when someone reads an article then says “wow, this sounds just like you,” you can’t help thinking they’ve seen your incredible potential. that they’ve just read about some fabulous journalist-author-whatever who had one or two struggles on the way to a hugely happy life and kick-ass career. someone you can model yourself on, and use as an inspiration: like marian keyes, arianna huffington or nora ephron.

of course, that’s never the case. someone has read a piece about a woman who also likes to wear black trousers, or who watches teen programmes they are really too old for, or has had depression for as long as they can remember.

it’s this last thing that most recently reminded someone of me.

at first i was a bit insulted… so it wasn’t something about a fabulous person, but about someone suffering from self-doubt and an all-pervasive sadness? bummer.

then i read the article, and realised my mum (of course, it was my mum) was right: it sounded JUST. LIKE. ME.

it was about dysthymia, which is a constant low-grade depression interrupted by bouts of more severe despair (fun, right?!)

with dysthymia , you can’t remember what it felt like to be truly happy. you may enjoy yourself on occasion, but there’s almost always a black cloud around you, or in my case, a heavy feeling in the pit of my stomach. you feel bad about yourself, indulge in unhelpful behaviours (hello, comfort eating!) and find it hard to get motivated. you are grumpy with people ‘cos you can’t cope with how bad you feel. you find it hard to keep friendships going, feel like a bad person who makes others miserable (even if you *know* this isn’t true, you feel it), and hate using the phone.

oh god, YES.

i was diagnosed with depression nine years ago, when i was at a nadir of awfulness. i was numb and quite literally could not enjoy anything. i felt worthless and wanted to — not die so much as fade away, or hibernate for a hundred years. thank goodness, that lifted. but the gloominess, the unhappiness, the stomach dread, has been there at least since i started school (and probably before). i remember hating the thought of going to a friend’s party when i was seven. dreading meeting people when i was nine. hating my body when i was thirteen. crying after school every day for months when i was seventeen. and never being able to make sense of it all.

“depression” made sense as a diagnosis when i was at my worst, but what about when things weren’t acute but just chronic (in both senses of the word)? when i could sometimes feel happy, but always with a crushing sense of doubt attached?

that’s the dysthymia.

and for a while this comforted me. all of those weird things i knew weren’t right - the things i found hard that other people didn’t; the fact that i could never work up as much enthusiasm for life as i wanted to; the way i didn’t fit in at depression support groups where people were hospitalised regularly, and yet knew i wasn’t “normal” either. they could all be explained away with one word: such is the power of self-recognition.

so i’m glad i read the article. i may not be “just like” a wonderfully inspiring woman writer just yet, but at least i learned i’m not alone. and that cliches can come true: the people who love you do sometimes know you better than you know yourself.

last year i found a picture of myself as a young child, laughing uproariously about nothing at all. it made me cry, because i couldn’t remember what that felt like - or even remember that i felt that way at all. but it also gave me hope. i don’t want to be happy all the time, to escape sadness, anger or fear. i just want to feel things without this other thing, this dysthymia, in the way.

and i think i’ll get there. sometimes, i think i’ll get there.

for the time being, that will have to do.