Is anyone Immune to Depression?

At this point, if you are an old visitor of this blog you would know that the first thing we do is to carry out a quick exercise with one word before we get into the main idea.

Exercise

Step 1: Without counting, can you guess how many words are in “Depression”?

Step 2: Do not think of the literal meaning of Depression; say it out loud twice while your eyes are shut

Step 3: Would you say it is hot or cold if it had a temperature?

What is depression?

According to the World Health Organization, Depression, which is also known as Depressive disorder, is a type of mental disorder which is characterized by a depressed mood( an overwhelming feeling of sadness, emptiness and irritability) or lack of interest in activities or pleasure over a long duration of time.

I know you may be wondering if it can be termed Depression when you are sad over something that you can’t control, like your favourite football team losing a match or being scolded by a parent over a mistake, and though these little things could sense someone already depressed into a spiral, it usually doesn’t work like that.

One massive part of humans is our emotions. Without emotions, humans are like black-and-white television. Our feelings bring colour to our lives, no matter what we exhibit.

So, you see, Depression is a bit more complex than everyday moods and feelings. It can affect every aspect of a person’s life, including their academics, work, relationships, etc. A friend once described it as a web that expands until it engulfs its victim because of how small it starts and spreads into every part of your being

Is anyone immune to Depression?

Have you ever looked at someone who is always very happy and content with themselves so much that you wonder if they ever get sad or depressed? It seems like a selfish way to think and quite frankly it may be but as humans we are saddled with competition and it often brings comparison amongst us.

Back to the question!

If you have , then you would notice that there are some people who do not get wrapped in low moods for a long period of time. They just dust themselves off from any type of situation and continue their lives as though the sun only revolves around their world. This would make anyone think that there is some sort of super immunity that they have against being depressed or down.

But is anyone immune to depression? The answer is No

There is no scientific proof that any human is immune to depression, however, there are certain humans who are more susceptible to depression than the others. Depression does not know race, creed or gender. It affects anyone depending on what they have been through . A study by the world health organization pegs women to be more likely to develop depression than men. It is more common in women than men and generally present in about 280 million people in the world. It also prevalent in pregnant women and mothers who are still breastfeeding.

These people who are likely not to get depressed easily are said to have higher thresholds known as resilience. A lot of other factors play a huge role despite this resilience. Factors such as environmental factors, psychological, hereditary factors(genetic) as well as life events. A person who has experienced abuse is more likely to be depressed than a person who has not.

Remember depression can happen to anyone, it is nothing to be shameful about and it does not make us less of a human.The first victory in fighting against depression is figuring out if one is depressed. Even though one has to be diagnosed by a professional of depression, you need to seek help if you have had low moods for 48hours and more without changes. When or If you get any suicidal thoughts please make sure to seek help immediately by contacting the emergency hotline in your country of residence.

A story about Depression and Resilience

I sat before what seemed to be my last dinner, smiling like a lunatic. It was indeed amusing what my life had resulted in. This stage of my life could be compared to a rubber band in the hands of a child, being stretched repeatedly, the pressure building up on every side till finally it snaps.

It is pretty funny in a way, or is the verb “snap” what makes it amusing? In plain words, it meant I was broken; maybe that is even an understatement. I was crushed! Trod upon! Abandoned! To the world, I was worthless!

That hysterical laughter ensued again, backed up with heavy expulsion of ocular fluids. It had become so easy to laugh over my misfortunes to bare my teeth as I thought of my stupidity. It was me still holding on to the saying “laughter is the pain medicine”; it was me requesting an overdose to quell the massive turmoil that wreaked havoc like avalanches and hurricanes deep down in my heart and soul.

“He had told me that my heavy expulsion of ocular fluids was just pretentious acts” No wonder I sounded so bright; for a while, I thought my dumb brain had formed the words!

He called me an actress! Wasn’t that a big plus to my blank resume in life? The tears flowed like a river once more, and I laughed—a hard, throaty laugh, holding on to that hope that the pain would subside.

God had abandoned me, the truth I discovered so early in my life. Oh! It burned my eyes when I read about Him being merciful! My heart cringed when I was told to come to His so-called house. The mockery in the eyes of some of his servants when they passed judgements on me gave me a hint of what He would say to me; with my dressing, I was already condemned. If He was so good and merciful as they claimed, would I be in this situation?

Not only had my father abandoned me, I was raised by a mother who I repulsed. There’s so much peace I suddenly notice. No students are around to blast music, and no smokers generously puff enough smoke from their cigarettes into the air that’ll dissipate into rooms. The caretaker seemed to be nowhere, too. Wasn’t he so intent on making my life miserable with his constant judgmental remarks about my appearance? Where had he gone when I was about to end it?

Where were my friends, Nasa and Glory? Why didn’t they bicker about their boyfriends and life today? They were my friends, yet they couldn’t see beneath the fake smiles and the pretence. Maybe it was because they assumed that I was always Okay. Who would blame them? Was I ever anybody’s responsibility?

