According to some scientist or another -- or maybe even several, I'm not sure -- people suffering from Depression are more likely to look down whilst walking.

Well quite honestly, is it surprising they're depressed? I'd be bloody depressed, too, if I kept bumping into things because I wasn't looking where I was going, wouldn't you?

Actually I have suffered from depression. Still do if I don't take my 'loony juice', as Richard calls it. It's real name's Fluoxetine, otherwise known as Prozac. I don't think it had anything to do with bumping into things, though. Probably more the fact that I was learning to live with -- still am learning to live with -- my medical situation, being stuck in this poxy little house after being used to having plenty of room, having my freedom removed (evidently I can't move away from this borough as no other health authority is likely to take me because of the cost of my medical needs) and not being particular happy about being in England. A few other things were mixed in for good measure but I don't need to go into them all. One very big one was, and still is, that I'm no longer sure who the hell I am.

I left England when I was 19 and came back as a 36 year old woman. People change a lot during that time, right? Only I came back and found myself confused - almost as though that part of my life hadn't happened because I couldn't relate to the things a 36 year old normally would be able to. I didn't know how the tax system worked, how to claim financial help for my son, or even how to pay my bills (yes, something as simple as that is done differently in Norway). And then there were the friends I'd had when I left. Some were still around and again, I felt confused. They didn't know me, the person I'd grown into. They knew the Sharon that left 18 years earlier and I felt as though I was still expected to be that person. They hadn't changed much -- I suppose because they had the same influences the whole time -- but I had. Did I really fit in? I didn't know. I kept trying but all the while I kept losing more of myself.

My depression, I suppose, was a culmination of all of those things. It isn't something I talk about much - in fact, I don't think I've really spoken about it to anybody. Not even my closest friends really know how I feel. Why? Stop asking such difficult questions!

What's the point in writing this? I DON'T BLOODY WELL KNOW! It all started off with bumping into stuff so blame the scientists! It's gotta be somebody else's fault. Right?



Related Link:
Fluoxetine

~~+~~

Depression