The unfair truth
Posted: Sun Jul 13, 2008 4:08 pm
I first got depressed as a kid growing up in Zimbabwe, at around 11 years of age.
My dad was what was then called a manic depressive, but his depression borders on psychosis…..he was always obsessive about tidiness, cleanliness etc to the degree that he had to have his own bathroom and would allow no-one except a cleaner in there or into his study – and usually shouted at her afterwards for doing a shoddy job.
He couldn’t bring himself to touch or hug us kids – couldn’t even share a bed with his wife, my mother. They had single beds. He hated women, was always verbally abusing mum, when it wasn’t escalating into physical violence. God knows how they ever had us kids…
He couldn’t trust anyone – even his wife or us kids. If something went missing or there was something amiss, and he suspected me, or my sister he’d interrogate me for hours (ex cop) until either he’d convinced himself I had lied, or someone else in the family presented him with proof that it wasn’t me who had committed whatever “crime” had occurred. Even a discussion could never end unless he had the last word – dad couldn’t be wrong. Not ever. He loved us, I know that, but as a father? What a joke.
The normal thing they argued about were dad working (or not as the case could be) or in the main, my sister and I, and what was best for us. But mainly me, since I was the son.
I grew up being very different to most of the kids in my class – I didn’t think the same or act the same thanks to dad’s teaching, so I never really learnt to be a good friend, and never really had more than one good friend in my life. I was always fighting, being obnoxious, and getting into trouble.
And at the age of 11 – I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided that I must be the reason my folks were always fighting, and I took a bunch of dad’s pills to sort the problem out for them and for me – I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Dad found me, and rushed me to the hospital…. I remember orange bugs crawling out of the dashboard plastic on the way to the hospital as I got dizzier – cool hallucination. Having my stomach pumped and the subsequent detox wasn’t so much fun – I felt like my bones were on fire as I came too. Then I met someone I’d grow to hate – Dr Lowe.
A psychiatrist, Dr Lowe was a disciple of Sigmund Freud. She decided that my depression and animosity that grew up between my sister and I over the next few years were due to an unhealthy sexual attraction between the two of us and that we needed to tell the family… No wonder early psychologists have earned themselves a bad reputation. With a therapist like that who on earth needs any enemies??? For the record, I do NOT have an attraction towards ANY family member!!!
I eventually got old enough to refuse to go to Dr Lowe any more, with another attempt on my life inbetween. My folks split up (thankfully) and I didn’t talk to my father for many years. I somehow survived my senior school years – barely scraped my O levels with the help of Prozac, and became a motor mechanic apprentice. I completed that in 2000 at the age of 20 and moved to the UK. Haven’t used it since.
That was almost 8 years ago. In that time, I’ve been on and off antidepressants, come close to rock bottom emotionally and financially on more than one occasion, and have almost completed an honours degree in Applied Psychology.
I’m no closer to understanding why the antidepressants work or don’t work. I’m in therapy with a counsellor who practices interpersonal therapy. I don’t have any self confidence. I’m ashamed of who and what I am. I have very little joy in life, even when I’m not really, really down. I don’t go out. I’m not in a relationship…. The unfair truth about this depression is that I’m going to have this problem for life, along with all the baggage that goes with it and this brings me to my question for all of you fellow depressives out there:
My question is: Do I have the moral right to go into a relationship, knowing what I’m like to live with when I’m down? And do I have the right to have kids? DO WE AS DEPRESSIVES REALLY HAVE THESE MORAL RIGHTS?
My own answer to these questions is: NO. I don’t think I do have the right. I broke up with my ex because I thought it unfair to drag her through another episode – and I believe she would have broken up with me eventually anyway because of it. And as for kids – clinical depression is caused by both environmental and hereditary factors – I believe my kids would get the worst of both from me, so I decided years ago not to have any. Just as I learned bad interpersonal skills from my dad and got his wacky genes, my kids probably would too…. How can I knowingly do that to them?
So my future is bleak….and I have to admit, there’s not a lot to keep me living it. I just wish I had some hope that things will somehow just magically come right….
Thanks for reading.
