‘Do not give up on depressed islanders’

Hope is a word that depressives have trouble with, sometimes we are hope-less. Another difficult place to reside. Occasionally one hears of someone committing suicide, they are undoubtedly not of ‘sound mind’ or, to put it in different language, they have a mental health problem. We don’t want pity and we definitely don’t need judgement. There are some who believe that the illness we suffer from is due to a chemical imbalance of the mind – an explanation, but not a help.

No one can know or understand where that place is unless, of course, they have been there. To my shame I have been there, and I survived; I’m not sure whether I am ashamed because I survived or because I tried. It depends on whether the day is my ‘normal’ or if it is a really bad day.

What can you do to help? There’s a long list of things not to do or say, not too many things that can improve our mood. I can only talk for myself, but phrases like ‘how are you?’ the answer is always ‘I’m fine’ or ‘great, thanks’. I’m neither, but I don’t want to bore my friends or listeners and the words ‘protect’ me against going into what is wrong, because intrinsically I don’t know what’s wrong.

There are signs of a deepening of our illness, each one of us is different but there are common traits. Those people close may notice that our interest in ourselves changes; that we develop an odour which says that we haven’t washed that day. Sometimes we forget to brush our hair, more obvious in females or males with longer hair. Self-harm may increase or become more obvious. Becoming more isolated, not visiting friends, not going out to shop, and just not going out. Sleep patterns may change, either not sleeping or sleeping too much. Inattention to necessary details such as being late or forgetting appointments or forgetting to complete assignments. Irritability or being bad tempered and snapping at people when this is not ‘normal’ behaviour. Some depressives do not feel that they are worthy, not lovable, not likeable – worthless. Everything they do, they do badly or they let people down.

The tasks of a partner, husband or wife, close friends, are too numerous to mention, important to us but onerous to them. The only advice I can give is, don’t give up on us; we’ve already given up on ourselves.

I don’t believe there is a cure, but there are ways of coping. Personally I take drugs, go to Oberlands and attend workshops. I see a psychiatrist. I am fortunate I am physically strong and so can work for long periods of time. I am more fortunate in that I can immerse myself in work – there is no room for my mind to dwell on negativity. All I can see is the work before me, how to do it, what the work will accomplish. None of these things stop the Black Dog on my shoulder; but they keep him bearable, some or all of them help.

Many thought that being seen going into Castel [Hospital] marked them and that there was a stigma attached to being seen there, in the fear that people would think them ‘mad’. The truth of the matter is perhaps less palatable, Castel [Hospital] is set in extensive grounds, grounds where people could wander safely without oversight, things to do in gardens, fruit to pick in season. The staff were perhaps less comfortable, but their clients had opportunities which they do not have at Oberlands. The quarters for resident staff could have been renovated to a high standard at a fraction of the cost of the new building. All that was done by moving to Oberlands was to move the problem from one place to another. The problems still exist.

Insufficient trained staff is the biggest problem, the waiting list to be seen by a doctor after assessment is about six months – possibly longer. The importance of seeing someone with whom you are compatible is key. What can and does happen is that one sees someone with whom there is no shared history, no shared platform of belief – personally that doesn’t work. To relate again and again the history of your problem, each time upsetting, unsettling and bringing back to the foreground that which haunts the present.

ROSIE HENDERSON