Psyche logo

'Don't Call Me Crazy'

The Truth About Depression

By Laura McCarthyPublished 6 years ago 10 min read
Like

Approximately one in four people in the UK will experience a mental health problem each year, be it depression, anxiety, or otherwise. It's a statistic we have all heard of, and if you think about it, that figure is astounding! The stigma around mental health has been thrust into the limelight in the UK over recent years, and it's being recognised as being just as important as physical health and I couldn't be happier. I have battled depression on and off for most of my life and I finally feel in a place where I can openly discuss my struggles. It's not something you want to admit to people and you almost feel ashamed of yourself for feeling the way you have when there is so much to be thankful for in life. I am writing this open letter so I can stand up for others and let them know that there is nothing to be ashamed of. Your feelings matter and you aren't "crazy."

Life can sometimes throw you a curve ball and no matter how much you tell yourself it's going to be OK and it's only temporary, it leaves you paralysed in a stagnant state of sadness. It can be the most debilitating feeling to be in a place where you see no end to the anguish you're battling everyday. My teenage years were a particularly bad time in my life. I hated secondary school. It's an insecure time where you're desperate to fit in, and being painfully shy, I was a fairly easy target. I spent my time at school keeping my head down and trying to fade into the background. However, typically I was like a lamb to the slaughter to this pack of lads. I recently saw one of my bullies on the train on the way to work and the anger that rolled through my body took me back. Taking stock, I realised we were all young and impressionable then and perhaps he is now a decent human being. Let's be honest, he was more insecure than me to pick on someone who was too scared to stand up for themselves. When the bullying followed me home, it got worse. They would throw eggs at my house, stand outside shouting things, and threatened to jump me outside the school gates on a daily basis. I spent my lunch breaks sitting in the toilets, crying, not telling a soul how I felt—not even my parents (until they followed me home) or friends, who just let it happen. I felt like a tag along in my friendship group and dreaded every day being made to feel second class in my social circle. I had this aching sadness inside I could never shift, so I threw myself into my studies, getting top marks. It was a distraction and, in a way, a godsend! I managed to get a place at university and it changed my life. I made new friends and I grew in confidence. I'd met people who were seeing me through new eyes and didn't treat me like a doormat. For the first time, I felt a sense of freedom. I had a fabulous time and met my first true love. Everything was falling into place. We were together for 12 years, and after leaving, I got the job of my dreams working in the events industry.

That happiness didn't last, and I would experience the second cycle of depression. The boss from hell started to manage me and to say he made my life a misery would be an understatement. He was a forty-year-old gay man who seemed to relish in making me feel small, picking holes in everything I did because I was the youngest in the team and fresh out of university. I was a hard worker and the biggest earner in the team. He hated it. I was determined not let another bully win and make my life hell, so I stayed on there, ignoring him for as long as possible. Management saw what an asset I was and they said bye to him on account of the recession, later confiding that they were doing the right thing by me. I felt elated. However, the anxiety and anguish prior to this caused rows and problems with my relationship, coupled with being skint and other money worries tied into the relationship. The relationship ended. I hit the bottle hard and hit rock bottom. I tried to battle on for months at the job but was slowly losing the will to care about myself and spiraled into depression of the worst level—worse than school. I was getting up with a sick feeling, like there was a hole in my heart. Even a holiday didn't lift my mood where I'd had a bit of a holiday romance. He turned out to be a jerk with a girlfriend, but anyway.

A few weeks later, a work friend invited me to a fancy dress party and I accepted. In retrospect, I shouldn't have gone, as I knew I'd be getting out of my face. Another work colleague brought along her boyfriend. I was already drunk the bar dry at that point! Anyway, I was sitting there listening to this guy ramble on about how amazing his job was, dominating the conversation, and I thought: Another arrogant bloke like my boss, boyfriend, holiday romance, and I snapped. I told the guy "he loved himself," nothing more, and then stumbled off to bed dressed as a black fairy. I was mortified! Anyway, in the morning, feeling instantly remorseful, I sent the girl at work an email apologising and explaining myself and my state of mind. Later (approx. seven years) down the line, she moved to the area with him. She contacted and I was pleased about it, inviting her out for my birthday. I saw the boyfriend I'd insulted and apologised profusely to his face, explaining how I was in a bad place at the time and how I hoped we could move forward. Good times!

