When Eeyore Comes to Stay

'Eeyore' is the nickname I give to an unwelcome visitor who pops by once in a while. He is by no means unique to me, in fact, he is quite a common visitor to many people. Eeyore is a silent condition (or illness, that depends on how medically correct you wish to be) and can be the deadliest of killers if undiagnosed. Those stories your hear on the news, or read in the paper, of people found swinging from a tree in a nearby wood? That's Eeyore. So, as our dear beloved Rolf Harris said, 'Can you guess what it is yet?'

I'll put you out of your misery (if not my own) and tell you that yes, indeed you are correct 'depression' is indeed Eeyore and the topic of this blog entry. I merely wish to describe and narrate to you my dealings with Eeyore and hopefully not, excuse the irony, in a depressing or mawkish way.

I have had really rather sever visitation from Eeyore at least twice in my life. The first, and probably most understandable, was after my dad died in 2005. I remember that particular year as being one of Herculean difficulty, each month containing some kind of epic personal problem and there was no respite between them. Month after month of difficulty and of course some of that was the ever worsening news about dad's health. 


My symptoms, at least to one very good friend if not myself, were quite clear. To her at least, I was not right, things were not as they should be. With the benefit of hindsight, things were very far from right. I'd often spoke to her of my insomnia and I seemed to be getting thinner by the day. 


I knew things were not right in my head as I'd latch onto a thought, a negative one, and there it would whizz around my head like goldfish on speed, repeating itself over, and over, and over. Relentless.

This rather wonderful friend, who has also had her own fair share of Eeyore visitations in her life, gently, but persistently persuaded me to see a doctor. Her logic was clear and simple: You go to a doctor when things are not right with your body, you need to do the same when it comes to your mind. This was a logic and kindness she persisted with and eventually some weeks later, I managed to listen properly and went to a doctor. I don't really remember the conversation that well, I was fairly taciturn but I do remember him being understanding, gently coaxing out of me the information he needed in order to help me. You are also given a questionnaire to fill out asking you about your moods which also makes reference to the thoughts in your head you dare not articulate to another human, that I can only allude to here. If those thoughts are with you on an all too frequent basis, then yes, it's time for medication.

So, doctor's visit done and me being the conscientious sort, I felt it right to tell the people at work, my school. I told my head of department first and he listened, made no judgments or comments and advised me to speak to our Assistant Head, the one, who totally inexplicably was in charge of 'people' and their well-being at school. This was the same woman who told a friend and colleague whose sister in law was dying of the human form of BSE at the same time an OFSTED Inspection was due that, 'School is more important, she won't know who you are anyway when you visit.' So, you can imagine I was not overly optimistic about the outcome of our conversation, and boy was I right. Now, this is a conversation I have not really ever forgotten.

I walk into her office, trousers hanging off my hips and palms sweaty, not really from nerves but it was a side effect of my medication. Pleasantries are exchanged and I tell her, 'I've been diagnosed with depression and I'm on anti-depressants.'

She responds in an all to inappropriately cheery manner with, 'Oh, well you disguised that well.'

A little dumbstruck I respond with, 'Oh, erm, really?' [internal monologue: What do you mean I've disguised that well?! I've lost over a stone and a half in weight, I haven't slept properly in the last 6 months, my clothes are falling off me, my hair is falling out in clumps and my complexion is worse than a teenage boy's.]

Still in the cheery tone she comments, 'You should take some more pride in your appearance! Put on a bit of lippy, do your hair, by some new clothes!'

Once again I am dumbstruck, I cannot respond. [internal monologue. I feel the worst I've ever felt in my life and now you're telling me how crap I look. Brilliant. And getting myself in debt buying new clothes will make me feel better how? I said I have depression, not that I'm a bit depressed you imbecile. Doctors don't prescribe you anti-depressants unless you could be a danger to yourself. Are you really meant to be in charge of people? How? Why?!]

She continues in the same irritating tone of voice, same stupid comments, 'Go out with the girls, go and get pissed!'

I manage to muster a response here, 'I can't, anti-depressants don't mix with alcohol.'

'Oh don't worry about that, ' she carries on, 'go and have a few drinks.'

I can't manage a response again. [internal monologue: How on earth can you get to your age (she's in her 50s) and have such low emotional intelligence? Why are you so ignorant about this? Stop TALKING!]

I think I fudge an excuse to leave, and leave I do. I'm astonished at the stupidity of her comments, still am, and the worst of it was, no help was offered. No offers of occupational health, no alleviation in my timetable. Nothing. Nada.

So dear reader, that IS NOT how a manager should be dealing with depression in a colleague.

Eeyore's second major visit, when I moved schools from this one in Tamworth to one in inner city Coventry. It was a promotion and in theory a good move, career wise. Instead it was a case of out of the frying pan into a bloody great big educational version of a Gulag.  Much of this episode of my life is a blank. I can't look back on it and remember any kind of meaningful detail. Needless to say, Eeyore popped by for another visit then and off to the doctor I went before I totally unraveled and got any more skeletal.  

Those are my two major visitations with Eeyore. If someone were to ask me, 'How do I feel?' or indeed, 'What do I feel?' during these times, the answer is simple if perhaps unexpected. The answer is, 'Nothing'. I feel a big, vast abyss of nothing. No highs, no lows, just that big huge plateau of nothing. I think it is the mind's self defense at work. Better the nothing than listening to the inky black thoughts, yes, 'nothing' is far better than that.

Eeyore has paid me some visits since but, I'm now quicker on the uptake. My, to some people, relentless exercise routine is part my coping mechanism for it. Exercise increases the serotonin levels that are lacking during Eeyore's visits. I make myself eat, even when I know I don't want to. I take Echinacea, St. John's Wort and multivitamins. I try and go out but like eating, it's not something I want to do. 


I have learned lots about Eeyore since his visits:
When Eeyore is here I am surrounded by a shroud of nothing.
When Eeyore is here I seem removed from life, society, I don't know my place or my worth within it.
When Eeyore is here I can't always make the right decisions, sometimes, someone needs to make them for me.
When Eeyore is here I need help to climb out of the well of nothing, but don't always know how to ask for it or if I can find the strength to climb.
When Eeyore is here I am my own worst enemy, keeping myself to myself when it is other people that will help make Eeyore go away. 
When Eeyore is here, socialising is a struggle, I forget how to do it, but socialising will also drive Eeyore away. 
When Eeyore is here I sometimes unravel, I find that quite frightening. 
When Eeyore is at his worst, sleep offers no respite, the inky black thoughts terrorise my sleep. 
If Eeyore is staying too long, the doctor needs to help me get rid of him. 


When Eeyore has been and gone, 'I' return and I feel whole and 'real' once more.