(Mis)Diagnosing Depression
Photo by Ian Espinosa on Unsplash I was at a literary event recently when the conversation swung to depression. It started when a man presented a poem about this state of mental health and suggested that ‘a smile, a hug, and some love’ could get people out of their depressed state. For the most part, the poem resonated with people because it was relatively well written and delivered, and being a sensitive topic, people could relate; or so I assumed. While I was processing the words of poem, someone mention that it was important to note that depression was not ‘having a couple of bad days or being sad. It is a clinically diagnosed illness and must be treated that way.’ In the past, I would have nodded my head in agreement. I understood the sentiment and the need to be sure that people weren’t misdiagnosing depression when in the real sense, they were briefly unhappy or in a funk. But, my idea about depression changed a while back. Before I get into what caused the switch, let me share a train of thought that I followed through as I listened to the debate. Have you ever had a blinding headache? Those things can be the worst! You can’t think, you can’t sleep, you can’t eat, you think you head is about ready to split, and if it is really bad, you are almost crippled from the pain. When you go to the hospital, the doctor may diagnose a headache, migraine or something worse. In essence, the doctor is affirming what you already feel. You know the intricacies of the pain you are feeling. What the doctor does is to give you a ‘fancy’ name for what you are dealing with, and hopefully, a medical solution. So, let us say that you don’t go to the doctor. Do you still have the symptoms? Yes. Can you tell that you are in great pain? Yes. Do you know that something is wrong with you? Yes. What you may not know is the technical term for what you are going through, but you knowthat something is wrong. In some cases, you know that if you can just sleep, you may be better for a bit. In other instances, you know that seeing a medical personnel and taking some drugs can help you get better. And while you may want to take that option, you know that sometimes, there are a number of factors that may prevent you from seeking that help. So, you sleep. Or eat. Or rest. Or just lie down because you know that it would get better…until the next bout comes up. In this case, does the absence of a medical diagnosis negate the existence of your headache? I think the answer is no. The same is true for depression. People who are suffering from depression know that there is something wrong with them. They knowthat the gnawing emptiness they are feeling is a symptom of something bad. They understand that those panic attacks are not normal. They realize that their appetite – whether they are eating very little of way too much – is a sign of something troubling. They wish they didn’t have to sleep so little…or so much. They get that their complete lack of desire for anything, and sometimes, their only desire which seeks to end it all, is a product of a situation that is…bad. They know this. They also know about the days when pretending to be fine is the wall they need when their entire essence is crumbling apart. They understand the need to reach out, and the countering need not to be a burden. They can taste the fear of not knowing whether they would be understood or dismissed, or the hope that someone would see through their façade and help them. They also remember all the times when the voices in their head tells them, ‘didn’t I tell you? Nobody cares about you.’ They know this. What they may not know is the fancy name for what they are feeling. A little over six years ago, I began to feel sad and unhappy about my life. I didn’t seem to be making much progress for the timelines I set for myself and I started having this feeling that I was failing at this thing called life. It was a gnawing feeling that seemed to be here today and gone the next. However, I noticed that, with each session, the sadness seemed to take deeper roots. It felt like I was in quick sand and while I was only ankle deep, I couldn’t get out. As the years wore on, I continued to descend into the abyss until it got to a head a little over two years ago. I lost my mind. I started having repeated panic attacks, and once, when I could feel my heart closing up and my lungs refusing to draw in enough air, I thought I had come to the end of the road. When it passed, I felt empty. For one week afterwards, I didn’t have a shower. My bedroom was a dumpster; filled with plates from days before, wraps from junk food, bottles and clothes strewn everywhere. I was listless and couldn’t feel anything beyond the overwhelming emptiness of what was my life. I was depressed. And guess what? It started with a couple of days of sadness. It started with some unhappiness. It started with days when I was in a funk. Which is why when people say, ‘depression is not having a couple of sad days and being unhappy’, I shake my head. Only a person having those feelings can tell you what they are feeling. Only a person having those feelings can tell you how deeply lost they think they are. Image from Twitter It is important to note that people who are depressed do not share the extent of their listlessness with other; one, because explaining it is hard, and two because, there is
Quick Sand on a Plateau
