5 Stages I Went Through After A Terminal Diagnosis

Depression is a dirty word to some, even those who suffer from it. It's perceived as a self-serving pity party, wallowing, selfish misery coddled and owned by the morbid and morose.

But in my experience it doesn't mean being sad and mopey, although that can be a symptom, it's so much more complicated than that. A story of despair, insane loneliness and a numb sensation that leaves you feeling completely worthless.

Life is the dog turd you stepped in and it tries to wipe you off on the grass. It's a filthy swamp of dark thoughts which you swirl around in but seemingly never sink.

I was put on Citalopram, a mood stabilizer, which did just that; it zombified my brain, levelling out the highs and filling in the lows. Problem was I liked the highs and could just about live with the lows. Such a tug of war; my love for life was now inhibited yet my yearn for death was diluted.

I hated it. Six months in I weaned myself off choosing to take the lows on the chin and enjoy the highs as a reward for doing so.

It's ironic that a death note from the doc comes with intense suicidal thoughts. I struggle every day, especially "pain days" where I'd rather be underground in peace than above ground in agony.

I consider my ability to write this article a victory over the hills and valleys of depression.

It IS a roller coaster... but I'm still on it.