Tag: bullying

Am I Making Myself Depressed?

I have learnt the difference between depression and depressive mood. Depression, generally, is a constant state of low mood. Depressive mood can fluctuate between positive mood and depressed mood.

I have been diagnosed as depressed. I am medicated for that.

It has really got me thinking. I -although diagnosed with depression – am generally a happy person. I find the beauty in the small things in life, I love intensely, I enjoy doing things and being around my favourite people. All these things – in my opinion – equate to happiness (I know this is measured on vast scales and differs from person to person but.. stick with me.)

I have good days and I have bad days. I experience the range of emotions that the majority of humans do – anger, disgust, surprise, contempt, happiness, sadness and fear.

I firmly believe I have not been equipped with the knowledge or resources to know how to deal with these emotions, until I sought help from a therapist. I rejected the idea that I deserved to be happy. I punished myself for achievements. I thought I was stupid and not worthy. This could be construed as depression, as the feeling of worthlessness overrides practical thoughts, yet I don’t think it is.

Punishing myself has always been my ‘go to’ emotion. I presume this is  an effect of the trauma of bullying. The therapist informed me that learned behaviours – compulsions – like this are very hard to change, though not impossible. I suppose the reason for writing this down is to remind myself that this behaviour is not forever.

All of this leads me to think that maybe I am not suffering from depression? I may have been conditioned to believe so. If I can be happy at times then depressive mood may take over and swoop in, causing me to believe I am depressed. I don’t know. I’m not doctor, it’s just an idea.

Society is quick to give something a name or a label. I was happy to discover that I had depression! Not because I wanted it but because I could finally put a name to these feelings and find a cure (ha). Now that I am 15 years down the line, I recognise my naivety to thinking there was a quick fix.

Now don’t get me wrong, I am not negating the doctor’s that diagnosed me (multiple times). I am sure they had their reasoning. I filled out forms and answered questions which obviously pointed to ‘depression.’ It’s just the idea that it is something less ‘permenant’ has struck a chord with me.

The two may seem much of a muchness, but to me depression is an all-consuming illness that takes over and swamps your mind and body. I don’t feel that every day. When I do feel it, it hits hard – but this is the same for the positive feelings I have too.

So I do ponder… am I making myself depressed? Has this diagnosis/label caused me to believe I am much worse than I really am? It’s possible. I am not underplaying the shit I have been through. Every part of this ‘journey’ has been valid and pretty fucking traumatic, I am just trying to see things from a different perspective for now. I am certainly going to think about this a lot more over the course of the next few weeks.

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Standing Out

Therapy last week consisted of me being made aware that there are points in my life where I have experienced trauma and how they link to my cycles of depression.

We looked back to the ‘start’ of my depressive episodes, pin-pointing high school bullying as the catalyst to the majority of my negative feelings. I was asked if I had experienced depression during primary school to which I responded that no, I was happy. The question altered slightly. Had I experienced any trauma in primary school? I thought back to a time that has always stuck in my mind.

At the beginning of the conversation I said I remember the event as clear as day, despite it being over 20 years ago. The process of talking about these events meant people, feelings and thoughts were described, along with the general idea of the situation. I shared information about a childhood encounter with a slightly older boy, who followed me and watched me repeatedly at school during break times. I felt under surveillance and very scared.

What happened that day has never struck me as relevant to my current situation, however, throughout the years I have thought about the event multiple times – recalling that I felt incredibly uncomfortable.

The therapist highlighted that this event must have evoked a strong feeling to be recalled so easily, which rang true. He had asked me to recall my first day at school. I couldn’t. My first pair of shoes. I couldn’t. The reasoning behind this is that the negative memory of the boy following me was more than likely my first real feeling of fear.

I was then asked to find the person in question and tell him how it has affected me. I suggested that was a ridiculous idea. The therapist presses on. Why? Why is it ridiculous? This person made you feel uncomfortable. Why not go and tell him? My response was that it wouldn’t be a very ‘adult’ thing to do, that it’s a bit silly.

Is it?

 When I reflect on this- after the conversation – I realise the therapist’s point. It isn’t silly, maybe I could find some closure? (Despite this – I would never find the guy!!) I think about similar situations – I hate the idea of being watched, I constantly feel like I am being followed when walking in public, I don’t like people walking directly behind me in case they grab me.

The link may be tenuous and have no relevance. There have been similar situations as an adult – being followed from the train station, having a customer continually watch me through racks of clothes, day in day out. These could prove more relevant and to have shown greater impact with my anxiety. Simply being a woman could be the reason I feel anxious when in this position – we are constantly made to feel we have to watch our backs, protect ourselves, be vigilant – classic victim blaming. Anyway, I digress. Is it an acceptable thing to go and find those who have done you wrong, express how you have been affected by their behaviours?

In this situation I think no, this guy was a child at the time. He didn’t know the affect he was going to have on me. Then I push forward. High school, a time of great trauma for me. Surely these bullies should be held accountable for their actions? They were much older – around 14, 15. It took me years to find the answer to this and it is simply; no.

They should not be held accountable. If you would have asked me this during the events; the answer would be the complete opposite. I wanted revenge, I wanted to fuck them up so bad. I used to day-dream that I would react to them, hit them, make their lives hell. I never did.

I sometimes wish I had done, just to see what had happened. Despite that, I never wanted to hurt anyone, I just wanted them to feel how I did for one minute so they knew what they were doing. I built a wall during that time, a tough exterior. I became the funny one that would let shit bounce off me. I became rougher around the edges and I pushed people away who wanted to get close for a very long time; a way to protect myself.

I refer back to my actions during my teenage years. I didn’t always make the greatest decisions. If I had been held accountable for every misdemeanour I had partook in; I would be a completely different person now. This makes me consider the age of consent, another reason why I believe those people shouldn’t be held accountable. Consent laws are in place to protect vulnerable people – children. And yes, I know they don’t seem vulnerable when they are kicking the shit out of the geek or throwing eggs at the goth kid – yet the fact still remains.

After all of this – I find myself asking WHY has it taken me over 15 years to come to a conclusion about this? Experience? Forgiveness? Motherhood? Age? Maybe a combination of those? I don’t know. This isn’t really a complete conclusion anyway, it is just a collection of thoughts and questions.

I can’t profess that I have fully forgiven some people within all of this, because I haven’t. The issues it created within me have affected my life since and continue to do so. I am trying to understand though, I really am.

Being a teenager in a rough school is tough – I know that. I had the bravery (or stupidity?) to stand out and be an individual and I got thrown to the wolves.

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