People are always asking me, “How are you?” And my reply will always be, “Fine” or “Good”, regardless of whether I am fine or good. In trying to be honest about everything – and this has become a bit of an obsession in recent times – saying I am good and fine isn’t always true. So, I’ve modified my language. If I am fine and good, then no problem, but if I’m not I’ll resort to responses like “Still breathing”. It serves a dual purpose of being humorous and deflective. If it elicits no further questions, job done. My world at the moment is causing me problems.
Friends of mine, some of whom are daft enough who read this blog, are going through physical illness challenges at the moment and my main problem is guilt. By comparison, my clinical depression is small beer. I feel like I should take my dear old grandad’s advice, snap out of it and pull myself together. There are many people worse off than me. And when I feel this way, I am reminded of the argument I use with other people who are unwell but feel guilty because there are people worse off than them. “Yes, I get that,” I will say, “But your problems are still your problems, regardless of others who have more. Deal with your issues, too.”
I both love and hate the “there’s always someone worse off than you”. I love it because people can be so caring about others and I hate it because two bads doesn’t make a right.
It’s the guilt that I feel. Some days, I feel like shit. It’s not new. That’s depression for you. I have had mental issues since I was a little kid and I’m still here. I have said frequently that depression, and lately undiagnosed ADHD, have ruined my life. That’s an exaggeration, I sometimes say, and then I say it isn’t. Because – and here I go again – I have had good times and bad but depression has not killed me. I have not had endless tests and invasive surgery. In fact, my GP has halved my medication despite my condition not changing (until the medication was halved and it has now changed, for the worse).
What I don’t do – and this was a common misunderstanding with depression – is sit around wallowing in a pool of self pity, feeling sorry for myself. But it must look like it. Imagine how someone who was really ill would love to be in your position, a little voice tells me. “They’d fucking love it. Look at the state of you.”
How am I today? A bit of a shambles, really. A mess of small things, concerns and worries, which on their own are probably nothing. Put together and my brain is a papier-mâché mess. I’ve either lost my sense of proportion or my illness is currently worse than I’m thinking.
How are you? deserves an honest answer. A short answer, for sure, and not a full diagnosis, but I’m not saying I’m great when I’m shit. I’m still breathing and, asthma not withstanding, I’ll carry on breathing. I don’t feel lucky being clinically depressed but maybe I should. There’s a lot of people worse off than I am.
