Your depressed self is still you

At the risk of not making sense to anyone else, please enjoy this random revelation I had on my way home from therapy. No, not the day I picked up the pigeon, that was a different session.

During therapy, my therapist mentioned how far I’ve come this year. I started seeing her in January (2024) and the stress of unpacking the trauma from years of sexual abuse and really looking at some of the conditions I was raised in on top of what I was already dealing with shoved me into a depressive spiral. By April I was having a full-scale self-harm relapse that didn’t abate until June when I started my new job.

Basically, it was a rough year and to her I’ve come a long way.

But as I’m listening to her talk about how balanced I am, how organised and self-aware and how well I’m coping I’m like “yeah but I’m not having an episode right now. Of course I’m doing well, you’re with the sane version of me.”

I realised that when I look for progress in my life or when I’m monitoring my mental health, I only compare my stable self to past versions of my stable self. There’s a point below which I don’t see myself as “me” anymore.

Surely we don’t have to count the weeks and months where I’m not functioning as a human being, right? I have an unfair advantage over that person.

The logic for me is that if I only compare stable versions of myself, I can see what’s working and what’s not. When I’m deep in an episode, I’m not doing my self-care, I’m not using the techniques I’ve picked up in therapy, I’m not being careful with my communication – I’m just surviving. I’m doing whatever is in my power to fulfill my roles and duties. I don’t particularly care how I achieve that or the cost to myself, I just have to get through. I have to look after my family and home, with a focus on making sure my kids aren’t worrying about me/don’t realise I’m unwell.

If I’m not trying to improve and I’m not using any of the positive coping tools I have at my disposal, then I can’t actually say if they’re helping. I’m also not—in my mind—making progress, I’m trying to get back to ground zero. I’m pulling myself out of a hole and only then can I build something.

But, by seeing depressed Caelus as a different person than stable Caelus, I also shirk accountability for the things I’m doing and saying during my episodes. I’m blaming my illness – but that’s still me. My mental illness is a part of me.

I might not feel like myself when I’m mentally ill—and I’m certainly not the best version of myself!— but that’s still me. And whether or not I’m attributing those periods of time to myself, other people certainly are.

Thinking about it now, I wonder if the disconnect is partly due to how I’ve defended the self-harm. Whether its small kids asking if I was attacked by a shark or my husband’s disapproval, I’ve often said, “self-harm is a symptom of my mental illness.” (In the same way that after Robin Williams died people recognised suicide as a symptom of depression – Depression is the illness that killed him.)

Some people point out that it’s still me doing it, I am still harming myself, but it’s not something I could just go and do any old time – I need to be seriously unwell. There’s a disconnect there. Something broken. Something desperate.

As I edit this post, I realise that I’m also looking at growth as a linear thing – and it’s not. There is no personal best to beat. No tidy way to measure progress.

My therapist is right; I’ve come a long way this year. Whilst parts of that journey included back tracking, circling, and landmarks I’m sure I’ve visited before, the experiences and tools I’ve picked up are still worthwhile. Moreover, it doesn’t benefit any of us to discredit ourselves or our efforts. To consider our growth not growthy enough to count. That’s stupid! And honestly? Still being here despite everything is worth celebrating on its own as the year draws to a close.

Miriam Caelus has struggled with depression since puberty (the first one). It has gotten in the way of all the things he loves, such as: writing books, planning, gardening, video gaming and witchcraft. Luckily, he has three beautiful children to barge him out of bed every morning and inspire him to be better.

Buddy is a fledgling pigeon who enjoys peas, corn, good company, and shitting on the carpet.