Diagnosis Depression

It’s been just over a year to the day since I was diagnosed. I can always work it out because it was the day that Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1 came out at the cinema, and I was going home so I could see it with the family. I remember watching the film thinking “Why am I depressed? I’m such a weakling. Look what Harry went through and he never got depressed!” I had to remind myself that a) it was fiction and b) you should never feel guilty for feeling what you feel. Never. If I’ve learned one thing it’s that you can’t compare your emotions, feelings, situations to those of others. You should never feel guilty. In my opinion depression is all due to internal mix-ups. It’s not your fault.

I had been feeling rubbish for a while. Looking back I think it started some time during the summer. I realised something was up on the way back to Birmingham for my second year. Before first year I was so excited. But as we took the junction off the M6 I realised that I didn’t, and hadn’t, been feeling anything all summer. I wasn’t looking forward to going back, I wasn’t excited, but at the same time I wasn’t worried about it. I just felt... empty.

It got worse after that. I have a very complicated relationship with medicine that I don’t really fancy going into just yet. But I wasn’t happy. I didn’t want to be at uni, but I didn’t want to go home either, because home meant arguments and fighting. There as a pattern in my first year – my first few days at home would be blissful because I was happy to be back and my family were happy to have me back. Then we would have a huge argument about something stupid. I’m sure it wasn’t quite like that, and that my depression is clouding how I look back at it, but either way.

I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere, in terms of medicine, of uni, and on a religious sense as well. I’m Muslim, and I like to think I’m a good Muslim. I may not wear a headscarf and I wait to go home before I pray but I believe and act like a Muslim should. But I had been going to talks by the Islam Society at uni and coming out feeling awful. My family and I went to London for a big Islamic conference and there was a moment during a big talk in a huge hall where an Islamic music group came on stage and everyone was cheering and talking about how amazing they were. And I just sat there, feeling isolated and alone.

I didn’t want to go to classes. I didn’t want to get out of bed. There was no point. It was too scary. I couldn’t tell anyone how I felt. I was putting on a show. There was no point. It got very close to suicide at one point, after the diagnoses before the pills had started working, when I came home with some sleeping pills. I sat there staring at them thinking “It’ll be so easy.” Now I know that you can’t really overdose on the brand of sleeping pills I had been given (the things you learn as a medic), but I was close.

To be honest the depression didn’t just come on during the summer between first and second year, the summer of 2010. I’ve been having periods of depression for years, since high school, maybe earlier. I would spend weeks upset for no reason, and there really was no reason. I couldn’t explain it, and people couldn’t understand that. I went to the doctors at one point and we talked about the possibility of it being PMS. At one point maybe it was. I used to get upset the week leading up to my periods. Then it was two weeks before. Then it was every week. But we didn’t start therapy and I never talked to my GP about it again. But I remember knowing that something was wrong. I remember saying to my mum that I thought I should see a therapist.  But I was a teenager. And I was seen as strong. I did (very) well in school, I had friends. I wasn’t flunking. There was no reason to suggest that it wasn’t just teenage angst. But I knew.

We had a session about mental health in the 6^th form where we watched a film. During the film it said that 1 in 4 people would be diagnosed with some form of mental health problem in their life time. I was sitting with my three friends, and one girl leaned over and said “1 in 4. That means one of us.” And we all laughed, because it seemed so farfetched. And I sat there and thought, “It’s going to be me.”

I had been to the doctors a few weeks before my diagnoses. I’m a medical student. I knew something was wrong. We had talked. I had filled in one of those forms. He told me to come back in a few weeks if the symptoms hadn’t improved. I had seen my Personal Tutor and she said the same. The day I was diagnosed I had had a meeting with her and she told me to go and see the doctor right away. And I did. And he told me that he had been surprised by my answers to the questionnaire. I don’t know what it is, but maybe I just come across as confident and at ease with myself, because none of the few people I’ve told could believe me.

So, I started off on 20mg of fluoxetine, which we upped to 40mg in January. I came to Bristol and, having felt on a level field for over six months, and being completely happy and at ease with my current situation, I decided to come off them. I talked about it with my GP here but even though she told me to go down to 20mg for a month I only went down for a week. Then I (inadvertently, because I kept forgetting) went down to one every other day. It was too quick. So now I’m in an odd place. I keep having these horrible days, made worse by insomnia. At least this time uni and my course are not the cause of my low moods. But I know what’s happening, and I know I can get through it. I was hoping to be off by the fluoxetine by New Year, but due to the mishap it may take a bit longer, cause I’m back up to 20mg a day again, for a full month this time. But it doesn’t matter that I won’t be off by New Year. What matters is how I feel. And despite the recent low points I feel amazing. So much better than I ever have done. As I keep saying to myself, it’s better that I was diagnosed when I was. Still young, no one relying on me, and at uni so I could learn to deal with it myself.

And now, the only way is up.