Terminal Depression?

Feel it!! You don't know what it feels like, you can't imagine it. I couldn't either. Until it gripped me – depression. Held me fast like a spider holds its prey. Resistance futile. Escape impossible.

At first I had no strength left. I felt lazy, managed only a fraction of the things I had to do and even this became increasingly difficult for me. Appointments turned out to be unpleasant ordeals. Moving myself to go was almost impossible. Cancelling and making excuses felt bad, but much better than climbing Mount Everest. That's what it felt like when I had to leave my flat. Put on a mask and pretend everything is "super duper" – or just like always. Listening, remembering things, washing up, cleaning, reading, … everything really exhausting and only possible for short periods. But so much is happening inside me right now. My thoughts are racing, running a marathon, getting tangled up, losing their way and finding themselves in a dead end. And not just during the day. At night I die a thousand deaths. Almost always. For years I was able to banish these nightmares with alcohol or at least influence them somewhat. But now they're back. All the terrible things happening in the world are being processed in my head. Horror scenarios like rape are normal. I almost always have to die – or at least someone close to me, which makes everything even more dramatic and incomprehensible. I dream realistically. Don't notice it's a dream. Process everything. No one pinches me. And when I wake up I'm trapped in the next nightmare – most other people call it life.

It took me a long time to admit the illness to myself. Why me? I like drama. I've always liked wearing black, I idolise Marilyn Manson, Kurt Cobain and Amy Winehouse anyway. In my youth I cut my arms. But only lightly. I didn't really want to and couldn't go through with it. Even though I was always preoccupied with it… How could it affect ME? This invisible illness that turns me into a monster. I'm no longer ME. Or was I ever ME? I have everything you need. A loving family that also enables me financially with everything you could possibly need, a loving friend who unfortunately lives far away but still sacrifices every second of his free time for me and shows me how important I am to him, and equally great friends who unfortunately have far too much to do in this fast-paced time. But who has time? My living situation couldn't be better. I'm really well looked after – if I want to look after myself, but the food doesn't taste good to me. When I'm alone I have no appetite. No strength to do anything. Yet I always loved cooking so much. I still do. But only when someone is there. Otherwise it's not worth it… Just for me – alone. I should eat less anyway, the critical look in the mirror confirms to me daily. Trousers size 44 – WOW!! And many thanks again for the wonderful medication Mirtazapine. I could finally sleep again, but unfortunately also eat. Eating endlessly. Cravings for everything that's processed and high in calories. You don't treat yourself to anything else. Yet I've loved eating soup and salad for as long as I can remember. Even if you don't notice it straight away. Well… The big shock came just before Christmas last year: 20kg in 3 months. Respect. Why didn't I sign up for any Galileo experiment? Not funny. I know. Okay. So I withdrew, kept the dark thoughts to myself, until eventually I couldn't anymore. You can't be so shaken by the smallest incidents day in, day out that you burst into tears and can't stop. That doesn't work. That's not life. I happened to watch a YouTube video in which a likeable Instagram acquaintance described her situation. I cried. Couldn't stop because I rediscovered myself in EVERYTHING: SHIT – I have depression!!

As if the ground is pulled out from under your feet.

Something inside you dies internally.

Your heart is pierced – by a thousand needle pricks.

It pounds wildly, but cannot flee. It is trapped in you.

All talk, every sound is just a dull roar.

You cannot perceive it.

You are wrapped in cotton wool, but the cotton wool is poisonous.

You can no longer move. You are paralysed. Shackled.

Thoughts race in your head.

Everything you ever believed, thought, wished for: POOF!!

So many questions. Yet actually empty.

No feelings. No thoughts. Nothing works anymore.

Over. Game over. End of the line depression?

