Just Another Face in the Crowd

Hi, I'm Alex.

To the world, I might look like your average Joe – I've got a 'normal' job at a local store, stacking shelves and chatting with regulars who come. Outside work, I'm the guy who organises the weekly five-a-side football matches down at the park and the one who always knows the best new series to watch on Netflix. My weekends often involve a bit of DIY around my flat or helping out my sister with her unruly garden.

But there's something about me that's not so average: I live with high-functioning depression. It's a part of me that's hidden, like an invisible shadow that follows me around. It's like carrying a backpack that's always heavy, no matter how much I try to lighten the load. To most, I'm just Alex – friendly, reliable, and always ready with a joke or a helping hand. But inside, it's a different story, a daily struggle that I've learned to mask behind a smile and a can-do attitude.

Not Just a Bad Day

It all started with feeling a bit 'off.' Each mornin' was a struggle; I'd wake up feeling like I hadn't slept, dragging myself out of bed dreading the day ahead. The excitement for the weekend footy matches with mates began to die. I'd find myself going through the motions, playing half-heartedly, not really caring if we won or lost. Even the small joys, like my mum's legendary Sunday roast, didn't bring the same comfort as before. It was like my taste buds had gone numb.

At first, I brushed it off – bad days happen, right? Everyone feels blue now and then. But these 'bad days' started stringing together, creating a chain that weighed me down. Laughter felt forced; conversations, a chore. My once neat flat began to mirror my internal state: disorganised, cluttered, a pile of dishes ALWAYS in the sink. I stopped making plans, opting to spend nights alone on the couch, scrolling through TikTok. It was a gradual shift, so subtle that I almost didn't notice how deep I was sinking. Before I knew it, those 'bad days' weren't just occasional; they were my everyday reality.

I Couldn't Hide Anymore

It hit me hard one night after work. The day had been the same as any other – smilin' at customers, restocking shelves, the usual gossip with the lads i work with. But as I locked up and headed home, a heaviness settled over me. I was supposed to meet my mates for a drink, something I'd normally look forward to, but the thought of it felt overwhelming.

I sat on my bed, shoes still on, staring blankly at the wall. My flat was quiet, the only sound was the traffic. And then, this wave of... nothingness washed over me. It was a strange sensation – like being completely empty inside. I wasn't sad, I wasn't angry, I was just... numb. My phone buzzed with messages from my friends, asking where I was, but I couldn't bring myself to reply. It was like I was there but not really there. That was the night I knew this wasn't just about being tired or stressed. Something deeper, something more profound, was going on inside me.

Askin' For Help Is Harder Than It Sounds

Making the decision to ask for help was one of the hardest things I've ever done. There was this nagging voice in my head, constantly questioning me – would people think I'm weak? Would my mates laugh and tell me to 'man up'? It's not easy to shake off those fears, especially when you've always been seen as the dependable, strong one.

But I was just so tired! Tired of pretending, tired of the constant weight on my shoulders. So, I took a deep breath and booked an appointment with my GP. I remember sitting in the waiting room, my leg bouncing up and down with nerves. But my GP, Dr. Morgan, she was boss. She didn't give me that 'it's all in your head' look. Instead, she listened – really listened – and for the first time, I felt heard. She suggested I see a therapist and even helped me find one that would suit me. Walking out of her office, I felt a mix of relief and anxiety. That first step towards therapy was daunting, but deep down, I knew it was the start of something crucial – something that might finally help me turn things around.

Therapy Is Not a Straight Path

Walking into therapy for the first time, I had all these stereotypes in my head – I thought it'd be me lying on a couch in a dimly lit room, spillin' my life story to a stranger scribbling notes. But it wasn't like that at all. My therapist, Lisa, had this welcoming office with a comfy armchair, and she sat across from me, just like a mate would. No judgment, no intimidating clipboard.

Our sessions were more like in-depth chats. We talked about the lot – my job at the store, how I always felt I had to be the 'funny one' in my group of mates, the pressure of keeping up appearances. We even talked about football and how I used to love it, but now it just felt like another thing on my 'to do' list. Lisa helped me see how all these bits of my life were tangled up with my mental health. It felt weird at first,, talking about personal stuff, but she made it feel normal, even comfortable.

One thing she kept stressing was that it's okay not to be okay. Sounds a bit cliché, I know, and I'd usually cringe at stuff like that. But coming from her, it felt genuine. She explained that high-functioning depression is a real thing, and it doesn't always look like what you see in movies or read in books. It's not just about being unable to get out of bed or breaking down in tears all the time. It's more subtle, like losing interest in things you used to love or feeling constantly worn out but not knowing why. Realising this was a bit of an eye-opener for me.

Small Steps, Big Changes

Recovery's been a day-by-day thing. It's not like one morning you wake up and all's right with the world. It's more like learning to spot the small moments of light in your everyday. I started setting small, achievable goals for myself, like taking a 10-minute walk around the block every morning. It sounds simple, but on days when even getting out of bed felt like climbing a mountain, that short walk felt like a victory.

I've also been working on how I connect with people. Instead of always hiding behind texts, I began calling up a mate for a chat or meeting them for a quick coffee, or a drink. It was tough at first, breaking out of that shell, but it made a difference. I felt less isolated, more part of the world again. And being kinder to myself – that's been a big one. I used to beat myself up if I couldn't muster the energy to be social or productive. Now, if I'm not up for going out or if I spend a Saturday afternoon just lounging about, I don't see it as a failure. I see it as taking the time I need to recharge.

Finding happiness in the little things has been key. I rediscovered my love for cooking – nothing fancy, just simple recipes, but there's something therapeutic about chopping veg or stirring a pot on the stove. And old comedies, the ones where I know every line, have been a surprisingly comforting. They remind me of better times, and somehow, that makes the tough days a bit easier to get through.

Some Good Days, Some Bad Days

I won't lie – it's not like everything's suddenly perfect. There are days when that heavy backpack feels a bit lighter and days when it weighs a ton. But I've got tools now to help me on the tough days, and I've got people who support me, even on the days I can't support myself.

You're Not Alone in This

If you're reading this and it feels familiar, know that you're not alone. High-functioning depression is tricky because you can hide it so well, but hiding doesn't make it go away. Talking about it does. Getting help does. We might not be able to make it disappear, but we can learn to live with it and still find moments of happiness.