So, to begin. I am 27 years old. I am male. I am gay. I live in London, and have done for almost 9 years now. I graduated with a degree in Architecture in the summer of 2005 and since then have worked as an architectural assistant and am currently employed part-time as an administrator in a care home.
It is hard to say exactly when my depression first began, as I suppose it is for many diseases of this type. I know that at school I was a quiet and shy person, plagued by awful acne which demolished my sense of self worth and confidence. As such I had few real friends and instead threw myself into work, leaving school with a brilliant set of results but no lifelong friends or particularly cherished memories. I remember episodes of feeling very down and upset, mostly about the acne as I recall, and speaking to my parents about this. They were supportive and because I lived at home there was always someone there to make me get up and face the day.
I moved to London in September 2002 to begin my university degree. This was obviously a scary experience as it is for all new students, but moving away from home and having a fresh start was something I had been looking forward to for a couple of years. I remember telling myself (and considering to be extremely important) that I must try to be myself, which included coming out as gay, as soon as I possibly could. I was afraid that if I didn't use this opportunity to come out (in what was one of the most liberal environments you could hope for) then I would miss the chance, and who knew when such an opportunity would present itself again?
I had had little previous sexual experience before university. There had been kisses with girls and the odd awkward fumble, but it had never gone any further (understandable, when you have absolutely no sexual interest in girls at all). As for boys, I had begun to meet other gays when I was about 16 or 17. I was lucky enough to have a gay best friend at school, who introduced me to Nottingham's gay scene. Along with our fantastic (but emotionally flawed) lesbian friend, the 3 of us would make a weekly trip to the gay pubs and bars of Nottingham, always ending up in NG1, the city's premier/only gay club. This gave me the chance to really start meeting gay people, as well as flirting, kissing and other less salubrious activities in the club toilets. Ridiculously, I hadn't come out to my two gay friends (even though the truth was painfully obvious) so all of these endeavors had to carried out in secret. I did eventually pluck up the courage to come out to the 2 of them, and after that time I could finally be myself, at least within the confines of the club. NG1 became a sort of haven for me, the one place where I could be around other gay people, I could flirt, get drunk and wouldn't have to hide anything. I look back upon those times fondly.
So, back to university. I was a shy, closeted 18 year old with limited sexual experience. I was still a virgin. I desperately wanted this to change. By luck I was put into a halls of residence which had some very obvious gay characters, the sort of people I had only seen before on bad TV dramas. One day I managed to pluck up the courage to ask one of them, straight out, if he was gay (he obviously was!) and if so could I hang out with him? This was a turning point for me. I was introduced to a crowd of around 10 or so gay guys who I quickly befriended and began going out on the town with. Our halls were located in Fitzrovia, roughly a 15 minute walk from Soho, the gay centre of the universe. We spent many a night (far too many to remember) getting drunk in our rooms, hitting the town, dancing till the early morning and sleeping in late. Just like proper students do. On top of all this, I was introduced to a guy who lived on the 5th floor of our halls, and soon we were going out....my first boyfriend! I still remember our first official date, going to the Odeon on Tottenham Court Road to see 28 Days Later, a horror classic!
All was going well in my social life. Academically, however, things were not so rosy. I had come from a highly academic background where I had dedicated myself to working hard and had achieved good grades. I had managed to secure a place at one of the most creative and avant garde architecture schools in the country. I suddenly found myself surrounded by a mass of incredibly confident, creative and artistic people, the likes of which I had never met before. Many had come from artistic backgrounds, had studied foundation degrees or even another degree before this one. I had come straight from my A-levels where the total number of art students was 4. I was well out of my depth. I remember when we were given our first project. Each of us was given a slip of paper with a description. Mine read 'six pounds of squid'. I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. I thought we would be drawing and designing buildings, not chasing around after seafood. Despite never being the most confident person, I had always known what was being asked of me, and what was expected. Until now. Now, I was completely lost. While those around me appeared to me happily getting on with the task, I was floundering in a sea of self doubt and confusion. To make matters worse, instead of confidently befriending my fellow architecture students, I spent more and more time with the friends I had made in halls, many of whom had less demanding degrees. As a result, I began to struggle and fall behind. I spent more time getting drunk and being hungover, and less time doing the work that was required. I would book tutorials with the most sympathetic tutors in order to get off lightly - unfortunately these same tutors were the least helpful and least likely to push me. As a result, I managed to scrape through the first year by the skin of my teeth, with a body of work I am not proud of. I remember begging the Head of Department not to make me repeat the year, considering this to be a failure - how could I break the news to my parents that I had failed?
Throughout this year was when the serious bouts of depression began. Confusion, self-doubt at my abilities, lack of confidence (both social and sexual) all took their tool. The first boyfriend I had made only lasted a matter of weeks, and dumped me as unceremoniously as 19-year olds generally do. As we shared halls, I had to endure the hell of seeing him for the rest of the year, which almost drove me crazy. He ignored me, deeming it best that we simply not be in contact - easier said than done when you have the same friends and see each other daily. This was a particularly dark time for me - the rejection I felt was almost overwhelming and I took solace in getting drunk and kissing boys. I was still a virgin and this played heavily on my mind. Everyone around me seemed to be so sexually experienced that I felt like a child amongst men. I couldn't bring myself to tell them I had never had proper sex, it was just too embarrassing. Instead, I lied, nodding along to their conversations about anal sex and laughing at the jokes, as if I knew all about it. I felt like a fraud, and was constantly uneasy in case somebody asked me a question I could not answer.