My dad was what was then called a manic depressive, but his depression borders on psychosis…..he was always obsessive about tidiness, cleanliness etc to the degree that he had to have his own bathroom and would allow no-one except a cleaner in there or into his study – and usually shouted at her afterwards for doing a shoddy job.
He couldn’t bring himself to touch or hug us kids – couldn’t even share a bed with his wife, my mother. They had single beds. He hated women, was always verbally abusing mum, when it wasn’t escalating into physical violence. God knows how they ever had us kids…
He couldn’t trust anyone – even his wife or us kids. If something went missing or there was something amiss, and he suspected me, or my sister he’d interrogate me for hours (ex cop) until either he’d convinced himself I had lied, or someone else in the family presented him with proof that it wasn’t me who had committed whatever “crime” had occurred. Even a discussion could never end unless he had the last word – dad couldn’t be wrong. Not ever. He loved us, I know that, but as a father? What a joke.
The normal thing they argued about were dad working (or not as the case could be) or in the main, my sister and I, and what was best for us. But mainly me, since I was the son.
I grew up being very different to most of the kids in my class – I didn’t think the same or act the same thanks to dad’s teaching, so I never really learnt to be a good friend, and never really had more than one good friend in my life. I was always fighting, being obnoxious, and getting into trouble.
And at the age of 11 – I couldn’t take it anymore. I decided that I must be the reason my folks were always fighting, and I took a bunch of dad’s pills to sort the problem out for them and for me – I just couldn’t take it anymore.
Dad found me, and rushed me to the hospital…. I remember orange bugs crawling out of the dashboard plastic on the way to the hospital as I got dizzier – cool hallucination. Having my stomach pumped and the subsequent detox wasn’t so much fun – I felt like my bones were on fire as I came too. Then I met someone I’d grow to hate – Dr Lowe.
A psychiatrist, Dr Lowe was a disciple of Sigmund Freud. She decided that my depression and animosity that grew up between my sister and I over the next few years were due to an unhealthy sexual attraction between the two of us and that we needed to tell the family… No wonder early psychologists have earned themselves a bad reputation. With a therapist like that who on earth needs any enemies??? For the record, I do NOT have an attraction towards ANY family member!!!
I eventually got old enough to refuse to go to Dr Lowe any more, with another attempt on my life inbetween. My folks split up (thankfully) and I didn’t talk to my father for many years. I somehow survived my senior school years – barely scraped my O levels with the help of Prozac, and became a motor mechanic apprentice. I completed that in 2000 at the age of 20 and moved to the UK. Haven’t used it since.
That was almost 8 years ago. In that time, I’ve been on and off antidepressants, come close to rock bottom emotionally and financially on more than one occasion, and have almost completed an honours degree in Applied Psychology.
I’m no closer to understanding why the antidepressants work or don’t work. I’m in therapy with a counsellor who practices interpersonal therapy. I don’t have any self confidence. I’m ashamed of who and what I am. I have very little joy in life, even when I’m not really, really down. I don’t go out. I’m not in a relationship…. The unfair truth about this depression is that I’m going to have this problem for life, along with all the baggage that goes with it and this brings me to my question for all of you fellow depressives out there:
My question is: Do I have the moral right to go into a relationship, knowing what I’m like to live with when I’m down? And do I have the right to have kids? DO WE AS DEPRESSIVES REALLY HAVE THESE MORAL RIGHTS?
My own answer to these questions is: NO. I don’t think I do have the right. I broke up with my ex because I thought it unfair to drag her through another episode – and I believe she would have broken up with me eventually anyway because of it. And as for kids – clinical depression is caused by both environmental and hereditary factors – I believe my kids would get the worst of both from me, so I decided years ago not to have any. Just as I learned bad interpersonal skills from my dad and got his wacky genes, my kids probably would too…. How can I knowingly do that to them?
So my future is bleak….and I have to admit, there’s not a lot to keep me living it. I just wish I had some hope that things will somehow just magically come right….
Thanks for reading.
just because you don't have interpersonal skills doesn't mean you don't have the right to have a child.... i think you are too harsh on yourself... but please remember... you have to do what's right by your future family though... or at least try your best...
All the best... keep us updated here in this forum... i'm so happy that you have shared your story here...