Reminiscing

Today was an important day for Belgian boys and girls between two and a half and seventeen years old: the very first day of school after summer holidays. I can imagine that not everyone was happy that school started again and that there were some mixed feelings. Every year the first day of school also gives me mixed feelings, but for different reasons. 

Until the age of 16, I loved school. I did appreciate summer holidays, but after a couple of weeks I couldn't wait until school started again. I had some really good friends back then and in those times, the Internet didn't exist yet. We still had to rely on the good, old postman to keep in touch and we saw each other only once or twice during those eight long weeks that separated us from seeing each other on an almost daily basis. I learned easily, and I was always hungry for knowledge. I was a good student. School was my habitat. Until the year 1999... 

As every year, I went to school that first day with a lot of enthusiasm. I knew that I'd end up in a newly composed class because I'd had to choose a new study package. Unfortunately, the most unexpected thing happened. I ended up in a class full of bullies. The most arrogant, conceited girls had been put together in one group. They formed about two thirds of my class. The rest were people like me: shy, hard-working students who didn't want to get into trouble and therefore kept a low profile. Those bullies all had a reason to be conceited though: mommy and daddy were doctors, lawyers, dentists... highly educated people, all of them haughty. Don't get me wrong, I'm not ashamed of my mother and father, not at all, but it was reason enough for them to look down on me. I didn't feel at ease in that group, not at all. They knew how to make me feel uncomfortable. So it didn't take them long to throw me off balance. And once this process had started, it only went down. 

I tried to hang on, but this situation had a serious impact on my exam results and not in the least on my well-being. I did pass the exams at the end of the year, with lower grades though, and for once, the summer holidays that followed were more than welcome. However, when school started again in September 2000, I couldn't handle it anymore and it was barely October when I broke down completely. As I was very depressed and I harmed myself on a regular basis, the decision was made that I would be admitted to a psychiatric hospital for a couple of weeks. After that, it was thought, things would turn back to normal. 

Alas... nothing went ever back to normal. Things got completely out of hand. I never went back to school since that day at the end of October 2000. I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital on November 3rd, 2000. As that didn't seem to be a success, they sent me to a specialized clinic for young persons with psychiatric problems. And after that to a closed ward. And that was only the beginning. You see, the last year at high school is supposed to be the most beautiful year of those first eighteen years of your life. You go to a monastery with your class for a couple of days, you go to Italy with last-year students, you celebrate the end of high school with all the last-year students, and more of those activities exclusively for last-year students. I missed everything because of this stupid illness, an illness that isn't even visible. I did the exams at the end of the year, fair enough. I passed the exams, fair enough. But at what cost? I got low grades, very low grades, whilst I was always used to high and very high grades in the years before. It hurt, it still hurts, you know. 

Because of all that happened during those last two years in high school, it feels as if I haven't finished school. People won't understand it, because they will say, "you graduated cum laude from University, right?!" Right. True. However, I can barely remember how I managed it, finishing those exams at the end of high school. During the exams, I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital, I had to use a lot of medication, from time to time I was limited in my freedom (read: they locked me up in the isolation cell). The biggest issue is that my fellow students from high school had no clue of what was going on. I missed them, I really missed their support. When I was in the first clinic, some of them visited me, but eventually, they also stayed away and I was left alone. No one can understand what it is to go through this when you're not even eighteen years old. 

The beginning of the school year makes me very sad, as does the end of the school year. People don't understand why this is such an issue for me. They think I make things unnecessarily complicated. But it's just this feeling, a feeling of having unfinished business. I have this ridiculous thought of redoing the last year of high school. Somehow, I think this would give me peace. Of course it's absurd and not realistic, but I do think a lot about this possibility. Perhaps I'd better redone the last year. But the problem back then was that I was too proud to redo the year. I didn't want to be seen as "that psychiatric patient who couldn't finish her last year because she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital". At University, there were very few fellow students who knew the truth about me, and not without reason. I didn't want to be seen as "psychiatric patient", that just doesn't feel right. 

So what to do? I think I've found the solution, but I have to admit that this one is only a partial solution. I try to study one hour every day, a different subject every day. That gives me the feeling that I'm still at school. I have a fixed schedule: Portuguese on Monday, Spanish on Tuesday, Latin on Wednesday, French on Thursday, English on Friday, astronomy and mathematics on Saturday and German on Sunday. So, I think that the bullies can now call me "blokbeest" (a really nasty word to insult someone who studies a lot and gets high grades) with reason :)

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!