talkmentalhealth

I had had joint problems for many years, tendon problems and more recently, eye dryness, blurred vision, dry nose, dry ears, periods of extreme fatigue, and even more recently, very dry skin and genitals. Of course, I had been to see my GP and various specialists over time, but usually just with one or two of these symptoms. IBS and reflux were also on the agenda. The doctors were always kind, considerate and sympathetic, but I always felt like a heart-sink patient and began to become extremely anxious about seeking advice.

I had been told I was depressed, and possibly, I was – not surprising really, as I was struggling with getting through each day. And I began to feel my illness was ‘all in the mind’. I also developed some lung problems in that time – shown on a CT as bronchiectasis, and then asthma. Not surprising, I also acquired the label of ‘anxious patient’. 

Read the full story

When I fell off my attic ladder last year and ended up in hospital, it was the latest in a string of physical mishaps that led some of my friends to call me parliament’s Mr Bump.

First I had done in my knee running for a vote and ended up on crutches. Then I was assaulted on a train in a way that was not in truth very serious but people imagined was painful, particularly when a CCTV image of my rather well-built assailant was released to the media.

All of this was a bit embarrassing but nothing to hide away or be ashamed of. Hell, I even agreed to let my local paper, the North-West Evening Mail, come and take a picture of me in hospital after my ladder escapade.

So, because brilliant, inspiring people have had the courage to speak up and make the case that my latest ailment shouldn’t be treated any differently from these physical injuries, I am just going to come right out and say that I am clinically depressed. I went to see a doctor this week who prescribed me medication to relieve my black moods.

I am very much hoping that my constituents and fellow parliamentarians won’t notice much of a difference from me popping pills. I have mostly managed to avoid moping about like Eeyore up until now, and am assured that the anti-depressants I am taking will not induce any inappropriate “you’re my best mate” euphoria in the House of Commons chamber.

But I felt I needed to do something because the painfully long time it is taking to recover from banging my head when I fell off the ladder means there are regular periods when I am left utterly drained by simple tasks and barely able to get out of bed – and that exhaustion can make me really down.

Read the full story

Firstly, What gives ME the right to tell you? Am I a Doctor? NO. Am I a Psychiatric nurse? No. Actually. I am a big hairy scary looking big mohawked tattooed Biker. I wear the leather waist coat with the patches and badges. Probably the kind that you see walking towards you and you cross the road to avoid.

So, does that qualify me? No. Of course not. But I am happy to tell you about my personal depression. What Depression is to me.

I hope the above helps to cast away any thoughts or stereo types anyone associates with depression. As that is me, and I have been suffering from what has been called double dip depression. I have suffered for 20 years. I hope that somehow helps qualify me to talk about it to you and anyone that will listen. 

I, in one of my few better spells, also worked as a community Psychiatric support officer. So I have seen both sides.

Read Curitis's story here

 

Read the full story