MY SOB STORY

I’d say that my depression was first evident during my early teens, when I developed a habit of talking to myself and imaginary people, began to suffer from anxiety, and began to isolate myself from people: I must have put my family through hell with my mood swings.  

    There are a number of things that could have caused my illness and personality defects. I suffered a couple of head injuries during childhood, one of which caused convulsions. I still occasionally get petit-mal seizures and moments where my mind just goes blank. I often wonder whether I could have some form of brain damage, although I’ll probably never know for sure.  

    When I was eight, I was in hospital in France after being involved in a road accident. During my stay, a nurse sexually abused me. I went for years without remembering it, until an awkward session with the child psychologist, at the age of fourteen, triggered the memories.  

    Another possible cause is my memories of ten years of persistent school bullying. Although most of it was psychological, rather than physical, the memories have stayed right under my skin.  

    My first serious episode of depression started when I was seventeen. I felt on edge and anxious all the time, which was the main reason I could not cope with mechanics training course. I would also have crying spells, and violent and suicidal thoughts during the night. I didn’t tell anyone because: a) I was too proud; b) I didn’t want to upset my parents; and c) I felt that it was pointless. After about a year, I pulled out of the depression, although I still suffered from persistent anxiety.  

    My next episode of depression occurred soon after arriving in Nottingham. Again, I’d have night-time crying spells, suicidal and homicidal thoughts, and extreme social anxiety. To cope with it, I turned to binge-drinking and cannabis, started cutting myself (see the SELF-HARM page), and worked all hours, as both a student and a care assistant.  

    After a year, with my friends worried about me, I saw my General Practitioner, who referred me to a counsellor. The counselling didn’t seem to work, so I was put on Paroxetine. Even on a low dose, I suffered severe side-effects, such pounding in my head, a distorted sense of perception, and brief spells of paranoia. I was put on another drug, Imipramine, which didn’t work. Venlafaxine brought no joy, either, but I had some luck with Citalopram.  

    As I approached the end of my second year on the course, I went hypomanic, shouting out during lectures and talking at double speed. I was put on Haloperadol and Procyclidine. I overdosed on the Procyclidine, which caused me to hallucinate and landed me in hospital.  

    After the overdose, I fell into the worst depression you could imagine. I was referred to a psychiatrist and he recommended that I should spend a week in hospital as a voluntary patient. I had a horrible time, as some of the nurses treated me like dirt: such was my illness, I felt unable to challenge them, even when I was taken off the Haloperadol and Procyclidine.  

    By now, I was so ill that I had to quit the course and go back to living with my parents, as I was physically incapable of looking after myself: I felt a day-in day-out sense of evil and loathing, as though I were possessed, and lost three stone in weight. I saw a community psychiatric nurse who was rather dismissive of me and gave me a couple telephone numbers for counsellors, but no follow up care.  

    I began to look at Pharmacology websites for information on the toxicity of drugs. I then asked my new General Practitioner to put me on a different (and  more toxic) antidepressant and began to hoard the pills. After a couple of months, I checked into a hotel and took all the tablets, along with two bottles of wine. I have no memory of what happened next, but I somehow ended up in hospital, having been in intensive care and resuscitated. The shock to my system lifted my depression, at least for the time being.  

    I felt a new lease of life and went back to working as a care assistant via an agency for £10 per hour (!), working on various wards. Soon after, I was going hypomanic again: my attitude at work became cocky and aggressive; also, the nurses were asking questions about the self-harm scars on my forearm. A doctor at occupational health recommended that I should be restricted in my work, so I quit and got a job at a bookstore.  

    Guess what? After a few months, I went hypomanic yet again and had to quit the job. I was put on Chlorpromazine to calm me down and started receiving Disability Living Allowance.  

    In the summer of 2002, I moved into supported housing, sharing with two others. At around this time, I started hearing voices (see the VOICES AND HALLUCINATIONS page). Soon after, I was put on Olanzapine and Lofepramine. After a while, I started to experience Parkinson’s-like side effects from the Olanzapine, so I was put on Procyclidine again.  

    At the time of writing, I’ve just quit group therapy (see the THERAPY page). I am still hearing voices, mainly at night, and sometimes get severe depression in the morning, but I do have good days. I haven’t had a hypomanic episode for a couple of years now. I have changed my diet (see MY DIET page), and feel a lot better physically as a result. I'm hoping that, at some point, I'll be well enough to return to work, but I'm taking things one step at a time.  

EXPLODING THE MYTHS ABOUT DEPRESSION

1)   Depressives are weak-minded people.

BOOM!

Depression is an illness that can affect anyone, black or white, rich or poor: even the great Rod Steiger suffered an episode.

2)   Depression is not a serious illness, like cancer.

BOOM!

Depression is a medical condition caused by a chemical imbalance in the brain: sometimes the brain has to undergo an electric shock in order to balance out the chemicals.