Being a Virgin at University

My column for Quench Magazine in 2016.

How Can I Make You Happy?

Things That Will Make Me Happy:

• Being cuddled by 10 puppies
• Eloping with Lewis 
• People stop telling me how healthy or well I look
• Being cuddled by 50 puppies
• Being cuddled by all the puppies.

@tomfoleyart

The question I get asked so often; “what can I do to make you happy?” – Mostly asked by my mum. Mostly after I've sent a crying face emoji to her.

I am a twenty-four-year-old straight, white woman, who is in happy relationship and from a (somewhat) loving family of seven. I aced all my exams at school and got a 1st Class Honours in Journalism at university. I got an incredible internship at Universal straight out of my degree and have recently started working at another big film and TV company as publicity assistant earning a decent wage. 

This all sounds good (and like a weird Linkedin profile) right? There is no doubt that I have grown up very fortunate and am very lucky to have many privileges other people don't have. (By the way, I'm talking jobs/a place to live - not a fucking Soho House membership).

So, why the heck do I have depression?

What do I have to be sad about?

Why do I need to take (but stupidly rarely do) green and white pills to regulate my serotonin levels? 

First and foremost, depression is an illness. More often than not, it is an illness that will spread itself - like room temperature Lurpak on hot toast - across a long duration of time – we’re talking years here, sometimes even decades. Some people may experience depression following an emotional circumstance or trauma – perhaps stress at work, the death of a loved one, or a break-up. For some, there is no clear cause and effect. 

I sort of wish it was black and white for me, just like my anorexia (MY anorexia? Ha!) I wish there was a direct reason for why I became ill. Did I piss God off? Did I not give enough money to charity? Was it those white lies I told in Science GCSE about losing my coursework? 

My upbringing was fine and then I got ill. That’s it. Now here I am, a sometimes happy, tries to be funny-ish girl, but mostly miserable and anti-social, feeling like she wants to die a lot of the time.


Sorry that got dark very quick. 

But that’s what depression does to your brain. Depression can consume every thought you have and conclude it with “hmm if you just died you wouldn’t have to worry about that.” Obviously, that’s not the answer.

… As I write this I am realising more than ever that I need to go back in therapy which BY THE WAY is both fucking fantastic (you just have to find the right therapist) but also a fucking ball ache. HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TELL A THERAPIST ABOUT EACH AND EVERY ONE OF MY SIBLINGS LIVES????????

My depression stems from my anorexia which has sort of merged itself into this big, fucking angry monster who likes to throw shit at me and piss on me when I begin to feel slightly happy or confident in myself. Living in a body which appears healthy, but still struggling with my eating loads has hit on my depression recently, and no amount of money or sex or success can change this inner turmoil. 

@tomfoleyart

In case you’re one of the very few who don’t already know: I hate my body. So much. I cry about it about 5 times a week (mainly on Facetime to my boyfriend – sorry Lewis). Yet what people don’t understand with illnesses is that by commenting on ‘how well I look’ or ‘how far I have come’ before even asking how I am actually doing, can be crippling. For me, my depression has been mixed in with my anorexia, and with my now fucked up metabolism has truly fucked me (the anorexia) over. Depression + body loathing = major shit storm. 

I could keep typing for hours about anorexia/hating my body, but I will stop now – you’ve heard it all before, sorry. 

What a lovely little detour down anorexia lane, so yes, I am not okay. But I AM okay. And I have so much to be grateful for. My new fancy pants job, my beautiful nieces, my new glowing tan I worked ever so hard for in Turkey, my housemate buying me an “I <3 Tooting” mug after just moving in. 

These instantaneous, short-lived moments of happiness are something to hold on to, but they are just that: short-lived. A moment of escape from feeling suicidal. Depression latches onto the negative things in life. A troll on twitter, arguing over the fact I don’t eat meat; feeling like I have left it too late to write for a living ;my friends having other plans on my birthday; an ant infestation at my new house (please, God save me). 

Yet sometimes, I am just sad. Not even sad, just numb. Can’t talk, won’t talk, please let me just pretend to watch Come Dine With Me, leave me alone, I’ve not moved for three days, I’m sinking into my bed, I probably won’t come back out, I’m falling into the centre of the earth, but I can’t be bothered to ask anybody for help… 

Sorry, I got carried away there. Well, I don’t know about you but this all felt VERY bleak. And that is because depression is. Sure, I can have a laugh (just because I have depression doesn’t mean I’m not fucking hilarious anymore) and converse like a normal human being about Brexit or Love Island, and MAYBE even still have the odd night out or three. I’m what you may call a high-functioning depressive. But please, call me Molly. I can put all my energy into acting all happy-lardy dar, make conversation, crack some banging jokes, compliment your eyebrows, smile smile smile (this is only usually with people I don’t care about seeing me be a miserable bitch) but then my batteries stop working and no amount of coffee will help.

I become a depresso. 

@tomfoleyart

Depression is hard work and when you have to leave the comfort of your bed, you work tirelessly to put on a façade, so you don’t get the nickname ‘Miserably Molly.’  Yet, excuses don’t need to be made as to why you are a depressed. 

@tomfoleyart

You don’t need to keep it to yourself because you are the person who 'has it all' or 'is the joker of the friendship group'. You don’t need to justify your depression to people. It’s an illness – but one that can for-freaking-sure be cured. And it’s writing down all this gobbledeegoop that helps me – or makes me realise I need help. 

Depression doesn’t discriminate. As Matt Haig (the man, the legend) once quoted: 

“You are no less or more of a man or woman or a human for having depression than you would be for having cancer or cardiovascular disease a car accident.” 

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Huge thank you to Tom Foley who drew some awesome illustrations for this blog post. If you like his doodles (which I'm sure you do) please check out his Instagram @tomfoleyart for more of his work.