People are surprising (and fabulous)

It's only a week since I mentioned my Machu Picchu endeavour on social media and I'm overjoyed that people have been donating already. In just 5 donations, my Just Giving page tells me, I'm 10% towards my target with over £100 raised.

This reaction reminds me that we humans have a remarkable capacity for generosity and kindness. It's true, we can't possibly support every cause we come across, but for me, the fact we're willing to try and help people - even in such a simple way as offering our hard-earned cash - offsets some of the selfishness, the violence and the greed that is so constantly reported through our TV sets.

It's important to remember that although there are lots of people who cause others harm, pain or suffering, there are far more who are kind, warm and caring. It can be easy to get disillusioned by the bad that exists in the world, but it's my belief that it's up to each one of us to counter it by being decent. What I mean by that is that every act of kindness, every time we pay a compliment, every time we give up a seat on the train for an elderly person, every time give someone a hug, or share a meal or just care about someone else, we are increasing the amount of good. It doesn't matter if it's something small or seemingly insignificant, it simply matters that we make that choice to do it.

One of the hardest things about depression is the profound, unceasing loneliness. Until last summer, I didn't know it was possible to feel so utterly alone in a room full of people I knew. I was torn between wanting to join in and feeling unable to; when I was on my own I wanted to be around people and when I was around people I desperately wanted to be left alone. It's not uncommon for people with depression to isolate themselves, and I certainly isolated myself. At work, I stopped talking to my colleagues unless it was necessary and hid in my daily tasks, earphones in. I wanted to be invisible, particularly on the days when I struggled to hold it together during the day, yet simultaneously wanted someone to notice, and to care.

I am very lucky in my friends and there were, thankfully, a handful of key people who patiently and consistently offered me support. One of my friends texted me almost all day, almost every day as I went through various cycles of tearfulness, anger, self hatred, guilt and self blame. He wished me luck every week before my therapy session and asked how it went afterwards. He gave me pep talks. He reassured me when I began medication.

Another friend encouraged me to get to a therapist in the first place and offered advice and empathy on days when the sessions left me feeling mixed up. She calmed me down when anxiety tied my stomach in knots and told me I was brave each time I made a tiny turn to face my situation head on.

Being a friend to someone with depression is hard. It's frustrating at times and can be deeply upsetting. But it is also one of the most noble and compassionate things you can do. And believe you me, to the person you're being a friend to, it's a lifeline.

My point, I suppose, is that many of us don't realise what an impact small acts of kindness can make, and that we should allow that warm glow to shine through when we do good things, even if we don't consider them to be a big deal.