by M M Johns

Created on: October 18, 2009

Hello, my name is Maurice and I am suffering from depression. That sounds like an introduction at a meeting of Alcoholics Anonymous, doesn't it? However, if you look at the two, alcoholism and depression together, there are some similarities. It can be difficult to admit to suffering from either, as there is often a social stigma attached to both and there is definitely a lack of understanding on the part of people we know as to how some of us can fall prone to such illnesses.

I am recovering from a bout of depression which almost cost me my life. It has been two years since the first instance of this illness and I am moving steadily down the road to recovery. At least this is what I'm told. Sometimes it doesn't feel like it! I can say that I have reached the lowest point it is possible for anyone to sink into and I am now clawing my way back, gradually achieving some semblance of normality. I can reinforce this belief to myself by comparing the place I am now in to the place I was in a year ago. It has been, and continues to be, a long and arduous process. A long dark, frightening tunnel with demons lurking in the darkness waiting for a moment of weakness, the smallest breach in the mind's defenses, to pounce and inveigle their way back in to drag me back into the raging inferno of hell. Now there is a glimmer of light at the end of this tunnel, lighting the way, albeit dimly at times, pushing the demons screeching back into the shadows, but it is a light which I can work my way towards.

A cheerful depressive? I hear you ask. How can there be such a thing? That is a contradiction in terms, in much the same way as combining the words military and intelligent in the same sentence. Well, I know that people who do not know me well, and have been unaware that I was suffering from depression, would describe me as cheerful, easy going, laid back even. Only those who know me well can see that I was suffering from a depressive illness. Even then I tried to maintain a positive outlook when I met or talked to anyone. The public persona against the private hell which was hidden from all but a few.

All this simply because I was ashamed and embarrassed to admit I was suffering from a mental health problem. I, on occasion, wanted to shout and scream - "See me, not the illness, do not treat me any differently than you have done. It is not contagious and I am the same person, albeit with a slightly different perception on life.

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