Ingredients for depression
When I was younger, before the onset of puberty the world had so much sunshine. It was a technicolour land of opportunity and magic. Though I had my health difficulties and didn’t truly experience growing up as a normal child, I was still sheltered enough that I got to enjoy a really golden childhood. I was absolutely coddled and sheltered from the scary realities of the world. Creativity and the arts were normalised and encouraged by all the festivals my parents took me too, Glastonbury was my playground. The world was my oyster and no glass ceiling existed as I saw both my parents becoming super successful career wise. Everything was peachy.
And then you hit puberty and I’ve always described that as a sort of sobering up. The morphine drip is ripped out and all of a sudden the world and everything in it exists to hurt you. To burn your fingertips in response to curious exploration. To scold you, emotionally and physically.
The horny and yet sweetly romantic yearn for a boyfriend was my first symptom of puberty. I was totally programmed by all the pink and fluffy children’s - well, girls, media and toys I’d grown up with. My favourite Barbie doll had always been wedding Barbie. She had the prettiest, sparkliest, white satin, lace gown, made with that glitter frosted lace and those little bows that now decorate the lingerie I buy. She also came with a huge imitation ‘diamond’ ring for me to wear! She was perfect in every way, I loved playing out her wedding-day over and over. I imitated my parents own beautiful relationship roles with my dolls. Relationships are so simple, I thought back then…
Can you imagine a world without heartbreak? The first time I cut myself was the day my very first boyfriend broke up with me at age 15. I’d wanted to do it for a while, but I’d always been too scared too until that moment arose when I already felt I’d lost everything. That set a president of dealing with my pain by inflicting more pain. A logic only self-harmy-people will understand ahaha. It’s a way to distract and control. The new pain distracts from the old and the control comes from its self inflicted nature - it makes perfect sense really.
When I was younger, I grew up with a semi-unregulated but limited access to the internet. My favourite thing to do on the computer was watch music videos on YouTube; artists like Pink! and Katy Perry hold the fondest memories. Then I’d try reenact the music videos on ‘photo booth’, with the music playing off YouTube in the background! This was my only window into celebrity culture and was extremely limited by the fact that YouTube had no algorithm at the time pushing content onto me. I had to physically search for the music videos I wanted each time and it was very controlled. Music videos during this time, 2000-2013, were glossy and had a high production value, but women still looked like women. They weren’t highly artificial in the way that a huge percentage of social media is now. Especially not Pink! and Katy Perry. My perception of woman may have been glamoirosed and definitely sexualised. But it wasn’t unattainable in the way that AI generated filters, photoshop and unnatural plastic surgery is. Plus, I never compared myself to these stars in a negative way. I never wished for their features beyond wishing for Katy Perry’s black hair. I knew they were adult women and I was a child, so I knew not to compare myself to these women in any serious way. I just found them cool and aspirational, not because of how they looked but because of the fun they seemed to be having in their music videos! It was always about fun… Let’s fast forward ten years and my parasocial relationships with famous people are far more problematic. Sometimes I can’t even enjoy a music video because I’m too jealous of the woman’s perfectly nose-jobbed nose! Details I’d never have noticed as a child. Why do I believe only now that I need a nose job after going twenty years of my life not wanting one…
Maybe it’s inescapable access to media & self comparison!? Having the whole internet and more in the palm of our hand quite literally is fucking amazing. Like it is honestly remarkable how much media and information we can access on our phone in a number of seconds. But as much as this is a vastly impressive technological advancement, it causes undeniable and unimaginable harm, as a contaminant to our mind. The beyond unrealistic beauty expectations that are so falsified celebrities themselves can’t keep up with the standards they created (think Kylie Jenner crying over beauty standards LOL) have poisoned me, warping my perception of self beyond belief. I actually cannot tell you how social media alone has caused me to think my nose is fugly and I need to fix it… And now, I’m not one against plastic surgery when it’s for the right reasons. As some of you may know I’ve gone under the knife and had plastic surgery that benefited my mental health and thusly, my life greatly! Having that procedure was a huge turning point in the course of my life and I feel so grateful that I was able to have it done! - These things aren’t cheap! (I can do a whole post about this if you’re interested…)
But getting plastic surgery purely because of instagram influence, that’s not okay! In fact. That’s so fucking fucked up. And people are fucking up their faces getting collective gallons of filler injected into their young faces! It’s inane! Nobody in their 20’s needs filler or Botox! Baby Botox is a lie!! People love to make up problems, then sell women the solutions. I understand, and am so sympathetic to the fact that you must never blame the girls themselves who are doing this shit to their faces, they are victims of a crazy culture here. But you must blame beauty standards and the pillars in society that uphold them - social media being the most dominant one.
When I was young, as noted, I had amazing female role models all around me. I genuinely believed I could do anything in an Elle Woods “what? Like it’s hard?” Kind of way. My confidence was quiet, but potent. I had so many dreams and direction. I did every extra curricular inside and outside of school, at least until my bad health meant I had to stop… I had so many incredible interests and hobbies. I felt I was walking the path to success, but somehow over the years I’ve strayed from the path and I’m actually pretty fucking lost. I still have my aspirations, but under the scrutiny of adulthood it feels as though just having them isn’t enough anymore. I fucked up so much with my education, at no fault of my own ofcourse. Even university, I’ve blown that. I don’t know what I’m doing actually. I feel very…
Lost. Feeling lost is almost a direct cause of depression, as well as a catalyst for it. When the passion that once directed you begins to leave your life, you are left feeling incredibly lost and aimless. When your lust for life sours, what do you do next? What do you do when you stop being able to feel and do all the things you once loved? Normalcy begins feeling estranged.
As a child, despite spending a lot of time at times alone and isolated from those my age, because my bad health kept me inside the house. I never felt lonely. I had my parents and my cats. I had my dolls and my DVDs. I had the long haired presenters on cbbc. I had the characters in my favourite media… I had my imagination.
Loneliness is something that really begun for me during the pandemic. I’m sure everyone can relate to that to some degree. But whereas most people found ways to resolve their loneliness, I’ve really struggled. And especially with the disassembling of my last relationship, a two year process that pulled the rug from under my feet. I’ve never felt more lonely and it’s something I’m embarrassed to admit. Although I know I’m not alone here. My generation has been named the loneliest generation according to recent data collected. So I guess I can find some mild comfort in knowing I’m not the only one who feels this way. Even if we’re all too ashamed to admit it. I guess I just really benefit and bounce off of others. Whereas when I spend too much time alone things get really really dark.
And lastly, the most notable ingredient for depression I beleive is trauma. Having been diagnosed with complex PTSD, trauma in my childhood and adolescence has certainly left footprints bruised across my brain. But I’m really quite tired now and this is one can of worms I don’ t want to open right before bed! …So stay tuned for a part two on trauma! - Lol