Sorry if this is a bit of an essay. The whole affair began pretty much exactly a year ago and writing it up has felt like some closure. I considered going anon but decided not to because **** it.
If you had told me two years ago that I was going to spend my second year at uni battling with depression I would have flat out refused to believe you. I was (am) a pretty extraverted guy, plenty of friends and I'm studying a course that I love, there was nothing in my life that should be making me unhappy. So when the summer after first year seemed to be dragging on and a bit of a malaise developed, I pretty much assumed that it was just boredom from being in crappy Devon living under somebody else's roof, doing my crappy job, instead of living it up as an independent man at uni. Over the weeks my mood became worse and worse and the boredom turned into this almost crippling loneliness; so when the middle of September came and I could move back out, I was pretty relieved- time to get back to the fun.
Only that didn't happen. Being back around people all the time with plenty of work to do only made things worse, and I became more and more withdrawn. I was spending all my free time shut away in my room feeling miserable. When I tried to engage with my friends it felt like a layer of gauze had been lowered between myself and the rest of the world, leaving me disconnected, out of sync. Aspects of my course that I had found difficult but powered through in first year suddenly became huge obstacles; I'd worry so much about a dissection that I wouldn't be able to do any proper prep for it, and on the day I'd often call in sick rather than face a dressing down for my lack of knowledge. The rest of my lectures suddenly became impenetrable and my attendence started to drop. While all this was happening, the loneliness only got worse and worse. Being around people didn't help, because I didn't feel like was operating on the same plane as everybody else.
Around this time my grandmother passed away. The event itself left me pretty ok after the initial shock, but in a way it was a relief, suddenly having a legitimate excuse to be so sad, to miss days of uni, to get a hug from my housemate that I couldn't ask for.
Things felt pretty grim in October, which is when I began to experience suicidal ideation. It was around this point that I realised there was most probably something up here beyond being a bit sad and lonely. I made an appointment with the university counselling service and another with my GP.
The counselling was brilliant; they saw me in a one on one session three days after I called up, after which I was invited to join a weekly group session. I feel that this experience really helped, and not just with the depression. Despite being "popular" and having plenty of genuine close friendships, I have never been able to form proper romantic relationships with other people, I just don't know how. Counselling helped drill down into this.
My experience with the GP was also good. Being a doctor at a campus practice, she was very used to dealing with this. I had already filled out the PHQ myself online, so after unloading what felt like my life story in one long consultation, she was able to offer me the diagnosis of clinical depression. We talked about treatment and I decided that medication and counselling together was what I wanted to do.
I started on 20mg Citalopram in mid to late November and initially it was horrible. Physically, I was exhausted, unable to make it to uni on some days and falling asleep in lectures on the days I did. Mentally, things took a dramatic turn for the worse. In our weekly sessions, some people would barely speak and some people would have a lot to say throughout the 2 hours. I was one of the talkers, but in the weeks after starting the meds I was virtually mute. I'd hang my head, occasionally crying silently, for the duration. The suicidal ideation became really terrible. These ideas came from nowhere and when they left I was filled with this overwhelming despair as I felt like I'd lost control of my mind.
Things started to improve after that. I had been regularly meeting my tutor since I was diagnosed, and he was very supportive, as were the faculty administrators. My extenuating circumstances forms were handed in 1 month before exams, and I went home at Christmas to have a rest and do some revision if I was able to.
In the event, the extenuating circumstances were approved but went unused. By new year I was already feeling better in myself and started to do some work. I revised smart, rather than hard, and was able to blag my way through the January exams. Things settled down into their rhythm and I just got on with my life again. There wasn't one day when I had gone to bed depressed and woken up normal again, it was far more subtle. It took me until late in February, when I was able to look back and realise how far I had come.
The rest of that year wasn't perfect, I had off days, but it was a world away from the previous semester. By May I felt sufficiently confident to stop taking my medication and, fingers crossed, everything had been good since that point. I still worry that it might come back, but I reassure myself that I know the nature of the beast now. Hopefully I can recognise a recurrence before it takes me too far down the rabbit hole.
TL;DR: Moderate endogenous depression at age 19/20 with suicidal ideation but no serious attempts on my own life. Treated successfully with counselling and Citalopram.