Is Depression Real?

Last week I was chatting to a rather sceptical businessman about mental illness and he asked me, “Why are there so many people nowadays suffering with depression?”, suggesting that depression is more a twentieth century mis-labelling of an age-old ‘existential angst’. His dismissive opinion gave away his unspoken judgement that depressed people need to ‘man-up’ and that depression is weakness.

While studying Psychology, my text book referred to depression as ‘learned helplessness’, a term I’ve often reflected on and did so again at my friend’s scepticism. Could it possibly be that this disease is nothing more than a reaction to our helpless human condition?

I couldn’t help thinking of my Grandad’s Post-War stiff-upper-lip, ‘grateful for everything’, generation who quietly stared off in the distance in reaction to grief or PTSD. Forgive me, but they appeared ashamed to speak about any kind of mental illness. They just seemed to get on with living, bravely ignoring the tragic consequences of war or anything painful and pushing forwards with a stiff drink or a Bible, in hand.

My children’s generation seem much more comfortable discussing mental health, often in the same badge-wearing way they openly discuss sexuality, phrases like “I’m Bi” seem to go hand-in-hand with “I’ve got depression” and are unashamedly declared amongst peers.

In my youth, I didn’t know much about mental illness, but I did fall in love with that Pink Floyd masterpiece ‘The Wall’, reciting every word as if they held the key to my inner world. Incidentally I must have bought the album at least nine times, each time snapping the cassette in half as my mood pendulum swung towards the light. I still say “If you knew all the lyrics, you probably had something going on.”

I reflect on my time in Therapy and then subsequent training to become a Psychotherapist. So many deeply personal shared moments with my Clients, following them on the most intimate of journeys to self-discovery. Surely my Clients struggling with depression weren’t simply indulging in, or as my sceptical friend would say “Pampering” to, a modern-day existential angst.

Many of us feel the urgency to remove the stigma, making it easier to talk and ask for help. Whether ‘help’ is found in Counselling or the longer-term Psychotherapy or perhaps some other remedy and most professionals believe similarly to mental health charities in ‘Recovery’ as the goal, whatever that may mean.

As a Father of teens perhaps I want to believe that today’s altruistic youth are slower to accept alcohol and chemicals as sufficient placebos in coping with mental health challenges. Yet self-harm and suicidal thoughts (and sadly suicide) continue to be on the increase with our young people.

Most feel that loving families offer the best preventative medicine, reinforcing the long-sought-after feelings of self-worth and self-acceptance, offering gentle nurturing when disappointment and tragedy comes. However, it doesn’t always seem to work and we all know of tragic exceptions.

Which brings me ashamedly back to my sceptical friend’s existential angst I was so eager to dismiss from my ‘I know more than you’ Therapist’s insight. The cold truth is we are all going to die, for all our self-searching, we’ll all eventually be pushing up daisies. So maybe a suitcase full of chemicals isn’t such a bad idea? Seriously though, if it ends with death, if that’s it, lights-out, flat-line, ‘The End’, what are we doing all this for? Thus the existential angst raises its ugly head again.

‘What are we doing all this for?’ makes me wonder what part spirituality has in all this?’ I’m not talking about religion or one spiritual ideology, but I am wondering whether spirituality can answer the hopeless fate of death? I mean, it does make sense that if one can find answers to questions like ‘Who am I?’ or ‘What is my purpose?’ then perhaps one ought not to dismiss.

Believers in an after-life, a God, a something’s out there, hold a personal hope in an invisible existence on a different spiritual plane. On a personal note, my own Christian upbringing offered me a hope and trust in a loving Heavenly Father and a Saviour. I accepted I was a child of God, my life had divine purpose and I could be forgiven when I screwed up. But say finding answers in spiritual realms does solve the existential angst, why then such a need for Pink Floyd? Or Therapy?

Maybe the human condition offers a variety of conundrums. As a three-month-premature incubator baby, maybe living in a glass box for two months helped create my attachment issues. Maybe a strong matriarchal single-parent childhood with a potent period of abandonment helped lay the foundations for ‘The Wall’ and my journey with depression. Maybe religion gave soft hopeful answers but also supported an overbearing inner-critic bent on self-sabotage. Whatever the cocktail of experience, many of us arrive at an experience of depression which can bring one to the lowest points in utter despair, despite the wealth of insight life offers.

Sometimes one rides it out, pushing oneself with physical exercise. Sometimes one gives into it and sinks. But no matter how one responds, I can tell you, with absolute truth, DEPRESSION IS REAL. As real as anything in this world. So my sceptical friend, I know you believe that this disease called depression is not real and that those who struggle with it are weak, but I have a different opinion and compassion for anybody suffering with this illness. Occasionally I experience how freeing if feels to be around people who accept others’ depression, where I don’t feel I have to hide it. My deepest respect goes out to people committed to help remove the stigma of mental illness by sharing and allowing others to share their struggles.

#Mentalhealthawarenessweek #simonbuckden