Where was funny Chibuike, my ever-hungry neighbour? Wasn’t he as hungry as he always used to be? Didn’t he want to disturb me with his deep baritone requesting for food anymore? I can remember how I laughed the last time he said it in pidgin.

“Abeg! Even if na the bottom part, just give me something like that, make I scrape. Local man dey H!”. All I knew was that he was starving and wanted to eat.

It was quite a show, watching him scrape my pot and eat even the burnt part of rice because he was hungry and didn’t cook.

Where was my mother? I had always thought children had bonded with their mothers. But maybe mine was severed irreparably when she saw my face, and what was left of it was destroyed when she found out that I was dumb. I had been called stupid and dumb so many times by my mother that I even believed it. It would be hard to convince me that stupid wasn’t my second name.

Oh! The laughter escaped my throat again as her voice resounded in my head, “You don’t know anything! Fool! Just manage to bag a degree and try your best to see if you won’t end up like your cad of a father! “

” You only passed your senior secondary examinations because I paid for help! You are busy celebrating what? Graduation?”

” You couldn’t even make up to 200 in the University admission board exams! Now I have to spend money because of an unfortunate product of a disastrous marriage! “

” You waste your time painting! Who earns a living in Nigeria with this useless thing? Why are you so stupid? ” goosebumps crept onto my skin as I remembered that particular day. The day I actually brought one of my paintings of my mother’s portrait as a Mother’s Day gift to her.

I looked at the other paintings in my room, the sketches, and the products of different shades of pencils and colours.

Chibuike had once collected one of my works and told me he was using it to salvage his room from the verisimilitude of the name.

“Prison cell” I did not understand what he meant, but I laughed anyway; I did think he meant he had no artwork in his room with the statement. He did call me talented, although I assumed it was because he wanted to attack my pot of pasta and canned mackerel.

Chibuike was the only tolerable human specimen in my life if that didn’t mean something wrong. Even though he reduced the food I had to nothing, he was good company and did not see me in the judgemental way others viewed me.

He once told me, “Never view people through coloured lenses”. It made me relinquish my sun shades to Glory. I smiled when I remembered him; maybe he was the only person who would miss me. Perhaps I would miss seeing him in his grey shorts and what remained of a white singlet. I always wondered why he stuck to only those clothes.

I turned to the notes I had gotten from coursemates, notes I struggled to understand. Most of them didn’t care that I didn’t understand, and most of them who saw how much I had failed avoided me like the plague. The few that smiled at me were those who wanted things from me. My keen sense of fashion may have been why people judged me. The way I appeared, the look I relentlessly left for the world to see.

I couldn’t tell Mother I had failed. No!

It was like committing suicide before the actual one, which I had meticulously planned. I opted to meet the course advisor, hoping and praying that he would help.

When he invited me to his house, I went with all my savings. Money was the answer to all problems.

My body trembled as I remembered the horrible experience. The assault was etched in my mind, and I saw his face every time! His spiteful words. I couldn’t tell anyone who would believe me. Wouldn’t they think I was acting? Would they believe that I was assaulted and violated? Would the lecturers even turn on me?

My life felt like being locked in a dark and gloomy room with the key tossed into the deepest parts of the ocean.

I finally saw a cure, a way to end the misery. Maybe the fire from hell could light up my darkness. It was a difficult choice to make. I had to choose between a bottle of the very popular sniper or a rope. I ended up going home with both because I couldn’t choose.

There was no need to make a note about what happened to me. It was so cliché of suicides, and I was somewhat uniquely worthless or worthlessly unique, whatever was suitable.

I had to give myself a great feast before giving up the breath of life. God had wasted one breath; there wasn’t a use in keeping it any longer.

I laughed again before I dove into what remained of the food. I had a thorough bath and even applied makeup. If I didn’t smell bad and looked good, the devil would give me a suitable spot in hell. A place where very important people were kept. Who knew? Maybe it wasn’t as hot as other parts there. People had to have preferential treatment in hell.

Chubuike once said, “Corruption go dey hell sef, Oga Satan fit dey do I. M Ima mmadụ.” He believed the devil was corrupt and that the level of torture and fire would depend on what the person had to offer. This made me think of the painting of Anubis that I had done for a client.

I applied a generous amount of my perfume before making a noose and tying it to my fan. And yes, I finally decided to go with the rope. I found it somewhat unfair to the family of rodents also to use the same thing that sent most of them to their early graves.

My chair was in position, and so was my body. I gently slipped the noose over my head, resting on my clavicle like a necklace. I smiled one last time as I stared at things in my room. At first, I started having doubts, but then my mother’s voice motivated me. “You are worthless!”

