It's been a strange couple of days.
The news of the utterly fabulous Robin Williams death has been a stark reminder of what depression can do. To anyone.
It destroyed a little bit of my hope I think, knowing that someone like him, who spent his life entertaining millions, still felt his life wasn't worth living. That with all his money and access, I assume, to the best mental health care he could buy, he still could not win the battle against depression. And if he can't beat it, what hope is there for the rest of us?
During the worst days of darkness; the crying in the corner, the difficulty getting out of bed, the panic about socialising, feeling judged by everyone and the constant self hate - the thing I cling to, the thing I try to focus on, is being strong.
I want to win my battle, I want to beat depression.
I beat it when I was 19, again when I was 26 and hopefully I will beat it now.
But how many times do I do this? How many battles do I have to square up to and fight hard before I win the actual war? Can I win the war, or is this all just time filling until depression eventually beats me?
Robin Williams death has left me wondering how many battles he fought just to get to 61 years old and how bad must that last battle have been for him to surrender to it. It scares me and makes me wonder what my future holds.
I'm a fighter, but I don't know if I can keep being a soldier indefinitely - one day I'd quite like to become a civilian.
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