Upon being announced as a speaker for TEDx, the TEDx team took me aside and warned me that you might decide to do some Googling. As I keep a low profile, here is my introduction through friends who know me well. Gill is someone who is full of life, filled with dreams and enjoys life to the fullest. She looks at even risks with optimism and truly has a hearty laugh. No one ever said, "the kind that struggle with depression", nor did they suggest, "suicidal thoughts." But on the early morning of March 13th 2013, I took action and departed from my slumbering family. I drove to a close bridge and jumped off it. I don't recall the fall or what it felt like when I hit the ground; all I remember is being discovered. A neck brace was fastened onto me and I was quickly transported to a hospital in an ambulance. Two policemen knocked on my door, informing my husband of the accident. The news spread swiftly, causing great shock and distress throughout our circle of family and friends. Needless to say, I wasn't in good physical condition - many of my right side bones were broken, including my lung which had collapsed and my pelvis shattered. My mental state wasn't any better either. Rock bottom seemed like a thing of the past as I reflected on this newfound reality of becoming a recluse, living in a wheelchair with what would obviously be limited access to my children.
I often find it hard to trace the roots of my depression back, however I believe it likely began with the passing of my father. An event that felt like a shattering reality to me and sent shockwaves through my life. So, we decided to up sticks from our old lives and move to Devon on account of his death prompting a large review of life, hoping for a better stead here with a dream quality of life. But it was not hassle-free; there were trials, though nothing that we reckoned we couldn't overcome. A year into our time in Exeter, it was clear something was off - I hardly enjoyed activities as usual, I couldn't focus, my socializing became a herculean task and even basic decisions became hard. Waking up early started too. What was happening at the time for me? I questioned why I had to be depressed when seeing there were people around me with actual problems- a seriously-ill child, a dying friend, financial issues and all. How could I confidently tell them about my depression when I moved to Devon to be an example of inspiration? Even expressing these feelings felt embarrassing. I decided not to visit my family doctor, as I had met them in a social setting. This being the case, I was nervous they would learn of my humiliating fact if I confided in them; so instead, I got help through the local mental health service. As I progressed through cognitive behavioral therapy, my depression began to lift. This was a course of treatment that had been suggested for me. It was such an enormous relief to be able to focus my attention and reconnect with the world around me once again; I no longer desired to linger in the dark place I had been. I chose instead to relish each passing moment and embrace everything that life had to offer me just as ardently as before. I felt "under the weather" a few months later and initially thought I had come down with something. However, unfortunately, it turned out to be the return of my depression. I experienced the rapid descent and its tangible force much stronger than before. This time, it hit me even harder. I was so overwhelmed by the simple task of taking a trip to the supermarket that I stopped engaging with my mail and emails, had no enjoyment in eating, and strove unsuccessfully to maintain an outward appearance of normality. Sadly, this meant ultimately avoiding social interactions altogether; I just shut down.
My concerned husband made me see a doctor, who had me take a questionnaire about the severity of my depression; confirming it was indeed severe. However, I lied on the last two questions, which dealt with suicide; leaving me worrying as to how I could confess my feelings without risking losing my children? I was initially hesitant to take the doctor's prescribed antidepressants because I thought it might make me feel worse before I felt better, and taking them would be an admission of failure in my own ability to function without them. My depression had started to take a toll on my family; I found myself unable to give them the appropriate levels of support or focus due to its grip on me. I knew that this illness could potentially harm not only myself but also those closest to me, so I made the conscientious decision not to let that happen. At the break of dawn, I would always despise myself for still being alive when I'd lie awake at 1 a.m., conflicted with negative thoughts that weakened my spirit. Cowardliness and feelings of inadequacy would haunt me as I was stuck in an unhealthy cycle, relentlessly feeling like a burden to my family. Though I knew my family would be distressed, a depressing mentality convinced me that they'd ultimately be better off without me. Despite my feeling of pessimism, however, my husband, an extraordinary father, would undoubtedly excel in caring for our children should I not be around. My depression had motivated me to plan a holiday for them so they could have time to bury me, grieve my passing, take an opportunity to recover, and come back to a better life without me. Sadly, this shows the power of depression in its destructive nature.
The day before my attempt to take my own life, after taking the children to school, I found myself pulled over on the side of the road, feeling completely numb. I recall watching the buses go by and thinking that if I just stepped out in front of one it would be a quick end; yet unfortunately that would not be fair for the driver. But then again, what if it didn't work? Maiming myself wouldn't have been any better than being dead. I drove to a bridge and stayed in the car for some time. I wrote a suicide note, but felt so ashamed of myself that I tore it up immediately. The diary in my bag was evidence of my struggles with depression which was too painful for someone to read after I had gone, so I decided to destroy it by stopping the car and throwing it away. Surprised to see familiar faces, I picked my daughter up from school and took her to a swimming lesson. Exhausted with muted energy and an uninviting pale look with greasy hair, I knew I couldn't pretend to be the lively, conversational person they once knew. As usual, I went to bed that night and set my alarm for 1:00 a.m. No more delaying - this was the time to take action! I couldn't stop, allowed no room for hesitation and decided it was best to go without even saying goodbye; instead, all that remained was initiative. Lying on the road that morning, a complete mess in both body and mind because of the exhausting events over recent months - all due to my lack of self-control - that's how I ended up.