I pushed the chair away, and immediately, the noose tightened around my neck as a terrified baby clung to his mother, slowly cutting off respiration as my body shook. I shook and gasped and fought in a way. Or was it the cells in my body fighting for forcefully being denied oxygen? Even my dumb brain could not figure out why my body shook. I looked up to the ceiling, where its white colour faded before my eyes, and smirked. “I thought you were all-powerful. Can you stop this?” I questioned God with that same victorious grin over my contorted, reddened face.

Everything was according to plan; it was almost over. I was drowning in mid-air until I heard that familiar baritone at the door. He pushed open the door with a huge smile that turned to horror in minutes.

He still wore the usual grey shorts and was far from a white singlet. He quickly grabbed a knife from my kitchen as I slipped into unconsciousness and hoisted himself up with that same chair I had pushed away. He cut me down with one slice.

One thought that ran through my mind as I collapsed in his arms was, “I was indeed stupid!”. Who commits suicide with their door open?

I couldn’t recall what happened minutes after, but I remembered waking up with a deep bruise and an excruciating pain in my neck. I opened my eyes to see Chibuike in those same outfits.

He smiled at me, and I smiled back. I averted my gaze, suddenly embarrassed with what I had done. I was already racking my brain with what to explain to him and an expectancy to hear, “What happened?”

Instead, when he moved closer to my bed, he held my hand. He uttered three words: “I dey H” ( I am Hungry)

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing and crying at the same time. “Las Las, you cook before you tie the rope? Local man dey H seriously” ( Did you make any meal before you tied the rope? I am hungry)

He ran his hand around my face with a smile, but his eyes told me he was terrified and concerned. He was trying to be sarcastic, but I could see very clearly the worried lines on his face.

“What did you mean by salvaging my room from the verisimilitude of the name

“Prison cell?” I asked

“That’s a posh way of saying I am poor” He replied with another smile

I laughed, groaned and grunted, but I felt different.

“Do you think I am worthless?” I asked, hoping for something good for once.

“Yes, you are worthless”, he replied with a stoic expression, which left me stunned. “What type of an insensitive idiot was I speaking to?” I thought to myself

His response shocked me, but it made me think of my mother. “Was mother right?”

“I think you are only worthless if you think you are worthless”, He spoke softly this time.

“I was asking you?”

“You don’t need to ask me; no one needs to affirm that for you. You are the only person allowed to answer that question.”

“I think I am.”

“Then you are!” He practically yelled, and I was startled

Somehow, I was offended by how he said it. “what? Are you angry?”

He questioned sarcastically.

I nodded, suddenly too tired to speak.

“Then prove to yourself that you are, not to anyone, to yourself.”

I had wanted to speak before I saw a calendar with a picture of Jesus smiling. It suddenly struck me: “Of course, he was smiling because he stopped me from dying.”

Maybe he was indeed the all-powerful. But did he need to rub it in by laughing? My eyes scanned the calendar and said, “Come unto me, ye that are heavy ladened, and I will give you rest.”

“Typical,” I thought to myself. Now, he wants me to come to church. Even salvation is not free.

I turned to Chibuike with a smile on my face. “I am not worthless.”

He smiled and patted my hand. “Good, because I had been contemplating different ways to eat the fruits of your labour. I planned on eating your money alone. I sold your painting, babes. You are very talented, honestly. Besides cooking, I am telling you, if you ever open an art gallery for all your works, you will make millions.”

I was elated with what he said: “Mother’s rejection had made me hide my work, and now it was worth something”. I shared my story with him, and for the first time, it felt like I was being heard and seen.

“Chibuike, you are not poor, and I am not worthless. And I need to quit school. Only one of us has the brains for it. I’ll show my worth through my paintings, and you will describe them to the world through your words.”

” Look at you! Turning into a motivational speaker in a matter of minutes! Are you trying to trick me into becoming your art representative or agent? “

” Yes”

“I want 50-50”, he hinted, and I laughed. “Seriously, a dumb person would jump at this joyous offer.”

I didn’t know why I found what he said amusing, but it was. “I was dumb, but now I’m smart. By the way, which church do you attend?”

“Why are you asking? If you plan on testifying, there should be numerous mentions of my name. I do not want to hear, and the lord used one of our brothers to save me, hallelujah.”

I laughed again amidst grunts. “No, Bro J is hollering.”

That day, as I groaned, laughed, and conversed with Chibuike, I realized that I needed to drown the voices in my head, and I did so by hearing him read the Bible to me before I slept. And maybe laughter was indeed the best pain medicine for one with a sound mind.

Who is Resilient?

We had earlier talked about how people who had more resilience were less susceptible to Depression. The story above highlights this quality in the life of the hungry neighbour who had saved the girl’s life. He was carefree and happy despite the poor quality of life he led. However, once the victim could share her experience, she found strength in knowing that she was heard and seen.

We all have our breaking points, but we also have resilience, no matter how small. All we need is a pair of ears to listen to our plights and help us build on what we already have.

The most significant step in fighting Depression is seeking help. So please know that you matter greatly and that someone is rooting for you at Pencrib.com