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.
I’ve heard it said that people/suicidal depression come into our lives for a reason
My friend Katie shared with me this cry (in the good way) worthy link of Kristin Chenoweth singing with an audience member at her recent concert.
Wow, that clip is amazing right?
Total chills.
I sat at my computer weeping. I am not a weeper but the amount of emotions stirred was just too much. For a minute I thought I was gonna drop enough wet tears on my laptop that I would have to shove it in a bag of rice to save it.
Last June, I got to see Kristin pull up a few teenage girls on stage when I saw her in concert, they sang with her, experiencing total joy and I smiled hardcore then, the ear to ear cheek hurting stuff, where you can still feel it the next day. (Like my arms and legs used to feel when I worked out, and now sadly only seems to happens the morning after I had to walk more than five spaces in the target parking lot. I am possibly why other countries look down on us, but anyway back to this video)
After seeing Kristen perform last June I came home and put the following status update on Facebook:
“Saw Idina Menzel in concert almost a year ago. Saw Kristin Chenoweth tonight. Such wonderful bookends to a challenging year I never would have imagined. I am here and I am grateful.”
So, yeah, I saw this video and I was reminded of being at her concert and feeling emotions that had been absent in my life for a long time.
While severe depression is full of emotion, it is only of one variety. I guess the best (weirdest?) way I can describe it is this:
Imagine only being allowed to eat plastic wrapped american cheese singles every day, no other food, and the more you see it, and touch it and eat it, you get sick of it, but you have no idea when you will get to eat something else so you start to get angry about it, and try to figure out a way to find something else to eat, and then you just resign yourself to it, and you start believing there is no other food you will ever eat and that is that. And then someone hands you a fresh, juicy, peach. For a minute you think it will taste the same way the American cheese does, and then you take a bite and the flavor hits you in a way it never has before. You don’t take one piece of fleshy sweet fuzzy delightfulness for granted, you savor it like Steve Guttenberg savors each new fan he got by dancing poorly on a reality show.
Severe depression was day after day of American cheese, and going to that concert, wow what a fucking juicy, ripe peach.
And reliving it this morning, watching this woman have a moment she can hold on to forever, I tasted it with that same gratefulness.
Beach Ball Hat
This summer my son, going into first grade, had one summer reading book, Stephanie’s Ponytail. The book was about a girl who wore a different hair style to school every day, she got mocked with a chant of “Ugly, ugly, very ugly.” and then the next day everybody would be wearing that hair style. It kind of reminded me of non-geek Ronald getting the cool kids to do The African Anteater Ritual dance in Can’t Buy Me Love.
Spoiler alert: (for Stephanie’s Ponytail, not Can’t Buy Me Love) She gets them all in the end by telling them she is going to shave her head for the next day. They all shave their heads and she does not.
The book was about individuality (though we talked more about the meanness of the chant.)
So for today they we’re assigned to wear a silly hairdo, if they felt comfortable doing so.
We talked about spikes, a faux hawk, tiny ponytails, but he wanted none of those.
All of the sudden he looked at me and said, with a huge amount of excitement and certainty, “I want to cut up that beach ball and wear it as a hat.”
I loved it. It is was the book, and my son personified. I don’t think I would have ever been able to make that choice in first grade and he had absolutely no qualms about it.
When I shared my blog publicly I did it cause I refused to teach my son to be embarrassed (He doesn’t know of my struggles because frankly it’s not necessary yet,) but I know one day he will and I wanted him to know I wasn’t ashamed.
But after today I feel like I won’t be teaching him lessons as much as he will be teaching me them.
So, I am grateful to my son for giving me a new improv (and life) goal: To have the fearlessness of a kid wearing a beach ball for a hat
