A day in the life of untreated depression.
Age: 13 Year: 2008
My eyes snap open to the sound of my own heavy breathing. Palms sweaty, heart racing, I can see daylight under the curtains. It’s a new day already. Damn.
I roll over and turn off my lamp and music, then curl myself into a ball under the doona as I try to deny the existence of the world for a few moments longer. Eventually, motivated by the fact that I’m already going to be late, I muster the energy to get out of bed and sort through the chaos on my floor to find my uniform. Who cares if it’s clean or not, there’s no point washing it when it’s just going to get dirty again. Same goes for my hair and my teeth. I don’t understand how people care enough to wash everything each day, when within hours it will just be dirtier than it was before they bothered. I don’t have the energy for that.
I trudge downstairs, chuck some muesli bars and a peanut butter sandwich in my bag, then walk to the bus with the sausage in bread mum put in my hand. Standing at the bus stop, I look around at all the people bustling about, getting ready for their day. How do they all do it so easily, and what does it all mean anyway?
I make it through school using my usual tactics. Smile when appropriate, laugh when everyone else does, act surprised or hurt when something bad happens, and when it all gets too much escape to the bathroom for a bit so I can just be how I feel, numb. All day as I analyze my surroundings I wonder; why am I like this? Why is no one else questioning the point of everything they do?
After school comes my music lesson, after that comes football training. Football is my one chance to truly escape, as my world becomes the size of the pitch and the ball becomes my focus. But training has to end.
At home I’m done, I don’t know if I can handle another day like this. With equal levels of desperation and fatigue, I pluck up the courage to walk into mums office under the stairs and interrupt her.
“Mum, can I ask you something?” I whisper, tears starting to fall.
“Of course Simone.” Comes the reply as she spins her chair towards me.
“Mum, what’s the point of life?”
The question opens up a black hole that seems to suck out all the air in the room. Mum takes me on her knee and slowly replies:
“No-one really knows the answer to that, but I’ve always thought the point of life is to learn to love and be loved.”
“But Mum, I don’t want life to feel like this anymore, no matter how much love there is.” I retort as I fully burst into tears. Her answer doesn’t quite make sense in my growing and overwhelmed mind, and definitely isn’t what I wanted to hear.
“Things will get better Simone.”
“But, when?”
“Soon. Now it’s bedtime.”
At these words my heart again quickens, my stomach drops, and my chest tightens further. We go through what has become an odd but necessary routine to try and get me at least some sleep. Specific pyjamas, lamp left on all night, classical music playing on my CD player and door wide open. Once I’m ready Mum comes in sits on the edge of my bed to rub lavender oil into my temples and tuck me in as tight as the sheets will go. I’m 13 and feel weak and useless for needing all this. Surely it shouldn’t be this hard.
Mum leaves. I shut my eyes. The nightmares come.
My eyes snap open. A new day. Damn.
"learn to love and be loved"
What helped me push through? Having mum around definitely helped at times, but in true teenage fashion the divide I was trying to create meant mum trying to help could also make it worse. I didn’t feel I could turn to friends, so it was actually teachers at school that became a huge support. By opening up even just a little to one of my teachers, they were able to help create somewhat of a support system at school where people looked out for me. Then the other main thing at this point in time was sport. Football was my main love, but any and all activity helped because it forced me out of my mind.
Looking back now I would definitely tell my younger self to reach out more, and let her know that services such as Kids HelpLine and Headspace exist. More awareness of just how much help is out there can go a long way to helping the countless young people still in the daily battle I describe here.
Got the first 150 push ups done today. To start the challenge off I did them all in one go, and it took 11mins 53seconds. Hopefully when I do that again each Monday the time drops as my strength grows, proving the ability of the body (and mind!) to adapt. To donate to the challenge as we raise funds for Headspace Australia, please go to https://www.thepushupchallenge.com.au/team/the-power-to-push-on
For more information on who Headspace are and their services, visit https://headspace.org.au/
If you are struggling, reach out. Pushing through unaided may feel valiant and necessary, but we are social beings that rely on a community to thrive. There is no shame in that reliance.
Still We Rise.