Recent I was listening to an episode of one of my favourite TV Series: Doctor Who. If you're not familiar with it (WHY?) then all you really need to know is that The Doctor is a human looking alien who travels in space and time, with a human companion in tow. The episode starts with The Doctor and his friend Amy visiting modern day France to peruse the Van Gogh exhibit in a Parisian museum. Here they learn that Vincent was gifted but depressed and took his own life at the age of 37. From there they travel back to meet Vincent, were they discover a man isolated in his community who is regarded as mad and talentless, often by himself. After the resultant adventure, The Doctor decides to take Vincent forward to the art gallery, where he can hear a curator opine about how brilliant Van Gogh is, and learn how he will be truly appreciated one day. A delighted Vincent returns to his own present determined to carry on and produce more new work. Amy, thrilled, insists on returning to the gallery to see all of the new Van Gogh works now that Vincent lived his life to the full. What she finds instead is that, just as before, Vincent committed suicide at the age of 37. The last painting of Van Gogh they had previously been shown is still his last painting.

This is something of a somber ending for an episode of Doctor Who and it was a while before I watched it again. When I did, I realised what a brilliant depiction of depression it is. More of that in a minute, but first I must explain something else:

The Doctor is my hero. You can laugh at that if you want, but fictional characters are brilliant heroes. They let you down less, have had their thoughts and actions carefully planned in advance, and are widely available on DVD if you need inspiration on tap. So here is why The Doctor is my hero: He never uses weapons. He always mourns death, whoever dies. He never gives up hope (more of that in a minute). And he always knows what to do. Always has to know what to do. Because of who he is (and, of course, because he’s a fictional hero) he finds everyone, in some cases literally EVERYONE, looking at him and saying ‘what do we do?’ And he always has an answer, or keeps trying until he finds one.

I feel like that sometimes. I don’t if it’s how I am, or how carers are, and I don’t know if it’s my perception or reality, but sometimes I feel as if lots of people, at one time or another are looking at me and asking me what to do, expecting me to have the answers.

So on to the depression bit. I’ve talked about depression for the sufferer before. Now I am going to take the view of everyone in its wake. Specifically: me. Coping with a friend, family member or partner with depression is fighting a hope vampire. It eats the stuff, sucks it up, feeds on it. The less hope there is the more weak it makes its poor victims. If you live with, and build your life with, a sufferer then this takes its toll. In the first instance you have to try and give them hope when they can’t find any. You have to make them feel like getting up, getting on and living their life. Then there are the times when you could do with leaning on them. But you can’t, for all they might love you, they have nothing to give. Good news is already rejected and ignored in favour of anything to feel fed up about. Give them some actively bad news and you are giving them a sort of depressive high. The vampire becomes hyperactive and the victim seems almost gleefully miserable. The world is falling apart, and everything is wrong.

In the midst of all this you have to keep them going. Then you have to pick yourself up, dust yourself off and deal with the problem that got you down in the first place. It can be isolating and exhausting. So when I’ve reached the bottom of the barrel I switch on a dvd, fish out my sonic screwdriver (yes, I have one, what of it? My wife got it for me) and let the Doctor fight the monsters, save the world and give me some hope.

Then I go back into the real world, and hope I can save my wife.

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