THIS is a story that I previously had no intention of writing but I was encouraged to write it by a couple of friends who don’t know each other and who live in different parts of the nation. While the story is by no means unique — indeed, sadly, it is far too common — they thought it would be good for me and for others that I write about my experience with depression.

It all started in the late summer/early autumn of 2004 — less that a couple of years ago — when I was starting to shuffle off my various work commitments. I had everything to live for and nothing negative, at least nothing of great substance, to divert or worry me. Or so I thought.

There were no warning signs for me, none at all. Depression seemed to settle on me overnight. It was almost a case of yesterday fine, today awful. Content in the fifth decade of marriage to the same woman; living in the home we want to live in where we want to live; looking forward to some travel, reading, writing, gardening, fishing and seeing more of friends and close family. For clinical depression to explode in my brain at such a time was the cruellest of blows.

For me, at least initially it was very much a nocturnal problem. I would awake from an invariably harrowing dream in the very early hours of the morning, usually between midnight and 2 am. And then, however distressing the dream had been, the introspection that followed through the hours before dawn was quite awful. Much as I might try to turn my mind to the pleasant and the positive — a trip taken or a book read, a high mark or a deft drop shot, a great holiday or a fine film, a neat turn of phrase or a clever pun — it always returned, and much too quickly, to matters morbid and morose. Moreover, it quickly became a full time problem, day and night, although the nights were always worse than the days.

Absolutely relentless

And the persistence of this blight in the brain is absolutely relentless. It brooks neither diversion nor defeat. I was naked in a deep swimming pool — tiled, slippery, devoid of ladders and steps and packed full of venomous snakes. Death in such circumstances is seen as a blessed relief, as solace rather than sin. So one thinks of which particular high building may have a readily accessible roof — and I had a couple of those picked out. It’s that bad, that horrible. Or one’s mind turns to Dr. David Kelly, the British Ministry of Defence scientist rumoured, probably mischievously and wrongly, of being involved in the “sexing up” of intelligence on Iraq. He slit his wrists which is a more readily available option but, then, how long must one watch the bleeding? That is what depression is all about when one is at the very bottom of the hole. When the only thing finite about one’s fragility is death itself.

And in the deepest darkest periods there is this horrible, haunting sense of isolation, an all-embracing loneliness. You know you can reach out — talk, explain, communicate but you are somehow inhibited from doing so. Why is that so? I really don’t know but perhaps it is because one cannot explain the inexplicable. It is like thinking that you can see a long dead parent or friend in a crowd and you reach out, call out, but there is no one there. There never was. And you retreat again into the darkness, convinced that you really are going mad.

That was not the stuff of one fleeting night. It was the stuff of hundreds of nights and nor was it only the stuff of inexplicable self-flagellation. There were also the spasmodic bursts of mindless crabbiness towards those closest to me. That collateral damage only compounded the depression because I then worried about hurting others — seemingly without being able not to do so.

And then one day I decided to visit my GP. I was not quite sure why I wanted to see him and what I would say when I got there but I thought he would have some useful advice. This was at a point when I still knew nothing about depression and didn’t know I had it. My doctor is a young man and a thoroughly decent one who loves his family, his cricket and his bushwalking. He is gentle, wise before his time and sensitive to the nuances and complexities of both his craft and the polyglot of patients that he sees each day. And yet I don’t think I have ever been quite as nervous as I was that day, not least because there was this lurking fear that he might declare that there was nothing wrong with me at all. He might say it was all in the mind.

And he did. And it was.

The turning point in my experience

After I stumbled and mumbled over why I was there he undertook the standard physical examination and then asked a number of questions following which he diagnosed clinical depression and prescribed some medication. He talked about depression and my lifestyle and insisted that I contact him if there was any regression to the pre-medication situation. He also explained the extent to which I could sensibly increase the medication in the event of any serious fluctuations in the condition. The advice and the medication represented the turning point in my experience with depression. I still suffer from depression but the medication has enabled me to contain it to tolerable levels. I am permitted to increase the dose, within limits, but I hate taking pills and thus only rarely take a higher dose.

To introduce a somewhat lighter note which also involves a brief lapse into the colloquial, I can say that the medication does come with a problem and in my case the problem is at the other end, for want of a better phrase. The explanatory notes that come with the medication list dozens of possible side effects the most significant of which from my viewpoint are constipation and diminished libido. In short, I am in the unfortunate position of being buggered above the shoulders and below the waist! That doesn’t leave a lot does it? Moreover, I am convinced that the medication a la mode for constipation is what terrorists use to demolish large buildings. For all that, however, I am now travelling much more satisfactorily than was the case pre-diagnosis and pre-medication.

How long will I live with depression? I simply don’t know and nor, it seems, does the medical profession. In my case it might be a part of the ageing process and disappear within another year or so or it might last until I die. If the latter be the case then so be it. I am still discomforted by depression but I no longer fear it.

On a broader scale, beyondblue — the Melbourne-based “national depression initiative” — asserts that: “… the Number One disabling illness in Australia … is depression. One in five Australians will experience depression in their lifetime. This is the equivalent of more than a million people in any one year. Depression and anxiety can be as serious, debilitating and life-threatening as a physical illness — yet less than half of those experiencing depression seek help.”

Suicide rates are much higher

beyondblue also point out that people in rural areas are especially affected by depression. beyondblue comment that “More than 300,000 rural Australians experience depression each year and although effective treatments are available, only a small proportion seek help. Depression rates are the same in the country and metropolitan areas, but suicide rates are much higher in country areas, particularly among men.”

In this latter respect the ABC publication Health Matters describes depression as the “epidemic of modern times” and that “… rural and remote communities have the highest rate of suicide in Australia. Between 1988 and 1998 the suicide rate was up to 17 per 100,000 persons per year in rural areas, compared to 12-13 per 100,000 in the capital cities.” I would further observe that the pressures of contemporary rural life — isolation, depressed prices, natural disasters, trade barriers, etc. — are such that the relative severity of depression in the bush should not surprise.

I would add too that the suicide figures quoted are presumably those known to be due to depression. One wonders however how many unexplained drownings, car crashes, shootings, electrocutions and other accidents may also have been due to depression.

Clearly, depression is one of the horrible blights of our time and the best advice I can offer is: if you are feeling depressed and, especially if the condition persists, please see your doctor immediately. I did it and it was one of the best decisions I have ever made.

With this piece of writing I think the catharsis is complete.