Lennon, Kale, and ECT
Facebook post 9/26/13
Depression is what happens when you’re busy making other plans, at least that’s how life feels right now.
The depression has decided to rear it’s ugly mug, and like America’s intense love for Kale, it seems like it has come out of nowhere.
But it also feels like it will be okay.
On Monday I will start ECT round 2: Electric Boogaloo.
I have faith it will work.
*I have struggled whether to share this in such an open forum but my desire to end stigma and build empathy has trumped my worry that some people just won’t get it. Though that being said, a couple of clients and assholes have been blocked, cause real life is real life.
Edison’s Medicine
Saw Woody Allen’s new movie, Blue Jasmine. It was swell and I learned a super fun term for electro-convulsive therapy – Edison’s medicine.
Which led to this attempt at spoken word poetry;
Edison’s medicine
made me a better citizen
of my own life, that is.
Ready to hit population non-existent,
don’t know where joy went.
Little fight left, ready to end it quick
so gotta do what’s left; get electric.
Hair gelled up like something about mary,
feeling nothing, done, and weary.
Will it work or is it a waste of voltage,
at least it’s an hour down from the ledge
Amazed, painless shocks make me whole,
Edison and friends brought me back from so low.
At the end all that’s left is luck and trust,
at do or die, you hope to see do as a must.
Given back what you forgot you possessed,
wanting life, knowing to never accept less.
(light applause, one man yells “yeah, you go bitch!” drop mike)
Prayers and Nipples
I made a decision this year to only go to the children’s services for High Holidays. These services to me are where the meaning is: joy, energy, simple reflection. Plus, I won’t lie, I like the brevity.
So three children’s service would be my temple-going experience. Done.
But then I learned a friend of mine was singing in the adult services and I wanted to see her. I figured we would go to the service and when my son was ready to leave, we would go . I told him he should tap my ring three times when he was ready to go home, the ring is ruby, so it had a nice Wizard of Oz feel to it. He tapped about an half hour in. We got up to leave and my son said “wait, it is the Shehecheyanu, I love this prayer.” And that moment right there, that became my High Holiday.
The prayer that has had so much meaning in my life, the reminder that in order to experience all the big and little firsts in life, we have to hang on, to sustain, to live, my son connected to it in his own way.
As we were walking to the car my son said the prayer is one of his favorites because he loves the word shehecheyanu. I told him it was my favorite too and he smiled.
Here’s to another year of Shehecheyanus
My second favorite moment of this holiday? This conversation.
My son: Can I take my shirt off in the car
Me: No
My niece: Then we will see your boobies. We do not want to see your boobies
Me: Well actually he just has nipples
My niece: Well, do not show us your nickels
My son (annoyed): I don’t have nickels, I have nipples! Well I have nickels in my bank, but on my body, I have nipples.
Trust Humanity – Don’t let the Dumb Asses Win
To you, this person who is fading, who can decide one second from now, that you’re done, and that decision won’t even feel like a decision, but a fact.
“My life is over.”
“Suicide is inevitable.”
To you, I am asking to trust.
“Fuck you.” you probably want to say
“Do you think I even have the fucking energy it takes to trust?” you’re probably thinking.
But with whatever tiny amount you have, I am going to ask you to trust.
Say out loud to someone “I am done. I want to die. I need you right now.”
Needing people isn’t being needy, it is being human, and you are worth the humanity others have to offer to you.
I spent months with suicidal depression, standing with other moms at my son’s school as the kids played, listening to the ease with which they could talk about what was on their mind.
They could talk about a weird mole they had to get checked out, but I couldn’t mention that my meds were failing me.
So I said nothing to them.
And then after reaching out to other people in my life, with what little energy I had, I did get better. And then I began sharing how much of a struggle not dying was for me.
And you know who reached out to me? Those moms.
They read my blog and learned what had been going on during all those times we stood there while our kids played and they said “I wish I would have known.”
I wish I would have thought it was okay to tell them.
I missed out on the humanity and understanding these kind women had to offer because I was afraid they would judge, or not get it, or maybe just walk away. But I know now, they wouldn’t have.
Sure, there is a chance one of them would have said something totally dumb ass to me
The world has a lot dumb asses who will say incredibly stupid shit to a depressed/suicidal person. Judgmental, diminishing things.
But this is the thing, the more we talk, the less dumb some of them will become because dumb asses can dismiss one or two people telling them things, but if the world is saying “This is real. Take the time to understand this disease. Offer help,” most of them will understand and change.
Some will always be dumb asses. Ignore those ones.
How does the epidemic of suicide end? When we all start sharing (in whatever way is comfortable for us) that having depression is fact, not feeling. that an optimistic attitude, while a wonderful trait, isn’t a replacement for meds or therapy,(to the naysayers, I provide this ridiculousness: “My blood sugar was low last night and then I filled myself with good thoughts and remembered all I am grateful for, and now I no longer have diabetes!”)
We do our part to end suicide, the way we do our part to end any epidemic, by being proactive, educating ourselves and others, and not being afraid to speak up. By knowing even if we are not personally suffering, as a society, we all are.
Trust me.