She always knew she wanted to be rich and famous; she wanted the world to know her name, girls to aspire to be her and boys to want to marry her. She wanted to leave a legacy of strength, ambition, love, change, power and wisdom. She knew it was conceited but she wanted people across the globe to know her name…for her principles, her drive and her humanity. She didn’t want to die without having left a mark in the sands of time. And best of all, she didn’t want the want the fame or money for just herself; she wanted it for everyone she knew. She was 12 when she realized what she wanted. She took a book and wrote it all down. At 25, she was going to be a millionaire. At 35, she would set up her foundation. At 55, she would have helped at least 50,000 people in one way or the other. When she died at 80, people would troop to her burial and hold vigils in their countries to celebrate the icon that she was. She knew where she was headed and nothing was going to deter her. She worked hard in school and always came up on top. She was going to be the greatest actor there ever was. She knew it all had to start in high school and she needed to get those grades in good shape for the choice schools she wanted to go to. And she went a little further. She joined every drama team in her small town, ensuring she played every possible role that was open to her. She was preparing for her domination on the world stage. She needed to be ready. As soon as she was done with her education, she pieced together her show reel, packed a suitcase, counted the money she had hidden in her underwear drawer and left home. She knew her parents would understand. Or not. But she hoped her letter would reassure them that she was doing what was best for her. There was only so much she could do in their small town. And she wasn’t going to waste more time going through the motions. She jumped on a bus and headed to the big city; a city of lights, camera and action. She knew she was going to be a star! Then she could make money to help people from and in dysfunctional homes. When she got to the big city, the first thing that hit her wasn’t the beauty of the town or the exotic people. It was the fact that there was so many people who were like her; searching for the spotlight. She wasn’t fazed though. She knew that she was special and people would see her light. So she worked; hard. Everywhere she heard there was an audition, she went and performed her favorite monologue. The Plateau The first time she got a role in film, she was excited. She jumped and danced and laughed. She called home, ecstatic about her role in a crowd scene. It was small; and she knew that. But nothing could contain her excitement. Well…almost nothing. ‘It is just a small role. Why are you so excited? You could be staring in bigger productions here at home.’ Her mother said as soon as she blurted out her ‘good news’. Nothing turned sour quicker. She went through the motions of listening to her mother (and father) and as soon as she could, she hung up. She forced her spirit to seek its light and prepared for the role. That was the beginning. Every time she walked into an audition, she walked out with a role. They were always small; guaranteeing her 6 seconds of time in the shadow of a star. But she took them all with excitement. She knew that if she kept at it, she would become big and famous and rich. Soon acting wasn’t enough. Directors were asking that actors sing, dance, play an instrument, juggle, and be proficient with card tricks or whatever tickled their fancy. Not to be left out, she enrolled in all sorts of classes. She took burlesque, magic, singing, martial arts classes and whatever new thing was the rave of the moment. She even took jobs as a gaffer to ensure she was always in the know of film world happenings. She worked hard, slept little, rehearsed a lot, and attended lots of auditions. While these ensured she always got a role, it didn’t improve her straits. Directors only cast her in small roles with even smaller pay. Soon, the Ferris wheel began to take its toll. She started to reflect about her life. Why didn’t directors cast her in bigger roles? Was there something she wasn’t doing right? Was she giving off a bad vibe? Was her talent not good enough? Was. She. In. Any. Way. Special? Reality began to set in. Of course she wasn’t special. If anything, she was…average. There were millions of average people like her and directors saw that every day. She didn’t stand out in a crowd; she fit right in. She called home, hoping for reassurance from her parents. Her parents were understanding, but they reminded her that she should never have left. She had the world at her feet in their small town, and would have always been a legend. She could always come back home and start again; the town hadn’t forgotten her yet. She hung up with one resolve; she was never going to call her parents. They didn’t understand that she didn’t want to be queen of a small town. She wanted to be queen of the world! She wanted people from all continents knowing her name. And even if took forever, she was going to achieve that! Her resolve didn’t force the universe’s hand. Or cause her to get any big roles. And soon her excitement wavered…and like the hamster, she got burned out. She was 20 when she
Find Your Motivation
Today I woke up with absolutely no desire to do anything. I was burned out physically and emotionally and I was beginning to feel like my life could be likened to a hamster and her Ferris wheel. I desperately wanted to just lie in bed and be morose. ‘Lazy Song’ by Bruno Mars started playing in my head and usually, when that happens, I just go with the flow. It took the whole of my will power to get up and do my daily routine. For me, that is starting by reading the day’s news and checking what is trending on social media. It ends with a shower, wearing whatever is at the top of my box and heading out to the office. The cold shower turned out to be exactly what I needed to lift my spirits! I was suddenly busting with ideas and content to put out. I couldn’t wait to pour a little of myself into the universe. Some days, you have to find your own motivation to get out of bed. There are days when it will be so hard that there seems to be no point to it. And ‘adulting’ is so difficult! But if you give in to the darkness, the sorrow, the sadness or the depression, you will be denying the universe some of the wonder that is yourself. So find your motivation today; whether it is GOD, money, food, work, family, someone, or yourself. Keep the darkness at bay. Get a spring in your step and give some of your you to us! Vrede!
