#RUOK?

First of all, RUOK?

Mental illness is not weakness, it is an internal struggle that makes you see the worst of yourself.
It comes on slowly, little things here and there that you don't notice until it hits you.
Enjoyment of usual pursuits loses its appeal because you don't have energy, the days are slower, you may forget important things and can't seem to catch up with demands. Errands and appointments suddenly don't seem that important next to catching up on sleep. You will be happy one minute, down the next - and then not know how you feel the rest of the time, which can lead to sudden outbursts of crying. You start to question your relationships with people - is the way they think of you different from how they feel about you? Too much time and too much thinking have time to play havoc with who you are. You feel too much that you are numb to everything else.
Irrational emotions and justified thoughts don't mix well.

For me, it all started with a trip to the doctor's office two years ago for an appointment.
"What can I do for you today?" The good doctor asks in a smooth, professional voice.
I told him that I felt very emotional, that I would be fine one minute before bursting into tears the next and I couldn't stop eating. "I think I am either pregnant or depressed." I told him.
The doctor looks thoughtful for a moment before handing me a pregnancy test and sends me to the bathroom. The test is negative. So the doctor asks me a lot of questions and types as I talk, at the end of the appointment - I have a prescription for depression and anxiety in my hand.

The next week was particularly difficult, I had trouble staying focused at work.
The depression and anxiety meds made me tired and sluggish and my stomach felt like it was a mass of knots being prodded and stirred. I didn't sleep well during the night and before I knew it, morning would come.
On the Friday of that week I was called into my boss's office, her voice was kind and she looked sad.
In the childcare business, everything relies on the quality you can give - it demands the best of you every minute you are there. I was tired and weak. My boss said that she was trying very hard to be supportive, she understood where I was coming from but in my current state, I had to decide whether I would up the anty or cut back on my hours, whatever I chose would have to be the best for me and by extension, the children. I couldn't bear it if I made a mistake which would impact them for the rest of their lives. I didn't want to give up my job. I had worked very hard to get where I was and I didn't want a year and a half to go down the drain just because my hormones were out of whack.
My depression convinced me that if I didn't have a job, then A. would resent me and leave.
Now when I look back on it, I can see how silly it was - but it was a lie I had believed at the time.
Sadly, depression does not just make us think the worst of ourselves, but of others.

The following Monday, I woke up trembling and shaking. I had worn my pajamas for two days straight because I had no energy to change, my hair looked like dry straw sticking up in disarray and I was mentally exhausted, frustrated from no sleep and my eyes were glassy and blood-shot from crying. When I look back now, that was definitely my worst hair-day!
I had a high temp, my stomach felt awful and I looked dreadful.
I wanted to go to the hospital, Mum insisted I go to the doctor first. I protested for a bit but then Dad came, he had to piggy-back me to the car because I wasn't wearing shoes.
With the two of them holding up my weight, my parents took me into the doctor - who told them to take me to the hospital. They took me to the emergency department, there was a short wait before a triage nurse came. She was kind and asked me questions about the medication I was on and gave me something for the nausea. It started to kick in after half an hour, and then I was able to sleep a little before the doctor came to see me.
This doctor was a little rough looking, but his eyes were gentle and compassionate.
He's also blunt. "You must be feeling pretty crappy." He says by way of opening the conversation.
I look at my mother. I love her. I want to spare her from what I'm feeling, what I'm thinking.
The doctor follows my gaze and says. "Perhaps you would feel better with just telling me?"
Crying, I nod and say to Mum in a raspy voice. "I'm sorry, Mum."
I've already said these three words many times in my life, it feels like a ritual.
The doctor is nice. He listens attentively and nods. I feel safe with him.
So I tell him everything...
What happened next was a blur. The doctor called a very nice lady and I told her that I didn't feel like myself. She assured me that everything would be fine, that I wasn't alone and what I felt was not uncommon. She made an appointment for two nurses to come to my house to check on me and that was that. When I hung up the phone I found the doctor, smiling he took the phone off me and asked.
"That wasn't so bad, was it?"
"No." I answer.
"What were you expecting? A padded room and a strait jacket?"
"Well, yeah." I confess, feeling embarrassed.
He chuckles a little before looking serious again. "Telling someone is the first step to getting help. You did that."

It didn't feel like it would ever be okay at the time. I decided the right thing for me to do was resign from my job until I was strong enough mentally to go back. It was a rough winter that year, for me as well as A. His Nanna passed away. He tried to call me but my phone battery was flat. For me that was my biggest failure at that time, to not be on the other end of the phone when A. called me, the other was not being a good friend in a bad time. That is something I regret too.
Depression and anxiety is a succubus. Our fears and insecurities is it's sustenance.
You know what is really awesome though? In the Harry Potter series, J.K Rowling introduced this monster in a different form - it looks like a grim reaper and it's sole purpose is to drain the happiness out of a person before sucking out it's soul. It's called a Dementor. But the cool thing is, to get rid of a Dementor is to say "Riddikulus!" with feeling and send the Dementor on it's way.
While I didn't say "Riddikulus", I talked to God everyday. I came to realise that my own Dementors were sent from Lucifer himself. Whenever I caught a thread of bad thought, I would send it back to him un-opened, re-addressed to the sender. I found that this helped me decide what thoughts were right and what was a lie.
Life slowly got better, after four months I threw away those little pink pills.
It was sometime towards the end of the year when I walked to the corner shop to pick up food, it was sun-set as I was heading back home. Depression had taken away my ability to marvel at little things like sunsets. But to my surprise, I found myself staring in wonder at the setting sun and the way it reflected in the leaves, bringing the avocado green leaves into my focus.
It was then that I knew that I was healed of depression and anxiety - I felt peace and it enveloped me like a warm blanket.
The little pink pills had done their job, I had done the leg-work and God had given me the strength and grace to go on.
That being said, there were still thought patterns I needed to correct, a few fences I had to mend.
When I look back on it now, I'm sorry that it happened but grateful too, going through that made me stronger as a person, more thoughtful and sensitive of what people are going through.
I am writing this blog because I hope that my experience will help someone find the help they need.  Because if you are reading this and are hurting so badly that you think your loved ones will be better off without you - it's time to talk.

#RUOK?

- Sarah x

Go to this website for more information about mental illnesses and numbers.
www.mentalhealthcommission.gov.au