Depression Essay #1

Posted on Facebook 13 Aug 2014.

I remember the first time I was admitted to the psychiatric ward of a hospital. I had had a psychotic break in my dorm room at college and my classmates called an ambulance because I was non-responsive. (They feared a suicide attempt, but I don't think I had enough capability for intent for that.) After the whole ER thing, when they admitted me and the aid left the room and I was alone, I felt this very fierce jubilation! I had shown them! There really was something wrong! And then it struck me that I was locked in a psychiatric ward and I was suddenly terrified at what I had done.

The second time was some weeks later. I had returned home. My mother and I watched the clocks fall back as we went off daylight savings time in the waiting area until I could be admitted. That stay was memorable because I totally derailed a group therapy session with a lively discussion of the historical, linguistic, and cultural relationship between mad/insane and mad/angry. I remember the staff was frazzled, annoyed, and really upset with me. I hated that hospital and wanted out. The staff knew I was very, very sick, and argued strongly that I should be there. I argued more strongly that I should be out. My own psychiatrist (this was back in the days when they didn't just monitor meds) was so fascinated with my argument and how high-functioning I was given how very, very sick I was that he got curious what I would do with that if I got out and he approved my release. He and I were a good therapeutic fit and he helped facilitate my initial struggle, clawing, straining, arduous climb to mental health.

My maintenance holds pretty well. I know what types of situations put me at higher risk. I can tell when I need to see a counselor for a tune-up. My counselors usually comment that they don't often work with people as healthy as I am because I catch problems pretty early. I had so many messes and issues while pregnant that I had a third stay in the psych ward then, too.

Throughout all of this, I had family and friends I knew loved me unconditionally and were there for me. No matter how sick I got, it was ok and they would stay with me or visit me or take me along as they did their day-to-day tasks. Being sick with pneumonia or sick with depression or surgical removal of my wisdom teeth, it would all be ok and that assumption gave me confidence to become ok.

You can't tell a depressed person to cheer up or a suicidal person that they have so much to live for or an ADD person they should just chill or a grieving person that their loss will get better. You can just be there and take them as they are and make a safe place for them to be who and what they are. When it's safe to be broken or sick or sideways or whatever, then it's safe to work the long road through it to the other side that make life feel cheerful, worth living, serene, and comforted enough for today.

Many thanks, much love, and every blessing especially to Laura, Hal, Chris, Jon, Geri, Elizabeth, and Gary who provided a safe environment for me when I needed it and who are still in my life in some way even now.