You are the star in the theatre production of your life; whether you’re the extrovert lead in a high-octane, all-singing all-dancing performance, a stand-up comedian using humour as your armour or an autonomous one-man show: it’s your gig. How you live it is entirely up to you.For the most part, we get up and at ’em on a daily basis; like Groundhog Day, this repetitive show is a long-runner – it requires stamina. Day in, day out, you paint on your public persona – for women quite literally, using make-up as war paint – and step out onto the stage.Some days, the spotlight’s warmth feels good as you tap-dance out onto the well-trodden boards, all smiles and jazz-hands. On others it takes every ounce of strength to plaster on that grin and slip into your costume, drawing a deep breath as you step gingerly out to take centre stage, the bright lights blinding you.<\/p>\n
We all experience ups and downs – basking in the glory of our achievements and good fortune, cursing when the universe seems to be conspiring against us.<\/p>\n
But what happens when the rough days outweigh the smooth? When you lie awake at night, dreading tomorrow’s performance? When your life really does feel like acting: you stutter along, feeling awkward, forgetting your lines? Sometimes what’s going on backstage becomes distracting – how can you be the best version of yourself, head high and shoulders back, when there are problems with the set…or the other actors in your show are fooling about in the wings? In this production, you<\/i> are the star – there is no understudy.<\/p>\n
We are human; we all experience peaks and troughs in our daily moods, our performance. But how long does it take for an acute case of stage fright to develop into chronic depression?<\/p>\n
Until I reached the age of about thirty, I was of the belief that depression was largely down to your genetic make-up, a chemical imbalance in the brain; an unwanted heirloom passed solemnly down the family line.<\/p>\n
Like everyone else, I’d experienced things that had greatly saddened me – which affected my thoughts and feelings – but I don’t recall being actually depressed<\/i>. Even when I had stage three pre-cancer and subsequent treatment, which you can read about in my last blog post<\/a>, I wasn’t knocked by it – I was young, healthy and never for one moment thought I might die, or even suffer any repercussions from the treatment.<\/p>\n By and large, life had been kind to me and I saw no reason why that should change. I’d been lucky. Generally if I wanted something, I strived to make it happen. Like most ordinary working-class folk I’ve got a strong work ethic, instilled in me by my parents from a young age:<\/p>\n “You can be or have whatever you want in life, if you want it badly enough – you just have to work hard.”<\/b><\/p>\n And I believed it; that’s how naive I was.<\/p>\n So it took me by surprise when I decided that, having got the job, met the man, got married, bought the house (tick, tick, tick off my list of life goals) what I wanted next was a child….”worked” for it….and then didn’t get it. Unfazed, I tried a bit harder. Doctors got involved, money was thrown at it, along with various quacks’ wacky fertility-boosting ideas and hippy alternative therapies.<\/p>\n Nothing.<\/p>\n That was the point when the dark hands of depression began to squeeze my soul – his cold, bony fingers reaching into the deep recesses of my mind, taking my logical approach and tossing it aside with a derogatory sneer. Days passed…months…then years, and my usual upbeat approach began to slide, replaced with desperation, sadness…then deep despair, accompanied by an anger so incandescent it scared me, a white-hot ball of molten lava bubbling in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t asking for a private jet, a penthouse – I simply wanted what everyone else seemed to get almost by accident: a family.<\/p>\n When the doctors finally told me there was simply no point in having any more fertility treatment, I felt momentary relief at stepping off the medical merry-go-round.<\/p>\n And then…emptiness.<\/p>\n Like a carcass picked apart by vultures, I was hollow inside – mentally as well as physically, having had the various treacherous organs that had betrayed me removed in the process.<\/p>\n Not only had I lost my chance of motherhood, I’d also lost something vital to my mental health: hope. Of course, life goes on – you have to work, there are bills to be paid. The world doesn’t stop turning because your life has unravelled. But how do you carry on when you’ve painstakingly laid the foundations and lovingly built the house….only for it to come crashing down around you, leaving you standing, bewildered, amongst the rubble wondering what the hell just happened?<\/p>\n Hence followed the hardest few years of my life. Everything felt heavy: my shoulders were stiff, my heart physically ached. Somehow I was excelling at work in spite of my personal problems and had recently been promoted, yet I’d start each day crying in the shower. My marriage collapsed like a deck of cards and I found myself living alone for the first time in 37 years. The silence in my new house was deafening.<\/p>\n I was now a Ms, which, as a mate reminded me with a wry grin, is “short for misery.” I felt like a failure; my self-esteem plummeted. In my darkest hour I contemplated suicide. Eventually something had to give and I stepped down from the demanding role at work and took a three-month sabbatical during which I gradually got a grip on my life again.<\/p>\n This is what I’ve learnt from the experience. Everyone is different, I’m not saying this will definitely work for you if you’re struggling with mental health issues, but I thought it might be worth sharing:<\/p>\n 1. Are you surrounded by assholes? Avoid them!<\/b><\/p>\n I remember reading this quote:<\/p>\n
\nIt was like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking into the ravine. It took all my strength not to jump.<\/p>\n