Dealing With Body Shaming
Hi. So let us talk about my weight gain, shall we? In the past few months, I have put on more of those pounds in some areas I like (wink) and in some I don’t. At the beginning of the year, I was a size 14 and now, I am a size 16. This has meant getting bigger clothes, worrying about not being able to tuck in my belly anymore and generally feeling out of sorts with them Christian mother upper arms. That is where the rosy stuff ends. Imagine that this is what I call rosy. Few weeks ago, I went out to get something for breakfast and this okada rider whom I have known for a while was passing by. I said hello and continued on my way. The man stopped his okada and said hello. I saw that he wanted to tell me something so I went back to hear him out. I assumed what he wanted to tell me must be pretty important because he was willing to waste the time of his customer to talk to me. He looked at me and said, ‘Do you know that you have multiplied? You are so fat now oh! E be like say this Buhari regime no dey affect you. This fatness too much na!’ I was shocked beyond words. My eyes flitted to the passenger, who looked as embarrassed as I was. The woman started pinching him to get him to go his way (or maybe shut up) but he remained put. I turned back to him and said, I knew. I started walking away again when he spoke; and this time, a little louder. ‘But you dey exercise bah?’ I laughed about it and asked why I should. The man didn’t understand that the laughter was forced and my embarrassment great. He tried to say something else but this time, I turned and walked away. I was, in all honesty, ashamed of what I had gone through. This man, who is just a face I know, whom I have never had a conversation with beyond cursory greetings, felt he had the right to tell me that I had multiplied. I was so hurt that I stewed for days about the incident. I kept telling myself that he was unimportant and didn’t deserve the time I spent thinking about his affront but the gall of it all kept me bothered. When I finally stopped thinking of the man, I got an even more annoying treatment. I went to an evening service in church about a month ago. For the first time in months, I wore a short sleeved dress. At the end of service, two church ‘friends’ cornered me, one on my right and the other on my left. I was between rows so I was totally cornered. While one was asking what I was eating that was making me so fat, the other wrapped her palms around my upper arms, showing me that her two palms couldn’t go all the way around my Christian mother hands. She went further to shake my hand so she could see that flabby skin jiggle. For the first time in my life, anger wasn’t my go-to emotion; shame was. Tears gathered in my eyes and I faked a laugh to cover up my hurt. Recently, I put up a picture – the one above – on Instagram and someone wrote, ‘Ha ahn! You have put on so much weight’ and sealed the statement with sad smiley faces. After about a minute, the person deleted the post, probably realizing how they sounded and feeling contrite. The thing is, though the comment was deleted, I had seen it! I couldn’t un-see the comment and un-feel the hurt that came from reading the person’s disappointment at my weight gain. Couple that with the numerous comments on Facebook from ‘friends’ who feel they need to remind me that ‘you were more beautiful when you were slimmer. Better watch your weight oh!’ and I finally broke. My self confidence level dropped. Who am I kidding? It was in free fall! And though I know I am a size 16, which is only slightly bigger than what goes for ‘normal’ in our society, the fat shaming left me wondering if my weight was that repulsive. Thing is, I used to always be a confident girl. I was never one to bow to pressure and do what everyone expects. I always love to do me and be me and live as I want. That being said, the last few months have chipped off some of that confidence. I may be strong and portray the sticks-and-stones persona but I am admitting that fat shaming words have hurt me. Let me tell you how bad it got. Since 2012, I have been more of a recluse than a bubbly socialite. I started enjoying my own company better than hangouts with people so I kept to myself more. As my confidence level dropped, I became an even bigger recluse. I could stay at home for an entire week without so much as stepping to the gate. I didn’t want people to constantly tell me that I am so fat and blah. And because my confidence level dropped, my stuttering increased. Yes, I bet you didn’t know I stutter. This means that when I am out in public, I keep wondering if people are looking at me wondering about my weight. And because I was thinking of it, I remained silent instead of the good talker that I used to be. This made the depression I was feeling from being out of work even more profound. I could go on and on but I will stop here. I don’t want to lose my street cred. Why am I doing this? It is quite simple. When I did a similar post on my body being your problem, many people sent me mails telling me how I inspired them to deal with body shaming. They told me my confidence
