Episode I: Beneath the Surface: Depression and Me

The other day my partner made a passing comment that chilled me a little. We were casually sprawled on the sofa after a tiresome day at work when the subject of depression manifested itself out of nowhere, and my partner opined that depressed people who commit suicide in a way that puts other lives in danger “deserve to die”. And yes, those were his exact words. I was horrified. What a cruel and disturbing thing to say. I’ll admit that losing one’s life as a consequence of somebody else’s actions is tragic, and I could easily understand if close ones were to find it difficult to accept and forgive; many would probably be incapable of forgiving altogether. That said, in reality it’s highly unlikely that the person who committed suicide acted with any malicious intent. You don’t know what they were thinking at the time. In that respect, to delineate them as a selfish ‘culprit’ is an ignorant conclusion. You cannot possibly comprehend their mentality at what is most likely their lowest ebb, and you never will. And to condemn them for such actions is downright awful. We didn’t exactly fight over it. In fact, I didn’t really say anything. I merely spent the following hour or so in silence, ruminating over what had been said. As someone who has suffered with depression myself, I was offended, not to mention rather upset.

In my opinion, such a comment stems from a profound ignorance concerning the effects of depression. And it’s not the first I’ve heard either. I distinctly remember when I was first prescribed antidepressants, and some of my university acquaintances scoffed and remarked “you’re the least miserable person I know! That’s ridiculous!” The bitter truth is you cannot comprehend someone’s mental state just by looking at the surface, but a lot of people disturbingly presume that they can. It’s as the saying goes: you can’t judge a book by its cover. You wouldn’t think it to look at me, but my body has been through all sorts of internal abuse due to a tumultuous and ongoing battle with food addiction – something for which there really is no cure. It’s not as though I can go cold turkey or anything; it’s food, and I need it. To the casual onlooker, I appear fine. Just fine. Inside, however, I’m constantly at war with myself.

The truth is, I’ve been overweight and underweight and everything in between. Right now, I’m somewhere in the middle. Some would say I’m ‘just right’. Others might refer to me as thin, slim and even skinny – it’s subjective, and all dependent on perspective. In actuality, I often don’t regard myself as being any of these things, and constantly need reassurance from a nearby reflective surface. This is often misconstrued as vanity, but it is absolutely not. It’s more of an insecurity than anything else. Some have even told me that I may have some form of body dysmorphia. Regardless, I think that the reason for this behaviour is that I’ve developed something of an inferiority complex since my high school days. Little did I realise at the time, I was taunted pretty severely by my colleagues for my physique (or lack of). Such disparaging comments owed themselves to a tragically cyclical process which resulted in my being too afraid to do anything about my appearance, which consequently (and obviously) led to further bullying. I don’t blame my colleagues (the vast majority of them, anyway), but the consequences of their actions were both mentally and physically debilitating. For about five or six years, I remained in limbo, unable to conquer my fears and make a change. Finally, in summer 2010, I managed to pluck up courage, resolving to get the long-overdue haircut I had been deferring for the last year and a half, and realised that I was not as unattractive as I had mentally convinced myself to be – that my body was actually worth caring for and maintaining.

The last six years have seen me focus, at times narcissistically, on my physique and wellbeing. The trouble is, after years of feeling incapable of controlling myself, it’s difficult to quell the temptation to relapse. Consequently, instead of finding comfort in gorging constantly, I became something of a sporadic binge-eater, which eventually led to an unanticipated diagnosis of depression and anxiety. Don’t get me wrong – things have improved since my school days, and by a wide margin. But food is essentially my drug. My dependence on it may have diminished somewhat over the years, but it remains my standby, go-to mental painkiller, mood suppresser and comforter. This is particularly frustrating when ‘the other me’ yearns to maintain a toned, fit and healthy body, and for the most part succeeds. The problem is that I seem incapable of convincing myself that I don’t need excessive amounts of food to keep my spirits up. It sounds ridiculous, but I feel genuinely powerless in this situation. I know what I need to do to stop, but I can’t seem to. The mind is a strange and, at times, a muddled and disobedient thing, and in that respect I don’t think a mind overwhelmed by depression can be fully comprehended. Everybody deals with depression in their own way. Now, obviously eating an entire Victoria Sponge is much less severe an action than throwing yourself in front of a bus, but my point remains valid: the mind is capable of the most obscure and irrational things, not to mention the fact that each and every individual has his/her own ways of coping. In that sense, trying to blame someone battling severe depression for putting others in serious danger is incredibly ignorant. Mental issues are, for the most part, undetectable – invisible, even. You can’t criticise what you can’t see. I don't think less of my partner for thinking this, but I certainly do think he's misinformed. It disturbs me that such comments are still being made, despite the proliferation of information concerning depression in the media and general public. Evidently, more is needed.