by EM RUSCIANO
Depression is a bitch.
It’s one of those illnesses that when you’re first diagnosed those around you rally and offer support but after a while it becomes tedious and draining on everyone and those who initially rallied back away because it’s just too much to deal with. I liken it to a death, everyone feels sorry for you but expects a bounce back once the flowers have died.
I have battled with it for as long as I can remember. Battle is absolutely the right sentiment, there were some days my inner monologue resembled the closing scenes in Braveheart.
Right now, I’m okay. That is always a fluid statement though.
I know I probably seem like the last person you’d find weekly in the fetal position on the bathroom floor at 3am crying hysterically into a pile of towels so not to wake the children.
Well I am.
And I’m sure I’m not alone.
I’d like to have a short chat about depression and suicide. (STOP. Do not avert your eyes! Press on, you can do it!)
Not sexy topics I know.
Uncomfortable for many.
Too be honest I don’t give a shit if it makes the vast majority of people uncomfortable.
Enough is enough. I know people, high profile people who suffer from depression. I suspect every one of you reading this now have had it touch your life in some way yet for most people it’s still the big fat weeping elephant in the corner.
A young man killed himself last week in Prahran, I saw them covering his body on the tracks near the railway crossing. You didn’t hear about it because the media rarely report on suicides for a few different reasons. Firstly there are so many of them but also because there are fears it may spark copycats. Not to mention how distressing it is for the victims’ families.
Sometimes I think the media should report on it more often as I think most people would be shocked at just how prevalent it has become. Suicide rates in Australia are ridiculously high, especially among young men.