Mustard 1 - Depression 0.

Last week, a cloud of depression hit me out of no where. It didn't last long, only about a day, but it scared the bejeezus out of me. I have been reluctant to write about it on here, so publicly, but I think that by not writing about it, I am coming across a stumbling block and not able to write about anything else. So I thought maybe if I just address it, make a quick post about it, I can put it to bed, move on, and write about happier things.
Everyone that knows me, knows I have a history of depression. Having M.S has had, generally, more of a positive than negative impact on my mental health. Sometimes however, I get thumped in the face with depression to the point where I literally can not move, speak, eat, wash or do anything apart from sit, stare and breathe.
I got hints of its presence on Wednesday evening, I could feel it coming on. Then it seem to pass and I felt so relieved. The dread of feeling depression on the horizon is worse than the dread I experience when I realise I'm having a M.S relapse. Both depression and M.S are uncontrollable beasts, yet depression clouds absolutely everything. It permeates every single aspect of life and self. I can be having a relapse, be in a wheelchair, be seeing double, be in pain - but I can still be happy, I can still enjoy food, I can still enjoy the company of others, laugh, and most of all retain my sense of self. Depression sneaks in and takes away all of those things. All the colour is instantly drained out of everything. Nothing feels right, nothing is interesting, nothing is funny, everything is pointless, everything is nothing when depression comes to visit.
After thinking I had got away with only a fleeting encounter with The Beast, I woke on Thursday to find it had crept in during the night and ruined everything - or so it felt at the time. Nothing had changed, no drama, no upset. It just arrived stealth like and cold and flooded every aspect of my thinking.
It felt like it was drowning the real me. I wanted to scream out for help, but as it got bigger it sunk me more. I felt like I was literally trying to reach out for help but just couldn't. It was stopping me doing anything that the real me wanted to do. Trying to take control and do everything in its power to hurt the me it seemed to be trying to overtake. I felt like a hostage inside my own head. Eventually, I was allowed to cry, but still couldn't verbalise what was going on, just holding on to the boyfriends hand so tight as if clinging on physically would pull me out of the depression or at least stop me sinking even further. It was making me lie to him, making me be deceptive in order to full-fill its own destructive urges. I don't want to call it self destructive as it really didn't feel like myself that was wanting to do the destruction. So strong is the sense that it is an invasion, something that was happening totally out of my own control. I do know it was all me, that depression is a part of me, it is all coming from my own brain, I'm not being totally psychotic about it or anything. I am just trying to get across how it feels at the time.
I guess in the past, the real me wouldn't have been separated from the depression for long enough to build up the strength to resist the destructive urges. I would've given in and self harmed. I didn't do that, I am glad I didn't do that. Although I did relent to it and cancel the mindfulness course. As I wrote the text saying I couldn't make it, I was trying to stop myself, each word was a wrench, I paused as I pressed send trying to stop myself doing it, but I just couldn't. I knew it would hurt me by not going, I knew I would regret it, I knew I'd feel better if I went. But because I knew this, so did the depression because of course it is privy to the same information in my brain as I am, nothing is private or safe from it. It really did feel like I was being forced to do something I didn't want to do. I know it was me doing it, but that is not how it felt at the time.

Anyhow, eventually I did get some words out beyond 'I need help' and managed to vaguely verbalise the fear to the boyfriend, who took the night off work and we cuddled on the sofa and I didn't feel alone with the depression any more. By telling him, the balance of power swung back in my favour and the depression started to recede.

I don't want to go back and read this for errors because if I do I'll probably chicken out of posting it, and I think I do need to post it. After all, there is no shame in depression.