Depression 3

I feel like I'm living a double life.

Not as dramatic as Walt in Breaking Bad, though it has made me realise that I have no practical skill or knowledge to fall back on, should I need to make a shedload of money secretly after being diagnosed with cancer. I can do pretty good roast potatoes, but not cook a pound of crystal meth worth $35,000.

I could see if there are any lucrative competitions for reverse parking, but somehow I doubt it. And I'm not all that good anyway, just determined.

The nature of my double life is that I seem okay most of the time with friends or family. At least, I think they think I do. I can converse brightly, and wipe runny noses, but maybe they notice that I don't smile or laugh. My face feels frozen.

But when I'm on my own - when Logie is at nursery, or I'm driving, or have retreated to the loo for ten minutes - I cry. I sort of store it up. It is my underlying condition.

I saw a perinatal psychiatrist about ten days ago, who was very helpful. Talking to her made me feel like less of a fraud. This depression isn't like others because I am functioning - because I have to. The only other time I've had it since Logie was born, I was able to have ECT quickly, while I was on the downhill slope, and that nipped it in the bud.

But if you take away the "if I didn't have Jon, or Logie, or the prospect of ECT" my mood and illness are the same. It was a relief to share this with someone. This psychiatrist has done what she can to get the ECT ball rolling again, and while I am not to get my hopes up, I'll find out on Monday if they'll do it pre-birth after all.

As I've always known, the risks aren't associated with the ECT itself, but with the general anaesthetic. So if we can get an obstetric anaesthetist, who does nothing but anaesthetise pregnant women every day, as many have to be for all sorts of things, then we could proceed.

Cross fingers.

Given that I seem okay with certain people, they sometimes ask what it feels like to be depressed. Apart from the obvious things like sad, numb, incapable and ashamed, I have always felt it as a very physical, obvious, otherness. Imagine if you lived on a planet with no liquid, and you didn't need it to survive. Then you went to sleep and woke up drenched. How weird, and unpleasant, would it be to be wet?

Or if you had never experienced cold before, or that heavy sensation in your body when you have flu and everything aches? Depression is a differentness that we can't yet describe. We all know what physical pain feels like, and can point to where it is. But mental pain we know less about. It exists though, in a different form, and believe me it still applies to your whole body. And is just as painful.

The good news is that I am sleeping again. I have some lovely blue pills (totally safe for the baby - just strong antihistamine) and I now look forward to going to bed. Sleep really really helps. I am very grateful.

Logie is living something of a double life too, now he's back in the nursery routine. For example, we have been having a real battle with jumpers recently. He simply will not wear them. I know that sounds silly, I just ought to force him when it's snowy. But he is big enough to kick and run away, and take them off (mostly) himself.

But at nursery he will put them on like a lamb. No fuss. Nursery Logie also eats a lot more vegetables. I wonder when they'll start teaching him basic chemistry. I don't want him to end up like Breaking Bad, but a working knowledge of medicine and pharmaceuticals would be very useful in this house.