Eileen

When I was seventeen, I became extremely unhappy. My self-esteem plummeted and I found it increasingly difficult to concentrate; sometimes nodding off at school. When I started skipping school and became more and more withdrawn, my parents became very concerned and encouraged me to visit my GP, who diagnosed Depression and prescribed anti-depressants. When my mood didn’t improve, he referred me to a psychiatrist at the Royal Edinburgh Hospital’s Young People’s Unit.

Having left school, I began visiting the psychiatrist weekly, who gently helped me learn to talk about my feelings and prescribed me some new anti-depressants. He explained that while my illness had “knocked the stuffing out of me”, there was lots he could do and I would soon be feeling more like my old self again.

He was right, and within a few months I felt confident enough to begin studying Higher Music at my local college. Things seemed to be going well, so when a couple of my classmates applied to study an HND, I did too and began at Napier the following autumn.

Unfortunately, the course proved too stressful and my old symptoms returned. My work seemed to become harder and harder and I began to compare myself very negatively to the rest of my class. I remember feeling like a total failure and that there was no point to anything any more.

A few weeks later, when things hadn’t improved, my psychiatrist admitted me into hospital. I remember him reassuring me that hospital was nothing to be frightened of and that I wouldn’t be in for long. However, I must admit finding the adult ward quite frightening, so I spent every day by myself in the non-smoking room. My parents were an invaluable support – as they were throughout my illness – visiting me every day and providing a lifeline to familiarity. I also began attending the Day Unit at the hospital’s Young People’s Unit, which, besides providing structure and routine, allowed me to meet friendly folk of my own age and paired me with a keyworker in whom I could confide. After I was discharged from the ward, I continued attending the Day Unit every day, enjoying activities like bowling, cinema, art and crafts.
Eventually, I recovered and slowly built my confidence back up. But Depression is a nasty illness and it returned with a vengeance several times during the next few years, making me believe I was a horrible person and that everything was hopeless. At times I gave up completely, resigning myself to the assumption that I’d always be depressed.

My parents, however, never tired of reminding me that I was a valuable person, that I didn’t deserve to suffer and that I would eventually recover. They encouraged me to talk about my feelings, providing a shoulder to cry on whenever I needed it. They also helped me discover new hobbies, giving me much-needed activity and less time to over-think.

Although I would never have believed it possible six or seven years ago, today I am well and content and have been for several years. Whilst I would never want to repeat my experiences, they have helped me gain self-awareness and insight and taught me never to take my life for granted.

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