And if something goes wrong, then everything. My life isn't stressful enough yet. University has started again. The tablets don't work anymore. I have to switch. Really wanted to avoid it. Such a change can only possibly go halfway well during the holidays. But I want to feel better again eventually. So I dare to do it. From 2 to 1.5 to 1 to half a tablet and finally the new medication. Sounds simple. It's shit. Really MEGA-SUPER-SHIT!! I don't just cry a whole stream of tears in the evening out of despair. During the day too I have to hold myself together to hold back the tears. An annoyed look from the man behind me at the checkout is enough. I can't take it anymore. Emotionally not resilient. And not resilient in any other way either. I'm feeling bad. "You're always feeling bad" – My friend actually has a point there. But right now I'm feeling particularly bad. I think it's better if we don't see each other for a while. The long-distance relationship was identified as a trigger, a so-called trigger. (Yes; you also learn really clever technical terms with these mental illnesses.) I think it's better to be sad for a long time than to be devastatingly sad every week anew. This decision makes me even sadder. I cry. Can't stop anymore. I drink out of despair. Start cutting my arms again. Take tranquillisers. Try to find sleep. Drag myself to university. Give a presentation and get an A. But I don't feel happy. Happiness isn't possible right now. My group thanks me for my good work. I thought it was bad. I have to cry.

I don't reply to messages and calls. I'm disappointed. Have no strength. And no desire. No desire for explanations. No desire for my sad sack role. I don't want to be the victim anymore. I want to be like I was before. I want to damn well feel happy again! My friend comes by. Before I can jump off the balcony, he'd rather keep an eye on me. A declaration of love that makes me cry. How much can a person actually cry? Does it ever stop? (Questions I ask myself rhetorically.) We talk about the clinic. Maybe I'd be better off there. I paint pictures in my head. Beautiful pictures. Calming pictures. "Yes, I want to go to the clinic!!" My psychologist is on holiday; the psychiatrist too: great stuff!! Then I guess I have to get through this here. Maybe it'll work if I ignore everything. My friend leaves again. I drink and cut myself again. Can't I be left alone anymore?

I meet friends – they do still exist!! It feels good. I can laugh. Let myself be distracted. Then my friend is already here again. I pick him up. Look forward to our time. He makes everything somehow more bearable… simply because he's there. Otherwise he can't deal with the illness particularly well. But who can? Not even me, the person affected, know what's going on and what's advisable or devilish. Well, I sort of know it, but you like to suppress things and can't remember anything anyway. (Psychiatrist tested me: 2 out of 3 words were still there – WOW!) I lose the thread. But the food tastes good to me again. I can laugh. Walks are quite nice for the first 30 minutes. Then it becomes too much for me. I need a goal. A reward. My friend still has energy. Money is tight. Had to treat myself. Distract myself. Treat myself. Online shopping you little bastard!! I curse the internet. The WiFi connection drops. I go to sleep out of anger about it.

Everything from the beginning. I start it, the new medication!! At first I was pleased about the news, but because I felt so shit in the weeks before, I've also somehow lost hope for improvement. What could possibly help now? The psychologist is back. His cheeky questions make me cry. "I know that I'm alone and that's really shit!!" (I cling to the tissue – he gets more.) I'm not allowed to go to a clinic. They'd take too much away from me there. I'd feel too good and afterwards wouldn't be able to cope at all – okay!? He's probably right. Or not? I have no idea. I don't care about anything. I'm tired. Want to go back to bed. Have to go to university. Meet a girlfriend. She's feeling just as shit. Wants to get professional help. I know about it and want to help her. It's dark. I go home. The dirty dishes from last weekend stare at me reproachfully. I turn off the light and close the door. For dinner there's tea and mandarins today. The cool hipster varieties are already drunk. Only the cheap varieties of discount tea are left. Will have to do. It's mid-month after all. (Beginning of the month, so a few days ago, I was still imagining saving money. For the holiday fund, to treat myself at the end of the month, to not get into trouble like every month – pointless.) Next door my neighbour's girlfriend is cackling. Probably invited more girlfriends over. Does he even still live there or does she just come to the flat to have her girls' nights there? I don't complain. I'm already in my pyjamas and I'm sure I'll have visitors again at some point with whom I can laugh loudly… Nice thought. I put earplugs in my ears and barely hear them anymore. Just this roaring sound.

