The Force is Strong
My son and I didn’t watch the Star Wars trailer last night. I forgot about it till he was in bed and I figured he would enjoy watching it with his dad.
I can honestly say I had no need to watch it but I just purchased our tickets and figured I should check it out, especially since I’m sure my boy will quiz me, cause quizzing me on Star Wars is without a doubt one of his favorite past times.
I am still trying to process what just happened when I watched it which is probably why I am writing.
I cried the whole time.
I’m not sure I even got the plot but it was like I was at somebody’s birthday, watching a video scrapbook, and I found myself saying the names of everything I was seeing, like they were photos of family members or friends,
Tie Fighter! BB-8! Han Solo! R2-D2! Storm Troopers!
It went on and on, of course ending with me having a moment with my gal, Princess Leia.
It literally (the right meaning of literally) felt like my son’s spirit and excitement was inside of me as I watched.
So here we are, this movie he is ecstatic about, tickets bought.
For a date seven weeks away.
Another forward motion when I’m struggling to go in that direction
But the trailer ends with me being told to just let it in and you kinda got to listen to what movie trailers tell you.
After all Dirty Dancing’s trailer guy told me to get ready for the time of my life and that dude was right on.
It’s Not Your Problem
For a friend, family member, or partner of someone with depression the first and best thing you can do for them, and more importantly yourself, is to take away any idea that you can or are supposed to cure this disease.
Let go of that false, burden-filled notion .
If this person had MS, or cancer or diverticulitis you wouldn’t think it was your responsibility to cure the disease. You would think it was your responsibility to support them through it.
I have been feeling a little bit better and I’ve been doing a lot of positive things in life and I want to make one thing very clear.
I am not better because I have been doing positive things. Rather, I had to get better in order to do positive things.
And then, yes, making positive choices helps but there is a low point where that is just not part of the equation.
Even when I am at my worst I do make choices, to walk, to get out of bed, to be there for my son, but the fact is that I make those choices because even as bad as stuff is, I happen to be able to do those things.
That’s how the disease manifests for me.
But for other people they are not able to get out of bed.
And they are fighting just as hard as I am
When we see someone who is struggling with depression, we feel we need to encourage them to make healthy choices, exercise, eat kale, count your blessings.
But the most important thing we can do is encourage them to get the professional help they need because then, hopefully, they will get a little bit better and they will be able to make those life affirming choices.
Frankly, when I am at my worst, one of the only reasons I walk everyday is so when somebody says to me “Hey, you should really exercise, that’ll make you feel better!” I can say “Yes I already did! and I still want to die!”
There is no one cure for depression. There is no one tool. This disease, like many others, requires patience and building up your resources as much as you can so when stuff is at its worst you can get through.
But that is the job, in many ways for the person with the disease, and the best way they can work on building up their resources is by having people who support them through the disease, even when it is at a standstill, and who are not just trying to get them past it.
It is scary to not be able to solve something that seems like it is something you should be able solve. So let go of the idea that you should be able to solve it and let yourself know that your goal is to just be there.
The person suffering, and you, will be better for it.
Delicious Ambiguity
Last year I begged two nurses at the psych hospital to let me stay up late and watch the season premier of SNL. The very kind nurses made it happen and then right before the show started, NBC stopped working on that TV, which amused me.
This year I will watch SNL in my apartment, staying here by myself, for the first time.
I am viewing this as triumphant even though or maybe even more so because I am probably in the same state of mental health as last year.
People have inquired before if writing so much about wanting to die keeps those thoughts festering in my head. The quick clinical ansewr: No.
My answer: I write so i can live.
Unless you’ve lived this, I don’t know if you could ever understand what it feels like to believe at your core you’re not meant to be here. That you are wrong for being alive.
So I write these thoughts but I live opposite to them
There is something very disconcerting about signing a one-year lease when you are struggling through each moment, but I did it.
I’ve had a week ridiculously rough by any standards. A finalization of a divorce, a death of someone else who suffers from this disease, I moved out of two houses; the one I grew up in and the one that I lived in with Leon, the place where I was pregnant, brought home my son, watched him grow alongside his dad, someone I care about deeply.
And now I will sit here in this new place with the goal of making it through tonight and watching the Not Ready For Primetime Players, continuing to try and find the deliciousness in the ambiguity that the fabulous Gilda talked about.
Saying Goodnight
Some nights end with me telling him “I love you.”
Some end with “I’ll check on you in ten minutes.”
Tonight’s ended with me saying “I promise if you ever tell me you are in love with a guy named Weasel, I won’t laugh or scream.”
“Will you faint?” He asked.
“No, I will ask if he makes you happy and if you say yes, I will say ‘Then I’m happy.'”
This boy and me, yes we are mother and son but more than that we are Deena and Rafi, and I see how much of a special relationship that is.
Ending it all destroys that, solves nothing, passes along this suffering onto him.
I know this and yet this voice inside says “You need to go.”
This voice is unwanted and enters without permission.
And instead of tasty cookies it brings anger and darkness.
Is it possible for this voice to leave?
Yes, I am told, but it will take time. A lot of time.
And I want to yell “What about all this fucking time I’ve already put in?”
And so I do yell that, in my car, alone, and I do my best to hang on and do what I need to do to get healthy, to be here for the day my son brings home a Weasel or whatever else makes him happy.