The dictionary defines depression as, amongst other things, "being depressed in spirits, dejection; (path) state of reduced vitality". But as usual, that is an understatement. I have had clinical depression since I was 15 and I am now 60+. So, for more than half my life, I have had this. From the point of view of someone on the other side, a depressed person is weak, feeble and could easily help themselves, if they could only be bothered to try. But for some reason, no one would tell a person with a broken leg to pull themselves together; that they could easily walk if they only tried. Or someone with an illness that can be seen to afflict them. That is half the problem. Depression cannot be seen and a depressed person may well go to lengths to hide the fact that they are ill. There is a fear about depression, largely because of the stigma that goes with any condition of the brain. As things stand, the only way to treat depression is to force the sufferer to take addictive drugs and/or be incarcerated in an institution. We may not treat people with mental illnesses the way the Victorians did, as entertainment, but we are still no nearer to understanding it. Outer space is more easily understood than the workings of the human mind.

Why did I get depression? Well, I believe I was already predisposed to the condition as my Mother also suffered from it and it is possible that other members of her family had depression, especially along the distaff side. I often had severe pmt, which is another indication that I might have a depressed personality. I became seriously depressed at the age of 15 after my family emigrated to New Zealand. For the first time in my life I learned what it is to be bullied. Every day of the four years I spent there was a hell where I was told I was too ugly, too fat, too stupid to live and I should just do everyone a favour and put myself out of their misery. To this day I have no idea why I was picked on. I had already spent three weeks at school and was quite happy, making friends, getting to know the system. Then the school closed for the summer holidays. When I went back, suddenly I was being singled out for bullying and I still do not know why.

This went on and on. I tried to truant as often as I could and when I had to go to school, I learned to hide whenever and wherever possible. In the 1970's, little was done about bullying and neither the school nor my parents were at all supportive. In fact my parents contributed with emotional and physical abuse at home. So, I retreated into myself and spent most evenings and weekends alone. As I grew older and grew up, I tried to eradicate the memories of those years, but being constantly told that one is unfit for human society becomes ingrained. It is accepted today that if a baby is treated with emotional bullying, he or she grows up to have little self-esteem. I believe that is especially true of teenagers, who are already vulnerable.

I once tried to seek help for my depression from the medical profession. My doctor seemed sceptical that I was depressed, but referred me to the outpatients' clinic at a local psychiatric hospital. I had one appointment where I was assessed and diagnosed as having clinical depression, then I heard no more. When I went to see my doctor a year later on another matter, the doctor said that a follow-up appointment had been made for me but I had failed to attend. What had happened was that the hospital told the doctor's secretary, but I was never informed of the appointment. That was my one and only brush with medical help. Though I have had two terms of therapy with psychiatrists. Neither of them were able to suggest anything concrete to help with ,y depression, except the inevitable advice to take medication, which I refused. Although the second psychiatrist came to the conclusion that I am on the Asperger's spectrum; which explained a lot.

I have known people, also with depression, who are prescribed drugs. We are told that many of the drugs are non addictive, yet trying to cut down the dose or even doing away with them, becomes well-nigh impossible. I refuse to take a drug which no one really understands fully, which has side effects and which I would become dependent on. I am not even addicted to coffee, so I am not going to let myself become addicted to some expensive drug. I have used St John's wort in the past, but have to stop taking it as I am diabetic. Besides, sometimes it is not enough during a really bad attack.

I have depression every day, though I can usually cope and seem to function rather well. But sometimes it hits me hard and I can barely get through the days. There is one year which I can barely remember at all. All I can recall is a deep, dark pit. When I am seriously depressed I have panic attacks, I become agitated and anxious. I cry easily and often: my emotions feel raw. I am often beset with thoughts of suicide and quite honestly feel that that is the only solution. It is only the fact that I am a Pagan that has, so far, prevented me from taking that route. Everything I once enjoyed doing becomes useless: even the internet. Just getting through the days, one step at a time, is a real struggle. I also become even more withdrawn than I already am.