Depression: My story in our stigmatized society
(Warning: Mentions of suicidal thoughts, depression)
For a long time, I struggled with depression without realising what it was. The concept of depression was foreign to me, and my limited knowledge of it came from the hushed conversations of elders. The concept was shrouded in taboo, emerging only when news of a suicide surfaced. And even then, it carried heavy stigma.
For all latest news, follow The Daily Star's Google News channel. Whenever a tragic incident occurred, people would fondly recall the person's good health and cherish the memories they had shared. However, other questions would emerge: "How could they not think about their family? How could they commit such a sin?"
Talking about mental health in Bangladesh is a challenging endeavour. Our society places a strong emphasis on family bonds, making it difficult for many to fathom that a person might feel detached and alone even around the people they love. Depression, anxiety, and stress are frequently dismissed as non-issues. The prevailing notion is that if you can't be labelled as "crazy," you can't possibly have any mental health issues.
Even when some acknowledge the reality of depression, there's a common belief that it's a "first-world" problem. As Indian actor Nawazuddin Siddiqui once said, "I come from a place where, if I were to tell my father that I was feeling depressed, he would have slapped me and put me to work. Nobody gets depressed in the village; everybody is happy." This perspective often prevails: that depression is a concern only for the financially secure. But it's essential to recognise that mental health issues can affect anyone, regardless of their socioeconomic status. However, Nawazuddin's comment sheds light on one important hurdle – the difficulty of discussing mental health issues with one's family.
We often fail to realise that individuals have diverse relationships with their parents or family. I myself didn't grow up with overly strict parents; they never pressured me into following a specific career path or choosing a particular educational institution. I never felt like I couldn't talk to them about something. However, even with the open lines of communication, discussing my depression with my mother – the most important person in my life – was far from easy. Several factors contributed to this difficulty. My mother and I are fundamentally different people, with contrasting worldviews. I particularly didn't want her to know the extent of my suffering, fearing that her understanding of my unbearable pain would make her suffer as well.
Initially, my depression manifested in excessive sleeping, from 14 hours a day and gradually escalating to 16-17 hours, with peaks reaching 21 hours of sleeping on some days. It never dropped below 14 hours. My mother was initially annoyed by this unusual sleep schedule. But as she realised the gravity of what I was going through, she came to see it as my coping mechanism. At times, she would label me as being lazy, a characterisation I found perplexing. I failed to relate sleeping to depression, and I myself began believing that I was lazy. My appetite also waned, making it incredibly challenging for me to eat. Some days, I couldn't manage to have a single meal all day due to this loss of appetite. The very act of sitting down to eat or putting food in my mouth seemed unbearable.
I sought medical assistance, first for my appetite, and later for breathing issues, suspecting that my sinusitis was contributing to my excessive sleeping. To my surprise, the specialist, who is also a member of parliament, made an insensitive and inappropriate remark: "Are you being breastfed? How can someone sleep for over 16 hours?" This made it clear to me that even medical professionals lack awareness regarding the diverse manifestations of depression. All the test results relating to my body came back normal, confirming that there was nothing physically wrong with me.
It took over a year for me to muster up the courage to seek therapy for my depression, but I discontinued it shortly afterward. Over the years, I revisited therapy a few times, but there was no one to encourage me to do so, and I lacked the self-sufficiency to consistently take steps and fight it on my own. After about a year and a half, I gave up all hope. Each day, I yearned for uninterrupted hours of sleep, as this provided solace from the relentless onslaught of dark thoughts.
Every night, I went to bed with a single wish, a solitary prayer: that I wouldn't wake up the next day. Every afternoon, when I woke up, disappointment washed over me.
Every night, I went to bed with a single wish, a solitary prayer: that I wouldn't wake up the next day. Every afternoon, when I woke up, disappointment washed over me. I had long stopped wanting to live, but I wasn't suicidal due to a specific reason – the thought of my mother and younger sister finding me dead prevented me from taking that irreversible step.
This brings us back to the question: "Do they not think of their parents before killing themselves?" Indeed, they do. The thing that people fail to grasp is that, when an individual loses their capacity for happiness and abandons hope of ever experiencing it again, they inevitably give up on themselves. While we may talk about living for others and for those we love, the harsh reality remains that, once a person forsakes themselves, prioritising others becomes impossible. You are unable to worry about the person whose boat has a hole in it, if you yourself are drowning. If my depressive state had persisted for much longer, I might have reached a point when even my mother and sister wouldn't have been reason enough for me to keep me going.
With the increasing prevalence of mental health issues and suicide rates, it's high time we engage in this vital conversation. I may be living on with the help of therapy, physical activity, family support, and a substantial amount of luck. But can I count on such good fortune in the future? And what about those around us who still cannot openly discuss their mental health struggles?
Monorom Polok is a member of the editorial team at The Daily Star.
Views expressed in this article are the author's own.
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