how could I get out of ‘this way’ as quickly as possible?

Into the 2nd or 3rd session, when the counsellor just answered back my questions or thoughts with more questions – not answers – I realised that this was my journey and that I had to get strong on my own.

The best thing about counselling was hearing myself talk about my experiences growing up and as an adult, my fears, what I felt guilty about, what kept me awake at night… and to be able to do that in one big go… to line my ducks up. I was paying for the privilege so didn’t feel like I was burdening anyone. I could say anything – that was the point.

The second best thing I took out of it was forgiving myself and making a commitment to myself and my wife to try to focus on what mattered to our little family; and any external influences would have to get involved in our lives on our terms… not theirs.

So

From what I understand, for many, Christmas sets off depression. Lost and missed loved ones, money problems, family pressures and so on.

If you go through this experience, know that you’re not alone. Try to talk to someone – but understand that they may not know how to talk back. Try to be patient with them, and, more importantly, yourself. And, please, get yourself to a GP.

If you can get through it, life looks incredibly beautiful – as it truly is.

P.S. Thank you, wifey, for sticking by me through the tough times… And if my kids grow up and read this stuff, know that all of us are a bit broken in some way; it just took me a while to work out what to do about it.

Image courtesy coljay72.

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