Admitting depression is an illness and not something that’s my fault in some way or another is hard. After all who really wants to admit they’re ill with something that’s all in your head.
With most illnesses, it’s a different matter, people can see it, they understand it – people are sympathetic.
People don’t understand depression, they just think it’s just something you need to get over and cheer up. Life can’t be that bad, surely! I mean, depression means you’re weak and crazy – this doesn’t happen to normal people right?
Even saying the word out aloud or writing it down on a piece of paper, the same way you write any other word, doesn’t make it seem any more real.
But it is!
I’m ill with depression, I didn’t ask for it to happen to me but it has.
Truth is, I think I’ve been suffering with it far longer than I’ve been officially diagnosed.
I still remember the day I sat in front of the doctor with my boyfriend (now fiancé), admitting I couldn’t cope and asking for help.
Without the silence that exists around mental health problems, maybe I would have sought help sooner.
Maybe if more support was shown to my mum and my brother and I during my mum’s fight with depression by friends, family and professionals, I would have felt confident to reach out for help.
Though we could debate this for hours I know depression happens to normal people; that there are those who understand what it is like, that I am not weak for asking for help and it is the best thing I could have done.