by Irene Daniel
I was having a bad day Monday. That's how it is with depression; some days are just dark, especially in times of stress and change. As I am in the process of divorcing my husband and selling the home that I love, I've had some bad days around it all.
So, I called my BFF since 4th grade and we talked for almost two hours. I felt so much better after our talk because I knew that I had value to -- at least -- this one person in the world right now. I felt unconditionally loved, and knowing this helped me to remember that she is not the only person in the world who loves me, and that my life really is a gift.
Then, I went back to my computer and learned about the death of Robin Williams. As I learned more details about the violent manner in which he took his life, I just cried and cried. I was glad that I had just talked to my friend, for the darkness and depth of severe depression can smother me like a blanket, and can be exacerbated by sad news. That could have been me -- many times in my life.
The first time I attempted suicide, I was eight years old. I took a butcher knife out of the kitchen drawer one night, and put it to my wrist. I couldn't go farther than that, not at that time. Many times throughout my life, I have often thought that driving my car off a cliff would be a great solution to all my woes. I can't even count how many times I thought about it.
In the fall of 1991, after failing the California Bar Exam, in the presence of my then boyfriend, his children and my 11 year old son, I announced that I was going to kill myself. I was also very drunk at the time. I will never completely know what that did to those children, but it messed up my kid for a long time -- a long time. It was years before he felt that he could trust me emotionally again. It took a lot of hard work to get that trust back. As a result, I made a promise to my only child that I would never, ever do that again.
I have never shared this story publicly. Only a few of my closest friends ever knew. And I never wanted to share this story. I never thought that I could ever be at peace with that moment, much less feel compelled to share it. But tell it I must because I have to admit today that even such a horrible moment in my life was a real blessing to me. I am not only unashamed of it, but grateful that it happened at all.
You see, had I not made that firm commitment to my son, I might be dead right now. For the past two and a half years I have been in the grips of extreme anxiety and severe depression. My mother died in the spring of 2012. Shortly thereafter my high school principal, and a dear family friend who was always looking out for my mom and our family, also died. Then, in August of 2012, I lost my Uncle John, my hero. All of this loss sent me into a tailspin, and that is where I have been ever since. I thought about killing myself a lot during this time. I would awake feeling angry to have to be alive. I wanted out, out, OUT of here. Thank God for the promise I made or I would have taken that deadly drive. My son saved my life -- over and over again. Only recently have I begun to feel really lucky and happy about being alive -- for the first time in my life.
I've suffered from depression all my life. My maternal grandmother killed herself with rat poison at the age of 52 in the throes of menopause. My mother was always extremely anxious and probably suffered from some kind of psychosis, for which she would never seek any treatment. She verbally and physically abused her children in fits of uncontrollable rage instead. It took a long time, a lot of therapy and medication for me to be able to see past her illness and be emotionally reconciled with her before she died. My father's side of the family is also replete with cases of mental illness or disorder. The fact that I suffered some pretty serious trauma as a very young child could only have exacerbated what I inherited.
Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 58 -- six years more than my grandmother, for whom I am named. I think of her often, even though I never had the privilege to know her. And I am here to tell you that it was the happiest birthday I have ever had, just because I am alive and actually glad to be alive. Even though I am having to jettison many things precious to me to stay alive, I know that I have lost nothing. Because I AM ALIVE!! That's it! That's all I need today. It took a lot of hard work, therapy and medication to get to a point where I feel happy just to be alive. So now I see my life as a huge success -- just because I am alive. I made it through all that darkness.
I've never felt that I belonged in this world. I felt alien always, like I just didn't get what the big whoop was all about. Why am I here? That's how I felt. Even though I have many blessings -- the greatest being my son and grandson -- when I am in my darkness I cannot see it, cannot connect with it at all. None of that seems to matter. To those fortunate non-sufferers, depression looks a lot like sloth. It's not. It is a gripping, all-encompassing immobility, physically and emotionally.
I share this story because social stigma remains the primary reason that many people will not seek treatment for mental illness. 34,000 people commit suicide in this country every year. For every one of them that succeeds, there are 20 others who attempt suicide. It is the second-leading cause of disability in the workplace, and depression boasts of a 15% mortality rate. Aside from this, it robs all of us of the joy we could be living and sharing.
Maybe someone reading this will recognize themselves in my words. Maybe they will pick up the phone and call a friend or a psychiatrist or a hot-line. Maybe somebody will be inspired to remember to take their meds, just like I do every night. Maybe someone will go for a walk instead of taking a bottle of pills. Maybe, maybe, maybe -- just maybe -- this writing will encourage just one person, and help that one person to see that he or she is not a throw-away item, but a precious jewel.
Robin Williams once suggested to those suffering from depression that they reach out to someone, and to know that they are loved. How we all wish that he could have done that, instead of isolating and withdrawing the way depressed people do. The only way I know of to honor him is to share my story, as unflattering as it may be, for the more we hide ourselves away in shame, the more of us will die. It really is that simple for me.
Farewell to our alien friend. Thank you for your life and love. And, for me personally, thanks for the wake-up call. I hear you. I choose life today. I choose joy. I insist on doing whatever I need to do to keep that darkness at bay and to celebrate my imperfect human life.
I needed a lot of help to get here, and I may need more help again. I am not afraid of myself or my life anymore. I have never known more joy and freedom, and I didn't get here all by myself.
If you need help, please, please, please -- REACH OUT!!
Irene Daniel Copyright 2014 All rights reserved
No comments:
Post a Comment