As I lay in my hospital bed, dreading the worst imaginable outcome, a vast outpouring of compassion filled me with strength and hope; the unconditional love and support from friends, family, and members of the community combined to create a monumental swell of solace that helped me maneuver around this trying ordeal. Many gestures of kindness were displayed which showed me support in my battle with mental health. Messages came pouring in, with individuals sharing their own experience and expressing compassion. I was unaware of the magnitude of these issues plaguing our society, despite being acquainted with the people who experienced it every day. Previously, they had been willing to shroud their strife and struggles, shielding me from knowledge of the sides of society that were still left unseen. A present sent to me from George, who is an old schoolfriend of my son, came amongst the bulk hospital post I received. This gift was a handmade bookmark with the single word "hope" embroidered upon it - a reminder of what can be thought even in challenging circumstances. When I was at my lowest, feeling severely depressed and utterly devoid of hope, a 10-year old boy said one word to me which encapsulated what I needed most: Recovery. Depression takes away all optimism, but even in my darkest time it gave me cause to feel that things would get better eventually. My physical recovery, which was long and painful, had clear milestones marking progress. My recovery from depression, however, was less distinct; eventually medication started to have an effect and I could again feel my emotions and cry - after a seemingly everlasting period of time things ultimately improved and I returned to normal in no time.
I attempted suicide, so I was placed on a waiting list for psychotherapy - however, it is common knowledge that these waiting lists are quite extensive, even for those in desperate need. It would be two and a half years of lingering before I finally began therapy with NHS. It was up to me to construct a scientific path to recovery, so I investigated depression more deeply in order to instill understanding of my condition and the distinguishing factors that had directed me there. Gaining proficiency with this understanding immensely aided my original recovery, but still sustains me in striving for wellness and success today. My family could have become one of the annual seventeen UK families that are stricken with devastating grief and all our unanswered questions, everyday. Yet, I am alive and well knowing this story could have had a very different ending, even with all those countless what-ifs. Shockingly high suicide rates in the UK call for immediate attention and understanding; as it is the number one cause of death amongst young people aged 20 to 34, and men aged under 50. However, these deaths are preventable yet overlooked as a problem for society. The stark contrast between physical health care and mental health care left a lasting impression on me while considering my own recovery story and what could have been different. Despite the promises of additional funding from the government, mental health services have been neglected for far too long now and cannot keep up with the demand due to major underfunding. We need an overhaul of our health system to equalize physical and mental healthcare. Awareness of depression is an essential part of creating change. We can all work towards this at a grassroots level, having a media impact at no extra cost. Know that depression isn't weakness or fault – it's an illness with serious implications on our mental state, emotions and behavior.
Early intervention and recognition of the signs of depression are essential for preventing suicidal activity. Symptoms can vary from person to person but may include thoughts progressing from mild depression to severe and, eventually, suicidal thoughts. Recognizing depression in ourselves or others is paramount in helping prevent a tragedy. Many of us are quick to cast judgement on things we don't understand, describing a suicide as selfish or cowardly. This is due to an incomplete understanding of what goes on in a depressed mind – it has its own illogical logic that often becomes impossible for someone with a healthy mental psyche to relate to. We have another way to challenge the stigma associated with my experience of depression: through acknowledging its true nature. When well-meaning friends refer to my accident, I open up corrective dialogue and encourage them to rephrase it accurately; this way, we can all work together towards breaking stigmas. Amidst darkness and desperation, misunderstanding and stigma can crush our hope. These painful emotions - solitude, embarrassment and self-judgment - are exasperated when suffering from depression. We all must work together to build a safe space where they can express their thoughts and feelings uncensored by judgements or hatred. When I was discharged from hospital, I grabbed the opportunity to talk about the difficult situations with each of my children. Even though it was one of those conversations no mother would surely want to have, I knew that it had to be done, so as to explain what had transpired. Discussions about mental health should definitely be had with more of our young ones. As I've grown and gotten an understanding of its severity, it has become clear how necessary these conversations are. After all, throughout the passing of time, it has become apparent just how widespread the issue really is. When it was time for my kids to leave the nest, I didn't think suicide would be one of my main worries. Yet surprisingly enough, statistics tell me that it is more likely for a child to succumb to this rather than alcohol and drugs related issues or road traffic accidents.
If someone close to you is exhibiting signs of depression, talk to them about it and make sure they are aware that support resources such as Samaritans and Crisis Line are available. Do not brush off the situation too quickly as depression can impact anyone at any given time. It's not easy to open up and share our stories of depression, but in my case it was somewhat unavoidable - I chose to keep mine hidden until I jumped off a bridge, that surely gave away that something was wrong. Sharing our stories is crucial for others to comprehend that they are not the only ones dealing with hardships. Conversing about our struggles can prove to be a way out— that even though it is anguish, a possibility of it being made easier still exists. When I felt completely hopeless and down, George's bookmark and its inspirational calling was an unexpected source of comfort to me. I'm also amazed to discover the plentiful amounts of support and empathy that people can provide when communicating about difficult changes in life. We can all contribute to creating hope and discovering answers by conversing, understanding more, defying prejudice, and taking small steps. Thank you for being part of the equation.
See also: https://mygodsentangels.com/