What happened next inspired this letter...

A few months later, on an outing with her sister, she told me that her boyfriend referred to me as "Crazy Laura." She felt it was fine to say this in front of her sibling. Instantly, something did not sit right with this label. I felt humiliated. After all, I wasn't crazy, I was depressed. It should be water under the bridge. Why am I called crazy? What's wrong with crazy?! Why am I so deeply offended? I will tell you why:

Because the word "crazy" is often used as a derogatory term and has negative undertones. At that time for me, the only thing worse than suffering in silence and feeling silly in the morning was having someone think I had lost my mind. To find out years later I was referred to as this by someone whom accepted my apology and whose girlfriend was invited out with my social circle quite frankly made me feel angry, humiliated, and disrespected. I said nothing and thought I would let it slide this time. It's her sister. But really, I should have shut her down then. I have no doubt in my mind the word was used to provoke all these feelings, and it was done with intent.

Some months later, despite this insult being on my mind, I went out with a close friend and this girl to continue the friendship—I would let it go this once. The story came up at the table and, once again, she decided very wrongly she could tell my friend of ten years that her boyfriend refers to me as "crazy!" This word should not be used...

The word "crazy" mocks mental illness and disorders. It is a nasty word used to make someone feel crappy! I should be referred to as Laura (the girl helping your girlfriend form a social life). People who suffer from depression and have made a mistake aren't crazy and I was fairly open in coming forward with my regret. You use the word crazy to describe someone you don't like, in my opinion, and that choice of word is meant to offend. That became clear when he mocked something I'd put on social media a few weeks prior, attempting to make me look like a fool and clearly holding onto a grudge with some condescending comment. This says a lot more about what sort of person he is. Why would I want to know what he calls me (when it's so patronising) and why would I want my friend to know that your boyfriend refers to me as that? It's simply vindictive, unnecessary, and underhanded, in my opinion. Why do either of you care what I said in an intoxicated state seven years ago where I could barely walk to bed? You obviously do to abuse the hand of friendship offered from myself. You're not uneducated and you knew exactly what you were doing sharing this fine piece of pointless information. We have had discussions about that time on previous occasions, so why use belittling language when you refer to me?

Think about what it means when you use this term. Depression and mental illness are distressing times in people's personal lives. Both the boyfriend and friend were well aware of my situation. I don't think a single person would like to be referred to as this—would you, reading?! I am sure the word "lunatic" would drum up the same feeling. Maybe change the record and call me "Loony Laura"—actually don't. Have some tact and be emotionally intelligent.

Not long after that party, as I continued to descend and get worse, I ended up in A&E having decided I couldn't cope. This is something I have never told anyone or revealed to friends, only family who saw me through it. If you have never been this low, then you have no idea what it means to feel like you want a way out and to stop being so emotionally drained. I was still able to think about right and wrong and wasn't rocking in a corner not knowing what day it was—I was very much there, just extremely distressed and therefore not "crazy." Fair enough. You may not have known it was this bad for me at that time, but I did show remorse and I did explain myself, giving you details that went a bit deeper than "I was in a bad place." That is why there is no need for being labelled. This is a time in my life I don't want to bring up and want to put to bed. Hopefully I will never feel like that again.

I respect myself and personally don't want to surround myself with people who view my struggles and personal regrets as a joke and something to blurt out in public whenever they see fit, using a word that brings up so much negativity in my view. I hope this inspires anyone out there who has experienced the same from someone close to them. Despite some shitty relationships, I am actually in a fabulous place. I enjoy my job and work with some of the nicest people. I have fab friends, decent family members who have been there for me through my depression and seen me at my worst during that time. As you get older, you realise some people don't have the same moral compass as you do and how words insult people. I fully take responsibility for my actions in anything I have done wrong when I have been low during that time; drinking way to much to block out the immense sense of woe and anguish when it all got too much. I deeply regret it, but I won't have anyone make a mockery of my battle with depression and use such a tactless word as an insult/joke (especially when they know about it minus the hospital admission), so I am being honest and coming clean about my struggles in the hope that people look beyond using words that promote the stigmatisation of mental health and rather think about, perhaps, what that person has been through.

—Laura McCarthy

stigma
Like

About the Creator

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.