Gill Taylor, 54, retired civil servant
Many people have this thing called hope which is often illogical, but when you’re depressed you don’t have any hope. It’s like being stuck on a roundabout because your thoughts become cylindrical. Normal life is spent going off on little side roads which lead to different places, but when you’re depressed you can’t get off as the side roads have disappeared - the only road left leads to killing yourself.
I tried it once, a few weeks after a relationship ended. I came home from work one evening, drank a load of spirits and swallowed many paracetamol. What I didn’t know was that neighbours had been told to keep a watch on me and one of them called an ambulance.
I’ve thought about suicide all my life. I drank shampoo when I was very young although I’m not sure if that was a genuine suicidal urge or a cry for attention because my sister had just been born. But I’m not afraid of death - for me it’s the ultimate long-haul holiday which I’m rather looking forward to.
For years I thought I had a physical illness. I was always fatigued with a low immune system and often visited my GP. Then in 1989 I went and saw a new young doctor who immediately asked “are you depressed?” I told him I was down because I was permanently exhausted. He then pulled in previous records and saw a pattern. He referred me to a psychiatrist and I’ve been on medication ever since. I’ve been well for four years now but like cancer my depression isn’t gone, it’s in remission.
At work I went from being perceived as a reliable conscientious person who was always accurate to someone neither reliable nor accurate. If I’d had a heart condition I’d have been viewed as the same person but mental illness means you’re not to be trusted or relied upon. It was very painful but I felt compelled to tell people about my diagnosis rather than keep it to myself because walking around keeping secrets is such a burden. The ‘pull-yourself-together crowd’ think you’re just feeling a bit blue (although these days they’re too p.c. to say it) but depression is on another level altogether.
I had compulsive behaviour patterns and when I was really ill I would lose great chunks of time. One moment I’d be at the check-out counter at the supermarket, the next I’d be in the car beside my sister with the shopping already loaded with no recollection of what had happened in between. Some mornings I would find that lights and TV had been on and doors open all night and I’d look in the bin to find out what I’d eaten the night before because I had no memory. Finally drugs got me to the level where I could help myself; I also had friends who I could always talk to.
I was married at the age of 20 but the marriage didn’t work out. Perhaps the depression played some part but the relationship wouldn’t have survived anyway. Now I live on my own and don’t feel I could embark on another relationship because I can’t risk being let down.
In 1994 I heard the publicity about Prozac and tried it. At first I thought it was wonderful. It made me exceptionally happy but it blunted each end of my emotions from uncontrollable laughter to extreme sadness. After a while, when it seemed to be less effective, I doubled my dose but when it led to severe panic attacks I stopped. I preferred my normal melancholic self. After that I went off sick and applied for early retirement. All my energies now go on keeping my mind and body well.
FACT: 47% of people with mental health problems reported discrimination at work (Mental Health Foundation, 2000)
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