Did I call it depression or not? Should I?
Was I complaining about something everyone experienced?
Was I making a fuss?
Should I get help?
I didn't know what to call it.
I was always independent, strong, capable. Yes I didn't feel like I was any of these things, but I wouldn't have depression, would I?
I still don't know.
Maybe I should have got help.
When does immense sadness transverse into depression?
Where's the invisible line of I can cope and I need help? Because I think I may have danced it.
It nagged at the back of my brain, but there were so many other thoughts that I couldn't entertain it. I needed to get through or give up. Putting a name on it didn't matter did it?
But maybe that could have got me help?
I was in an endless cycle of confusion.
These were all thoughts I had before Christmas. As well as the feeling of failure and lack of worth I've already spoken about here, I had the above running through my head.
I don't think there's enough awareness of what determines a mental illness. When does it become enough to ask for help? Therefore there are many people pushing on forwards and coping as best they can when, with help, they could be better. I am not an expert. I still don't know. I think a lot of people aren't sure how to define mental illness. They don't want to be seen not to be coping. To be making a fuss over nothing. When this isn't spoken about we don't know. We don't know what bubbles below the surface for such a large proportion of the population. Let's keep talking about it!