The face of depression

I might be wrong, but depression seems to be quite a hype nowadays. Only a couple of months ago, the Dutch television dedicated an entire week to depression with all kinds of TV shows and programs. They even organized a huge "deprestival". Is this wrong? No, I don't think it's wrong and either way, who am I to judge? But when I was diagnosed with depression - a looooong time ago, that's true - quite the opposite was true. Depression was a burden, a scandal even. People with a depression had to be locked away, they were different in such a sense that that difference couldn't be tolerated in society. Also, people with a depression weren't taken seriously by their family and friends. So it's good that finally, people recognize that depression is a mental illness that has te be taken seriously. Also, more and more people see that depression is a life-threatening disease. Unfortunately, I have lost too many people already, and it's been on the news so many times: famous rock stars and actors who somehow lose hope and decide to end their lives by committing suicide.

I want to invite you to Google the word "depression" and then have a look at the pictures page. What do you see? I'll post a couple of the pictures I found there.

You can already see what these pictures all have in common: darkness, loneliness, hopelessness. Fair enough, that's what people with a depression experience when they're going through the most difficult time of their lives. However, in reality, depression looks more like this, believe it or not:

Robin Williams

Chester Bennington

Who would expect that these two beautiful men decided to end their lives? They never gave any sign to the people they loved that they were unhappy. Consequently, their deaths came as an unpleasant surprise to the people around them. The picture of Chester Bennington was only taken two days before he ended his life. Can you believe it?

Those of you who have read my blogposts before will know that I've lost a few friends to suicide. When I say "a few", I actually mean "too many". I don't have pictures of all of them, but I'll post pictures of three sweet friends of mine that have accompanied me in the clinic in The Hague during one of the most difficult periods of my life. Look at these three beautiful young ladies. They show you the real face of depression. 

Daphne

Max

Saskia

Of course, I knew that my friends weren't entirely happy. They had their own problems to deal with. However, I somehow hoped that they could get enough strength and perseverance out of their friendships and their psychological treatments. Unfortunately, it turned out te be insufficient. They couldn't cope with their lives anymore. I still miss them and I think of them a lot. I often wonder how life would have been for them if they had struggled a little bit more. If they had only given life an extra chance... However, I hope that they are in a better place now. Maybe it was just a matter of time. But that doesn't mean I can't miss them. 

Take-home message: Depression is not always as obvious as people think. If you suspect that a friend or family member has a depression, please be there for him/her. Before you know it, (s)he can put on this mask and act as if everything is all right. And before you know it, (s)he can be gone forever.

RIP to all those who have chosen to end their lives. I just want to tell you that you are missed very hard here on Earth... 

Another year

Yes, it's that time of the year again. We're on the verge of welcoming another new year. It's been a while since I wrote my last blog post, I do realise that. I could now apologize and try to explain why that is the case. Was it because I was lazy? Was it because I didn't have enough time? Was it maybe because I lost interest in blogging? It could well be a combination of these factors. I won'l lie to you! In a few occasions, I really wanted to blog, but I was literally lost for words. That was the case for example when my beloved grandfather died, on July 25th. I really wanted to write a post in his loving memory, but somehow, I couldn't find the right words. Such a shame, I know. So here comes a beautiful picture of my granddad Etienne:

But look, here I am, back again. I know it's such a cliché to start a new year with some resolutions, and actually I don't really want to go there. I do realise that that's the only thing I can do to start 2018 in a positive way. See, I have to confess something. Every year, when the clock strikes midnight on January 1st, I feel actually pretty sad and I have a hard time in covering up this sadness and the accompanying tears. You'll probably ask yourself why this is the case. Almost the entire population celebrates the new year with loads of champagne and congratulations here and there. See, the point is that I'm always asking myself who will die thís year. As one of my biggest issues is separation anxiety, I can't live with the idea that people will die and thus leave my life. 2017 was marked with quite a lot of loss. I lost two good friends, they died way too soon. And besides them, I also lost my grandfather, who was also my godfather. I miss him... 

