Depression: One woman’s honest account

DAILE Kelleher still gets butterflies when she sees a psychologist. But after attempting suicide, she has “no shame telling people ... I care too much about myself now”.

THIRTY-year-old Daile Kelleher still gets butterflies in her stomach every time she has to see a psychologist.

She first saw one five years ago, after a suicide attempt “began my personal journey of depression, medication and psychologists.

“I can only speak from my experience with my personal depression,” she writes on her blog. “Not all mental illness is the same. Not all people who suffer will one day get help/medication/fairydust and everything will be ‘better’. Not all people with mental illness are suicidal or will ever be. Not all people will survive their mental illness.

“I have no shame telling people I am seeing a psychologist. I care too much about myself now not to admit when I might need help.”

Here, Daile candidly shares about her experience seeing a psychologist, a woman she’s dubbed Dr D.

“Getting help is not easy,” she writes. “Admitting you need help is even more difficult. Try to keep that in mind if you know anyone with a mental illness and remember to be kind to each other.”

Daile Kelleher.

Trigger warning: Suicide

“I HAVE an appointment with my psychologist this afternoon. It’s probably a strange thing to admit, but I actually get a bit of anxiety about seeing her. My heart races, my palms sweat and my belly is filled with very active butterflies. I dread every appointment and my head goes through a multitude of excuses of why I shouldn’t attend the appointment.

I don’t like to cry. I always cry at my psychologist. She is the one person I can be 100% honest with and not fear any repercussions. She doesn’t care about me like a friend or family member. She won’t judge my ability to perform as a professional in my career. All she wants to do is help me with what is happening in my brain.

That scares the sh*t out of me.

I first saw her — let’s call her Dr D — in November 2009. It wasn’t by choice that I sought medical help for my depression. After my suicide attempt, the condition of my discharge from hospital was a follow up with doctors and support people coming to my home and assisting me. For a few weeks, the medical and psychological appointments were the only break I got from the never ending pyjama and ‘Scrubs’ marathon that was being held at my house.

Thanks to Citalopram, Valium, a bottle of wine and a packet of cigarettes a day, I was functioning. I was waking up, staying awake to watch TV and drinking myself to sleep. There were no tears because I was too numb and drugged up for emotions. But I wasn’t trying to kill myself again so that was a positive I guess.

Obviously that lifestyle was not sustainable. It was also f***ing horrible. I didn’t want to be that person. I didn’t particularly like that person. She was not fun to hang around at all. There was nothing anyone could do to help no matter how much they wanted to.

I learned to talk to people about what I was going through. My experiences, my emotions. But ultimately it was only Dr D that I could tell everything to. I told her that I wished I had gone through with it. I told her that I wanted to crash my car in to a pole. I told her that I hated everyone being so careful with me. I told her that I couldn’t see the point of being around. That I had lost everything.

I cried. More than I had ever let myself cry before. Full ugly cry with sobbing and snot and grossness. This was more real than the numbness. This was actually feeling something.

I saw Dr D for 2 years. We worked on my feelings of responsibility to my family, the way I dealt with my mother’s death and my relationships with men as well as my friends. I started to regain confidence in myself and have pride in my life. I stopped trying to be everything to everyone and allowed myself to be a little bit selfish. I spent more time on self care. I had always had confidence in the sense I knew I was a fun friend and an attractive female. But I started to feel more sure of myself as a person. I valued myself more.

This affected everything in my life. I had better romantic relationships, I was more determined in my achievements and goals and I could be a more present friend. I had honest conversations with my family about what I needed from them. I didn’t put up with bull***t (most of the time).

Seeing a psychologist helped me immensely through my recovery from depression. It assisted me to equip myself with tools to utilise if I ever find myself in a confronting situation. I worry all the time about being depressed again because my last experience with depression ended up with me wanting to end my life. I am confident I won’t get back to that point. Not with the external support I have, but also because of the internal strength I now possess.

I have no shame telling people I am seeing a psychologist. I made the decision after a particularly rough time in the past few months that it would be a good idea to check back in. Have a chance to let it all out and make sure I am dealing with everything effectively. I care too much about myself now not to admit when I might need help.

I am not the poster child for mental health. I am one example of what can happen. How a terrible situation can have a relatively positive outcome. But that the journey of depression is never really over. And that even though I am perfectly fine with talking about my experiences … I still get sweaty hands every time I have to see my psychologist. Getting help is not easy. Admitting you need help is even more difficult. Try to keep that in mind if you know anyone with a mental illness and remember to be kind to each other. You never know what battle anyone else is going through, or what they have had to experience to be the person you see before you.”

If you or someone you know is in need of counselling, contact Suicide Call Back Service: 1300 659 467 or Lifeline: 13 11 14

This post was republished with permission from Daile Kelleher. For more from her, visit her blog | Follow her on Twitter | Donate to mental health research via the Hat Day website