Fiona’s story: my mental health family monster and work

I made a GP appointment for the Monday morning and it was then that I was diagnosed with stress and depression. So, the GP gave me a week off work and a prescription for pills. Me, depressed? I couldn’t quite take it in… I could understand the stress – I was in a job I no longer enjoyed, working shifts which I was coming to resent, but depressed? That wasn’t me. I’d previously had periods when I felt ‘blue’ for no reason but, I’d pulled up my ‘big girl pants’ and carried on. I decided I better take the pills to see if they made any difference. They did!

I didn’t realise it, but since taking the pills I had become a zombie; with no outward thoughts or feelings showing for others. I was told I was becoming a horrible person, (a toned down version of what they actually said I was like!). I stopped taking them. I carried on life, in a new job – well, a selection of new jobs as I was working for an agency until I found a role that really grabbed me. I had one placement in particular that I loved; it was a unit within an agricultural college and had a small zoo attached – what could be better? Fields, animals, gardening and not too far from home.

I drove home from work one evening and found myself seriously contemplating driving into a tree. What was I thinking? What was I doing? OH NO, not again, that stealthy black dog had got to me again. I realised those insidious thoughts had been creeping back, the self esteem dropping; the just wanting to go home and lock myself away… I carried on driving.

I reached home, let myself in and walked in the living room to be greeted by what looked like an explosion in a Christmas factory. My husband had decided to decorate for Christmas early and had put every single festive item we owned into just one room…. It was the final straw. I broke! I had to escape! I went to my mum’s. Once I had cried myself out and she had given me ‘mum’ hugs, she suggested I went back to the Doctors. I did as she suggested and had a very frank chat with the GP.

I told him about what the pills had done to me last time with me realising and told him in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t taking anything that would make me zombiefied again. We looked together through the side effects of different brands and settled on citalopram. One in the morning and one at night. I didn’t notice any change at first, but others commented. Gradually I began to cope again, the black dog was backing off bit by bit. I took up hobbies again, I love painting and drawing and hadn’t done anything arty for a long while. I also taught myself to crochet – I make monsters from wool.

I still have periods when I feel myself going back down into a hole – just recently I have been to a series of counselling sessions which helped enormously – it was strange talking about myself and I felt really funny and shaky after the first session, the counsellor encouraged me to paint my thoughts and feelings which we could talk through. Don’t get me wrong, I am not cured. I still take the pills and sometimes they feel as if they aren’t working. I talk to people now, I am more open about certain things – I haven’t learned how to deal with some aspects of life as I would like to but am working on it. I’m still not very keen on ‘me’ but am also working on that too. I have since learned that my dad had similar issues but hid them really well. What would I say to you – talk to someone – anyone – you would be amazed at the amount of high functioning depressives there are out there – there is nothing to be ashamed of.