So I just prepared everything for tonight's celebrations. Two friends will come over to my place to welcome 2018. As a matter of fact, I do have some new year's resolutions. The funny thing is that they are almost an identical copy of those of last year. And of the year before that. I'm quite consequent, you see. But there's one big thing coming up, and it's big enough to dedicate the rest of this post to it. Yes, indeed, it's quite a thing. As from May 2018, I will finish my therapy sessions. It all started when I was 17, and in May, when I will be 35, it will end. It is an issue, it is, and I have shed some tears because initially I felt rejected by my therapist, but I will do it and I will be able to handle it without him. In the last couple of years I have grown strong, it's almost incredible how I've changed. Three years ago, I was still admitted at the CIB for a almost a year, a closed ward for complicated and difficult psychiatric cases, and look at me now! Living on my own, in my apartment, with the minimal care: I receive once a week a visit from a psychiatric nurse and once a month I see my therapist. Only these therapy sessions will come to an end. The idea was initially killing me. What would I have to do if I had issues that required therapy? Like traumatic experiences that I wanted to discuss with my therapist? But my therapist is quite sure that I can cope without him. And deep inside I also know it, but after all these years of intensive therapy, it feels a little awkward, as if I'm dropped in the dark and it's so scary! I lack some self conscience, I do know that. There are still five months left, five months to keep on working on this topic. The good thing is that I not only have the perseverance, but also a healthy fighting spirit. I can and will accomplish this! 

Happy 2018, people! See you around! 

Obviously too obvious

I'm disappointed. Disappointed in people. It seems that people have forgotten where I come from, what I've been through. They seem to have forgotten that roughly two years ago, I was still admitted at one of the most severe closed psychiatric wards of the country. They seem to have forgotten that at that ward I had to fight to get the respect of the nurses and co-workers, and even of my fellow patients. It's just as if it's normal that at the moment, I'm actually teaching almost seven hours a week. I've even recently started my own Spanish class. Doesn't matter that I only have two students in my group, it actually is a GROUP! But people on the outside don't seem to care. They don't care that I'm pretty exhausted after teaching my six-and-a-half hours a week. It's obviously too obvious. 

Within two weeks time, I'll have been enjoying my free life for two years. Two years ago I traded the psychiatric ward with a place of my own. During those years, I have not been admitted, not even a single day. Instead, I've build a place of my own. I've been living in my own apartment for over a year now. Yes, I'm proud of my achievements. It hasn't been easy, not a single moment. I was so dependent on my therapists that I thought I couldn't live without them. That was a false assumption - I know now! When I left the CIB (Centre for Intensive Treatment) in October 2015, I was still in therapy with four people and I received weekly two nurses at my place. At this moment, however, I only have one psychologist and one nurse visiting me once a week. I talk to my psychologist once every two weeks.  So you could say I've become quite independent of therapists in general - and I feel blessed for that! 

So things have changed quite a lot, and for the good. I was 17 when I was admitted for the first time. Now I'm 34. Since my 17th birthday I was frequently admitted, without any luck of lasting recovery. I kept on getting back to the closed ward. Until they sent me to the CIB in The Hague. Everything changed there, the medication the most important thing. And since October 2015 I've been successful in my most important objective: no more admissions at psychiatric wards! 

A couple of months ago, I knew I wanted to do something with my life. I was tired of having so little things to do. I was already teaching private Spanish lessons for two hours a week. I knew I enjoyed it and that my future lay in teaching. That's when I decided I wanted more students. So that's when I put some flyers in a couple of places. With some luck, I got two new students. And they are even motivated! Lucky me! But still, I was hungry for more. And that's when I got to know that at the woman and child centre here in Leiden they were looking for a Spanish teacher. I didn't think twice. Two weeks ago, the classes started and this is what I really want to do with my life: being in front of a class, teaching vocabulary, explaining difficult grammar topics, using some jokes to make it all a little less complicated. 

There's just one thing... it requires so much energy, maybe too much energy, energy I don't have at the moment. And that's when you hope people compliment you, people support you, somehow make you feel it's worth it. And then it doesn't come. People think it's obvious that you work and have a regular job after having been admitted for nearly half your life. People who work and don't have any disabilities don't know what it is like if you want to work to have your own salary but you just can't, for whatever reason. They probably think you're lazy and you don't want to work. They want to tell you to get your lazy ass off the couch and start to work. They just don't understand! I feel such a loser that I almost get knock-out after working not even 7 hours a week. But people don't know how much I'm longing for a real job, as a real teacher, at a real school. It's so hard, and nobody seems to understand. They are belittling my achievements. Luckily there is my social worker. Today I was in tears, telling her how disappointed I was. Then she told me how proud she was. And with her, also all my other therapists. And that healed my wounds a little bit. At least someone who makes me feel I'm worth it, how small and meaningless those six-and-a-half hours in a week might be. But obviously, for most of the people around me, it's too obvious. (And no, I'm not expecting any pats on my back...)