Tag Archives: high functioning

High Functioning Depressive

For a long time, I believed that the depression I experienced wasn’t that serious on the basis that I am able to keep going and do stuff. One of the classic measures of depression is that it shuts a person down – can’t think, can’t concentrate, can’t even get out of bed some days, no energy, no anything. I’m deeply grateful to author Craig Hallam for gifting me with the term ‘high functioning depressive’ because it’s reframed my whole experience of being depressed, and changed my sense of self.

I’m good at hiding things. In most ways I’m a very honest person, but when it comes to how much I’m suffering, I lie with every part of myself. It means people can know me pretty well and not know what kind of distress I experience. I’m good at keeping going. But then, I’ve been dealing with fatigue since I was in my teens. I’ve lived with pain, exhaustion and depression my whole adult life and I’ve learned to work around it. I have a huge amount of will power, a vast amount of discipline and self control, an unusual amount of determination and these combine to make me look fairly normal and functional. It is often less expensive to hide this stuff than explain it when I am in trouble.

From the outside, it is hard to see what anything is costing me. Blogger and author Merry Debonnaire suggested that I start measuring the costs in terms of distress and exhaustion. Partly to get this in better perspective for myself. Partly to help me explain to other people what I’m dealing with. There are mornings when sitting at the computer to work is as exhausting as a ten mile walk on a more functional day. There are days when getting to the bathroom is like trying to climb a hill. There are times when doing ordinary things is like trying to do the last mile of a twenty mile walk that has broken my body already. It’s a useful re-framing.

There are very few people I will spend time with when I’m in trouble, and who I feel safe letting see that. I also get a lot done. That means from the outside, it is really hard to measure how depression, anxiety, pain and fatigue really impact on me. For some people, that’s going to be confusing. For some people, it will make me seem fake, or attention seeking, or fuss making. The notion that you can look at a person and determine that they ‘don’t look ill’ and judge accordingly is a really suspect one. The idea that what a person can do on one day is a fair measure of what they can do on another also needs flagging up as problematic.

On a good day I can walk fifteen or twenty miles. Days that good are rare. On a good day I can work for eight or ten hours and I have phenomenal concentration. On a bad day I still have a longer concentration span than most people. What one person can do when they are well or ill is no measure of what it’s fair to expect from another person. We’re all different, and in unique circumstances. What one person can do on a good day isn’t a measure of what happens on a bad day.

Depression is often framed as an invisible illness. It isn’t invisible. It’s there to be seen if you look for it. There to be understood if you listen. It is however an illness that can be very easily dismissed and ignored, by anyone who finds it more convenient or comfortable to deny that there’s a problem. A person not conforming to expectations is not automatically a person who is well and lying, or making a fuss.