People can be very kind. When I was having my recent ‘Woe is me!’ meltdown, I was inundated with supportive messages on social media and via private messages. “If you want to talk, I’ll be there for you,” which was so sweet. The trouble with my version of severe clinical depression is not the need to talk to someone, it’s almost the need not to. Having returned to some semblance of normality after a hermit-like existence during lockdown, I’ve been seeing people again. And, like today, with special friends who remind me how good people can be. But as soon as I’m asked how I am getting on, I’m almost spluttering with the don’t-know-what-to-say. I’d rather listen to other people.
Is this normal behaviour? I have no idea, but it’s clear this isn’t something new. I’ve kept my issues and, frankly, my demons to myself so all anyone, even those very close to me, gets is the results of depression; the irrationality, the moods, the poor decision-making, the apparent rudeness. Instead, I write about it.
I’ve thought and overthought this stuff for years. Should I give someone a call and pour my heart out? I don’t even ask my partner to do that and I never mentioned it to my parents. I’m pretty sure my mum died not having had the first clue about the basket case side of me, at least since I was in puberty and adolescence. I’ve worked out that I quickly assembled techniques to not let anyone else in on my madness, as I thought it was.
In any event, poor mental health, or conditions like ADHD, didn’t exist when I was a kid. I was ‘easily distracted’, according to much of my family and teachers. One teacher said I had a ‘butterfly mind’, which at first I took to be a compliment. It seems odd now that rather than see whether you actually were thick, or possessed a butterfly mind, or were lazy or whether – God forbid – there was something medically wrong, the obvious solution was to do nothing. But that’s how things were when I was sprog-like and innocent.
All that good, all that kindness, has worked to an extent. It’s good to remember – because it’s either to forget – that people really do care. And sometimes, it’s just not worth it to rail against the world, especially those who are actually on your side.
I still don’t really want to talk about it because writing about it is easy, but if you ever catch me wallowing in a pool of self-pity I’ll have a go at opening up. But always remember I’d rather listen to you