I go to the toilet. The tap is still dripping. Well, not directly the tap, but rather the connection from the sink. "A specialist needs to look at that! Call the caretaker!" – "Doesn't exist anymore…" – "Then the property management!" – If only it were that simple… I think it's been dripping for 2 months now; sometimes more, sometimes less. It's my pet. I have to look after it: empty the bucket, dry the floor and wait for the drops again. This causes me less stress than talking pointlessly on the phone. Why can't anyone take this off my hands? That's the shit about living alone: you're responsible for every bit of shit yourself! I can't take it anymore. I hide away in my bed. Want to read, but I find it so hard to concentrate. (Might as well order 10 books first because you absolutely need them right now… clever)

My grandma thinks I have burnout (which she amusingly confuses with "blackout"), my sister thinks I'm sad because I've gained so incredibly much weight and I'm a long-distance relationship victim. But the weight gain only came "just" from the tablets… I wish I could tell them the truth. It's always just about me. You could think I'm selfish, but at least half my monthly money went to Christmas presents because I really do care about my fellow human beings. And for presents for myself – I'm quite generous there. I've made it to university, maintained social contacts in real life and even attended an evening lecture. I arrive home exhausted. Fighting is tiring. For a change, I wish for no nightmares and turn over. Good night.

I can't take it anymore. We sit in silence. After I've criticised everything again and even things you can't criticise, I've hit the roof – irritable and choleric. "What do you want? I do everything wrong!" Unfortunately I don't know that myself either… Being dead would be quite nice. Otherwise no idea. We sit in silence. I have to cry. "So you're in a bad mood again?" – "Yes, I'd rather go back home" – "Then go" … That hit home. Now hot tears of helplessness roll down. Why do I do everything wrong? Why can't I control myself? Shit. I don't want to be here anymore.

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It is estimated that one in five people will suffer from depression or a depressive episode at some point in their lives. On the website of the German Depression Aid there is a self-test and further information, such as the main and additional symptoms that can occur over two weeks to indicate depression. The triggers of the illness can be traced back to psychosocial aspects such as early traumatic experiences or neurobiological aspects such as genetic factors of heredity. In the event of illness or suspected depression, a conversation with a doctor or psychologist is essential.

Books that accompanied my journey:

• Bramton, Sally: Das Monster, die Hoffnung und ich – Wie ich meine Depression besiegte. 2009
• Katze, Tobi: Morgen ist leider auch noch ein Tag – Irgendwie hatte ich von meiner Depression mehr erwartet. 2015
• Roche, Charlotte: Schoßgebete. 2013
• Seelig, Jana: Minusgefühle – Mein Leben zwischen Hell und Dunkel. 2015
• Weßling, Kathrin: Drüberleben – Depressionen sind doch kein Grund, traurig zu sein. 2012

Helpline addresses for those affected and relatives:

GP as first point of contact for diagnosis and treatment, who refers to a specialist, the psychiatrist (medication and/or clinic) and the psychologist (talking therapy) if necessary

[35] (Information telephone, clinic addresses, regional crisis services and counselling centres) http://www.deutsche-depressionshilfe.de (Information telephone, clinic addresses, regional crisis services and counselling centres)

[37] (Tel.: 0800 / 11 10 111 or 0800 / 11 10 222) http://www.telefonseelsorge.de (Tel.: 0800 / 11 10 111 or 0800 / 11 10 222)
In emergencies, e.g. in case of pressing and concrete suicidal thoughts, please contact the nearest psychiatric clinic or call the emergency doctor on the telephone number 112 contact!

also self-help groups (in Würzburg: "Jung und depressiv" for people with depression under 30 years old)

J. Praline