The Tears Are Gone

All my life, if you had asked someone to describe me, I am pretty certain the frequency with which I cry would have been mentioned. It was an unusual day if I didn't cry. That is until a year ago.

Ah great, you may think! My life must have got better! Except it hasn't, it really hasn't. I don't really understand to be honest. The tears just fizzled out.

In 2011, I was desperately depressed and this involved many tears. Things started to look up for a few weeks after I started taking antidepressants again, early in 2012. But alas, not for long. I cried and cried and cried one night. It was uncontrollable. Everything was dire. How could I go on?

Eventually, the crying stopped and I got to sleep. I think that was the moment. The moment when my depression became tearless. It was no less painful but the tear ducts must have decided they couldn't go on. My brain had dried up, so why not my eyes too?

***

It's all gone wrong

It's all too much

The pain is here

It's eating me up

Without a smile

Life goes on

But who knows where

The tears have gone.

Things are dull

Things are grey

Oh how I wish

They'd go away

But oh no

They carry on

Nevertheless

The tears have gone.

I struggle away

I groan and sigh

My minds too full

I want to cry

But on we go

On and on

No crying as

The tears have gone.

Time to be open

As I sat on the bus the other night, tired after a long day, I wasn't too happy when a couple of people arrived behind me and decided that talking at below, maybe, 80 decibels was just no fun. I'm not in much doubt that every single person on that bus could hear exactly what was being said, even if they didn't want to. 

The girl announced in rather a throw away manner that she had hardly had any sleep that week.

'Oh that's rough' replied her friend.

'Nah, it's ok. I'm bipolar see. I don't need sleep when I'm manic.'

I was startled. Firstly, this girl was not in the least bit embarrassed about telling her friend (who I got the impression she didn't even know that well) but, moreover, she didn't care that the rest of the bus could hear what she was saying.

My thoughts turned to me. 

I have been in a pretty much constant cycle of anxiety and depression for at least 6 years now. It wasn't until last year that I really told any friends. I remember how embarrassed I was upon telling my housemate. We had an awkward few minutes where we sat there waiting for me to have the courage to admit to having OCD.

'I have something to tell you...but I'm not good at talking about it so I might just suddenly come out with it but I will need to be ready...this might take a while'

It has to be said that in the last year I have managed to tell quite a lot of my friends but there are still many I haven't told. In public, I will hush my voice if I am talking about it and do what I can to hide it. There are some friends with whom I tip toe round the subject. It's like the elephant in the room but i don't quite know whether they are aware of the elephant! I sometimes allude to the truth but never actually say it. So, how many people know I am depressed? To be honest, I just don't know.

Sometimes I wish everyone knew so I could just be totally open when I am asked how I am or when talking about why I am not working or what I have been up to. People must think I am lazy, pathetic and annoying when they hear of how I only went into volunteer for 1 hour all week (I am meant to do 4 half days) or how I slept all day.

The problem, however, is that I am embarrassed. Embarrassed and ashamed.

I shouldn't be; I know I shouldn't be. Depression is as genuine an illness as cancer. I am always encouraged when I remember how I was told 'you wouldn't tell somebody lying on the floor in agony with a broken leg to stop being pathetic and to get up and run. Depression is the same - you can't just say pull yourself together and get on with life.'

I believe this; I completely and utterly believe this. What's more, when I come across others who are struggling with depression, I really care and I don't look down on those people; I don't think they have reason to be ashamed; I am simply sad that they are struggling.

There is something in society that makes mental health so hard to talk about but as this girl talked so openly and loudly about her struggles and went on to say (needless to say, at top volume), 'look at this photo of my sister, I reckon she's anorexic. Mental health see - it runs in my family.' I was deeply encouraged. The statistics seem to vary but about 1 in 3 people will be affected by mental illness in their life. We need to be open.