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| "Call Up The Light" by Dee Gold |
Call up the light
Spring has finally sprung but it has been a long, cold winter -- more for some than others. I posted a few weeks back about two friends who had suffered undue agony this winter …
… one, who lost a beloved son in a freak auto accident. Many
of you have asked about him and his family, offering loving support for me so
that I might be of some help to them. Thank you. It has meant so much to me to
hear from you. I am honored to report that I have been of some help and that,
while the pain of this loss will undoubtedly continue, my friend and his family
courageously face each day largely because of a stunning outpouring of support
from around the globe. You are a part of that support.
… but, the other friend is the subject of today’s post …
I am writing about Steve, depressed and suicidal, who is now seeking help at a highly regarded
treatment center. I am writing about Steve because he asked me to do so. Steve is a retired successful businessman who once enjoyed
a reputation as a powerful New York attorney. He wants people to realize that
mental illness can happen to anyone. He hopes to help remove the stigma and to
inspire people to seek help without shame should mental illness strike.
Steve recently e-mailed me, “Time was that it
was slander (or libel) per se to state that a person had cancer.
That time is long gone, and I would like to see the same acceptance of
mental disease as an illness that can be treated.”
Having suffered depression myself, many years ago, I believe
that this illness has a kind of consciousness. I think it wants to be known and understood even while it constructs stout defenses
against love, joy, and the concern of worried friends, and even
while it skillfully weaves an emotional environment of hopelessness and self-loathing.
Steve and I want you to understand some things about living with this dreadful
disease -- one that strikes 7% of U.S. adults every
year, making it one of the most common mental disorders in the United States.
I’m certain each of us has either suffered some form of
depression or knows someone who has. It’s my hope to offer some insight into
the nature of the disease. I want to acknowledge how difficult it is to relate
to that state of mind when we aren’t suffering it. I will offer
a few suggestions for supporting a loved one through a
depressive episode. Most of all, I seek to honor my friend Steve by attempting
to give voice to the darkness that prompted him several weeks ago to lock all
his doors, pull down his shades, and turn off his phones, keeping
company for weeks with only the voice of his depression. It's a
voice I’ve come to recognize in friends and family members and, at times, in
myself. It might sound something like this:
There’s no reason to
get out of bed today … or ever. You have nothing to live for. You will never be
strong enough or skilled enough or anything
enough to be useful or loveable. You are worth more dead to those who love you
than alive. Just end it.
Steve alerted friends of his trip down the rabbit hole of
depression via e-mail and requested that we not call or visit. This message was closely
followed by his report that he had successfully procured items that he could use to commit suicide -- an obvious cry for
help, I thought. I began searching for flights and
arranging my schedule so that I might take time off to see him. I e-mailed my
plan to visit. He replied, “Please don’t come.” I recognized in his short reply
the language of depression. Translated, it might have offered something like
this:
You see what you’ve
done? You’ve made her worry about you, you worthless slug. She’s willing to
rearrange her life, spend money she doesn’t have, and put up with your
repulsive whining … for what? For the great nothingness that is your life? Do
not let her visit.
The voice of depression is laden with shame and guilt. It is
loud and relentless. It is punishingly painful, especially in the darkness of
night when it replaces dreaming with debilitating ruminations. Depression is
the evilest kind of brainwashing because it comes from within. Wounded, lonely,
and bereft, the victim of depression ultimately concedes and at times voices
aloud what he's been hearing inside. “The
only way to stop this unbearable pain is to end my life.”
I’ve come to realize that the voice of depression speaks in
code:
Don’t
call or visit = I’m lonely and scared.
I’m
unlovable = I want to know that I’m
loved.
Just
end it = I am in insufferable pain.
I know how to respond to “I’m lonely and scared.” I know how
to show my love. I have lived through insufferable pain so I know there is
light at the end of that tunnel. When I translate the language of depression I
am able to respond empathically, even when that means not visiting or
communicating only through brief e-mails, as I did with Steve. I am able to tolerate long lapses between communications. I
have come to understand that the depressed person needs my trust, my belief in the
strength of his survival instinct and my ability to endure the depressive
episode while continuing to offer my love, even from afar.
I understand, too, how embarrassing and shameful it feels to
reach out for help and to accept it when it arrives. Steve asked that I make
clear in my blog post that a depressed person who asks for help sometimes is answered, even by friends, with
awkwardness or denial (e.g. “Oh, come on. Buck up. Things
can’t be that bad.”) There are times when the victim of depression is
met with a cruel abandonment. The voice of depression is expert at translating
these reactions into self-degrading ruminations that offer nothing but sleep
deprivation, possibly the worst aspect of depression because it weakens the
will to live. Why else would it be used as a torture device?
So, what can we do? How can we help? Having lost a close friend to suicide years
ago, I can honestly say that the only thing to do is to bravely acknowledge the
depth of pain felt in depression. We can listen carefully. Do our best to translate the language of this horrible disease. Try
to find the courage to keep an optimal distance while showing loving support.
Realize that no one chooses depression and they cannot will it away. Understand
that treatments are available and they sometimes fail. Express our caring again
and again and again, simply and quietly. Tolerate our own discomfort for as
long as it takes.
Steve’s depression seems to be slowly lifting. He is
beginning to express glimmers of hope. His sense of humor is making a timid
comeback. He speaks of recovery and he’s looking forward to a trip to Africa
that he has planned for a year. These are signs of life. Signs of
courage. Signs of victory.
If you or someone you know suffers from depression you might
find useful the Depression Page on the NIMH website: http://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/publications/depression/index.shtml
Please share your comments and experiences below.
