Each night that I sit down at work I think the same thing: You are worthless. Why? Because it's an easy job which I have done for a long time (over six years). Of course I know why this is the case, after having had a mental breakdown four years ago my employer and I have had a somewhat strained on again off again relationship; like Ross and Rachel with the laughs replaced by bureaucracy and the constant fear of unemployment.
Being regularly absent means that I am unreliable, which in turn means that I am rarely given additional responsibilities, which in turn again means that I am unable to progress in the business and left with the simple and unchallenging duties of my current grade.
Even those times I do go to work I show little promise. Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) is a byproduct of my depression and often causes me to be away from my desk. Other side effects I experience are a lack of concentration and fatigue, which means that, even at those times where I am at work and able to sit and do my job, that my productivity is awful and that, despite my employers patience and understanding, my opinion of myself at the end of each night reinforces that which I had at the start of the night: I am worthless.
My opinion of myself is, I perceive, shared by many of my peers and superiors. And why not? I'm always off and never do much when I'm there. Certainly, when I was younger, I once worked with a woman who I met briefly and then who was off for the next seven months. Depression, yeah right, more like a paid holiday! That's what I thought about the absent woman, so why wouldn't my colleagues think that about me? All of which is not to say that those people with whom I work, or even my former self, are ignorant, uncaring or cruel, far from it. Each time I return to work I am welcomed by 'how are you', 'nice to have you back', and the polite understanding that I don't want to go into the reason I was off. What I am talking about is my own anxiety about how I am seen by these hard working people, each with worries of their own, who manage to do what I frequently cannot: show up.
Naturally things at home can be difficult too. While my wife Michelle and my parents are supportive and always reliable, they too have to live with the disease while being powerless to do much of anything about it, which of course can lead to frustration and worries of their own, which I then feel guilty and anxious about.
My family's worries, especially Michelle's, expand past me to our son, Nathan. As a full time dad with depression, it is unfortunately unavoidable for Nathan not to be affected by my illness at times. For some time now a combination of my anxiety and fatigue have meant the Nathan has rarely been given the opportunity to be out and interact with other children. Recently he has become increasingly withdrawn while out out of the house and shy, sometimes to the point of being fearful, in crowds. Above all my failures with my son are the hardest part of living with my depression, I can only hope to try to be better for him.
In the months ahead I will soon begin regular therapy sessions and, hopefully, my new medication will be of greater help too. I hope that in reading this you have not found me to be self pitying or seeking pity, but rather that you might have gained a better understanding of a greatly misunderstood disease. At least I hope that you might have a better understanding of me, and life as I know it.
If you have mental health problems or know someone who has, I have found these organisations helpful: Mind, Breathing Space and Action on Depression.
Location:Columbia Pl,Glasgow,United Kingdom