Image: Danny Baker has had such rich experiences since overcoming depression.
Trigger warning: This story deals with themes of depression and suicide.
April, 2010:
The days dragged along. This was the worst I’d ever felt. Period. There was no relief from the ceaseless dread. I could barely function. Paying attention in class was almost impossible. Studying was too overwhelming. I’d fallen absurdly behind. I hadn’t touched my book [that I was writing] in days.
I’d quit my [part-time] job at the law firm, too—needed all my free time to try and catch up on uni. But there was never enough time. I was constantly exhausted. Drained of life. Depression sucked at my soul. My spirit withered. My goal for the day got broken down even further: “just survive the next six hours,” I’d tell myself, “the next four hours. Hold off killing yourself until then.” [At which point I’d tell myself the same thing over again.]
I’d previously thought I’d get better. I’d always thought it true that hope and depression were bitter rivals until one inevitably defeated the other, and I’d always thought that hope would win out in the end. But for the first time in my life, I was void of hope.
I honestly believed that being depressed was just the way I was, and that being depressed was just the way I’d be, for the rest of my life. And because I was so convinced that I’d never get better, there seemed no point in fighting my illness.
Instead of willing myself to “hang in there” because I believed that my suffering was temporary and that everything would be better one day, I comforted myself with the knowledge that human beings are not immortal. That I would die, one day. One special, glorious day. Then I could spend the rest of eternity moulding in a grave, free from pain. You might be wondering why I didn’t just kill myself if I wholeheartedly believed that my future consisted of nothing more than excruciating misery.
Well, first of all, I still was not a quitter. But more importantly, I didn’t want to hurt the people that loved me.
“It’s not fair to commit suicide and ruin their lives,” I thought. “So I have to hold on. No matter how much it hurts me I have to hold on.”
Hence why I drew comfort from the thought that one day I’d die and finally be free.
When you’re that depressed, that insanely and utterly depressed that you genuinely believe you’ll suffer that acutely for the rest of your days, life seems to lack all purpose.
“After all,” I remember thinking, “what’s the point in working, fighting, striving for a better life if I’m sentenced to one of chronic anguish and despair? There is no better life. There is no life outside of pain. So what’s the point in doing anything but waiting until death finally arrives on my doorstep and whisks me away to the Promised Land?”
I was still studying, and I still planned on finishing my novel and trying to get it published, but it was more out of force of habit than anything else. My passion had been drained. My zest for life asphyxiated. I was like a ghost, just drifting through the ghastly days.
‘Shit! What’s wrong, mate?’ an old friend once said when I ran into him at uni. ‘Perk up, brother!’
I was shocked. One of the most well-known attributes of depression is that it is entirely possible – and very common – to suffer horrifically without anybody knowing. But somehow without realizing it, I’d crossed the line from a place where I was able to put on a front and fool people into thinking I wasn’t depressed to a place where I was so sick that it was obvious to people I hadn’t even seen for a year.
When I got home I looked in the bathroom mirror, and realized that I was staring back at a man whose eyes were exhausted slits, whose whole face shrieked of agonizing misery. I was staring back at a man whose spirit had been broken, whose soul had been destroyed. I was staring back at a man who, for all intents and purposes, was already dead.
As you can see, I was so convinced that I'd never get better. I was 100% sure of it. But after a while, one of the multiple medications I'd tried started to work. I started benefiting immensely from therapy. I committed myself to eating well, sleeping well and exercising frequently. And over time, I began to recover. Towards the end of that year and throughout 2011, I also made a number of positive lifestyle changes, and by early 2012, I'd kicked my depression for good. Ever since then, I've been feeling great.
These days – two-and-a-half years removed from my last bout of depression – I often find myself thinking about everything I would’ve missed out on if I’d ended my life. Most recently, I had this thought while I was in Greece backpacking with my brother at the end of July. Below is a picture of me at the top of Mars Rock in Athens, feeling happy, healthy, and so glad I never ended my life on one of the countless days I felt that suicide was the only way out.
I've loved backpacking ever since my first trip in 2007, and every time I'm travelling, I'll always have at least one moment where I stop and think "I'm so glad I'm here ... I'm so glad I got to have this experience". There have been so many of these grateful moments since I had my first suicidal notion way back in 2008, and I know there'll be so many more of them in the years to come ... backpacking around North and Central America next year, getting my next novel published, getting married, having kids, watching them grow up, having grandkids ... the list goes on and on and on.
I have so many things to look forward to, and you do too. I know that depression is an expert at robbing you of your hope, and making you feel as if you're destined to a life of unremitting misery and despair, but depression is a liar. Recovery is possible.
So if you're in that horrible place I used to be in, then please remember that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, and make sure you reach out for help.
You'll miss out on so much if you end it.
What are some things you are grateful for in your life?
If this post brings up issues for you, you can also visit Beyondblue: the national depression initiative online, or call them on 1300 22 4636. You should also talk to your local GP.
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