depression: illness vs. disability

illness, n. A disease or period of sickness

disability, n. 1 a physical or mental condition that limits a person’s movements, senses, or activities. 2 a disadvantage or handicap.

(sourced from askoxford.com)

I started thinking about what depression really is the other day, when I was at the shops.  Pretty much everyone’s heard that old gag, that disabled people get the best parking spots.  (I apologise if I offend.)  Anyhow, I started thinking about disability and depression.  What makes depression an illness and not a disability?  Can it become a disability?  And if so, how do I get an ACROD sticker??  (Yes, I know I’m going to burn in hell.)

I suppose the main difference (which is not actually contained in the above definitions) is that an illness is considered to be temporary, whereas a disability is permanent.  So while some people suffer all their lives from depression, the majority either recover fully or have significant periods of remission.  People who have had their legs amputated, however, aren’t known for suddenly growing them back.  Therefore not only do you have to be permanently ill for it to be considered a disability as such, but there must be no precedent set of general recovery from your illness (or disability, I guess).

However, I have to say that, along with pnuemonia (which I had for four months when I was fourteen), depression is the most disabling conditon I’ve ever suffered from.  Whether or not it’s permanent in my case, I have no way of telling.  But it’s certainly something which has acted as a defining period of my life, in much the same was as moving out of home, getting my first professional job, and meeting SO were defining events.  It’s also something which has shed personal understanding on my whole life, both backward before the depression hit, and forward in terms of how I view future life choices.  For example, I’ve never been overly maternal.  Now, I fear that my depression will make parenting that much harder, both for me, SO, and the child/children.  The thought of being that mum who can’t get out of bed to hear her kid’s reading homework is one that leaves me cold with dread.  (I’m certainly not knocking those mums – I think they’re amazing just to get through the day – but the fear of having that struggle terrifies me.)  I can’t cope with life for myself when I’m not well – how on earth would I be a mum as well?

Anyhow, I think this post is a lot of rambling crap, but it’s been on my mind lately, together with my prognosis.  I’d love to know what the future holds…. or maybe not.