Dervish

I recently read on a collection of ‘top ten blogging mistakes,’ never to blog about your personal things you don’t want a future prospective employer to know. Because once it has been put out into the cyber-universe you can never get it back. I have a conversion story out there which I hate (it just does not represent me or my way of thinking now) and it’s replicated on a variety of sites that gives me little hope of trying to set fire to the darn thing. C’est la vie.

So it’s with some trepidation that I write about my personal battle with depression: there are a great many taboos about the illness, with vestiges of nineteenth century attitudes towards nutters from the nuthouse. I’m leaving a lot of the personal stuff out, and writing about how it felt to me to be depressed, so that I can maintain a little bit of privacy over what has been a pretty rough trot. But having the right doctor, the right medication and a loving family has been my salvation, alhamdulillah. (BTW usual disclaimer, none of this is to be considered individual medical advice, go see your doctor etc. etc.)

We have a common instance of this referring to second causes what ought to be referred to the First Cause [God] in the case of so-called illness. For instance, if a man ceases to take any interest in worldly matters, conceives a distaste for common pleasures, and appears sunk in depression, the doctor will say, ‘This is a case of melancholy, and requires such and such a prescription.’ The physicist will say, ‘This is a dryness of the brain caused by hot weather and cannot be relieved till the air becomes moist.’ The astrologer will attribute it to some particular conjunction or opposition of planets. ‘Thus far their wisdom reaches,’ says the Qur’an. It does not occur to them that what has really happened is this: that the Almighty has a concern for the welfare of that man, and has therefore commanded His servants, the planets or the elements, to produce such a condition in him that he may turn away from the world to his Maker. The knowledge of this fact is a lustrous pearl from the ocean of inspirational knowledge, to which all other forms of knowledge are as islands in the sea.

The doctor, physicist, and astrologer are doubtless right each in his particular branch of knowledge, but they do not see that illness is, so to speak, a cord of love by which God draws to Himself the saints concerning whom He has said, ‘I was sick and ye visited Me not.’ Illness itself is one of those forms of experience by which man arrives at the knowledge of God, as He says by the mouth of His Prophet, ‘Sicknesses themselves are My servants, and are attached to My chosen.’ (Al-Ghazali, The Alchemy of Happiness)

I don’t know why I got depressed, except that it is true that it was during my depression that I found Islam. I was raised, alhamdulillah, by loving parents that aren’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination, but who did their best for me and my siblings. There were lots of laughs, kisses and cuddles. No physical abuse (I remember getting a swat on the backside for naughty behaviour only twice in my life). We got sent to private secondary schools, we had extra-curricular music and sports. Sure there were some stuff that my parents did and said that has taken me a while to realise the impact (mostly to do with my weight) but on the whole, I’ve had a pretty happy life, alhamdulillah. So I really don’t know why I got severely, clinically depressed, except that I’ve always been a sensitive sort.

It was before I was a Muslim and quite a few years in the making. It could have been disturbed sleep patterns (too many late nights on the internet), it could have been because of my weight (although I’ve battled that most of my life). I suspect it’s probably just wonky wiring, because with the right medication my engine purrs like a kitten.

At the time, none of us (me or my family) knew I was depressed. Lots of stuff happened, which I won’t talk about here because I need a bit of privacy with how out-of-whack my life became, not to mention my poor family. But essentially, I lost all hope and sense of vitality completely. Each day blurred into another, and I remember feeling like I was in Star Trek’s phase-shift. That’s when you can see everyone, but no-one can see you because you’re a fraction out of sync in time. I felt like I was looking at the world through a window, or that there was a big grey cloud surrounding me that I just couldn’t quite break through to get out the other side. I wasn’t sad, I just felt hopeless, literally.

It got pretty bad, and after deciding that carbon monoxide poisoning might be the way to go, I realised that I seriously needed help. Some IRC chat-friends convinced me to ring my mum who took me to my local GP who realised that I seriously needed help and prescribed anti-depressants and a visit with a psychiatrist. This was the best thing that could have happened to me. That and later moving to England to marry Abu Yasmin, which gave me a bit of breathing space to find myself again. The anti-depressants took a few weeks to kick in (as they say) but the main danger had passed, and now I began climbing up out of the pit.

Since then I’ve had one or two flirts with depression again. Mostly through trying to come off the meds. And when I say try to come off, I mean with my doctors’ advice I’ve tried three or four times to wean myself off them, but a few months later I’m crazy-lady again. Because of this, both my doctor and I believe my problem is essentially wonky-wiring. I just work well on medication. I’m not happy-clappy, I’m not ecstatic, in fact I’m still a pain-in-the-butt most of the time. But on the medication I can function. This is why I know that Tom Cruise has absolutely no feckin’ (to use the Irish) clue with his dangerous and incompetent mis-advice. And I’m certainly no allopathic-medicine-groupie, by any stretch of the imagination.

What it boils down to is this: some people can be treated with counselling, life-style changes, diet etc; some people can be treated quite succesfully with medication alone; some people need both. But seeking competent medical advice is always a must. And finding good medical advice is ultra-important. If you feel that your medication, doctor, nurse, counsellor, psychologist or psychiatrist is not right / not taking you seriously / not your cup-of-tea then go searching. Try, try, and try again. Keep looking until insha’Allah you find the right one/s. Because living with depression is not living at all.

Now for the medication side of it: I should say that for some people medication does not help, and they can have icky side-effects. Also, it can be a bit of a hit-and-miss affair with some meds working for some people and others not. Plus, it can take a few weeks for the meds to kick in, meanwhile you have to be patient AND deal with the depression AND wondering if it’s just taking a while, or is it not working.

Medication comes in ‘classes’ or different types that work in different ways. I’ve been on a few of ‘em: MAOIs, Tricyclics and SSRIs. This last group seems to have been the best for me, and for a few years I was on citalopram which was pretty good, except for a bearable but unfortunate side-effect that is too private to mention here. Fluvoxamine maleate actually made me paranoid and sent me off the deep end within a very short time of taking it, but the one I’m on now is fantabulous. It’s an altered version of the citalopram called escitalopram oxalate and I can happily report no side-effects (YIPPPEEEEEEE) and it’s the best medication I’ve ever taken (my individual experience is that it was quite quick to work, and quite effective indeed in terms of helping me to function as a normal person).

If you want to know how escitalopram oxalate works on the brain chemistry, then you can visit the brand-name Lexapro website. Basically it has something to do with maximising how long seratonin (the neurotransmitter associated with feeling good, among other things) stays around in your brain. But if you want a really good site on depression medication in general, then Crazy Meds! is really funny and very informative.

If you’re in Australia (which most of my readers aren’t) then DepressioNet is a good portal to find out about depression, treating it, and meeting other people who suffer with the illness.

Also, if you want to email me personally then I’m always a handy cyber-shoulder to cry on.

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