An alternate title for this piece could be To Hell and Back. That was used already for an autobiography of a real war hero. But depression is a war also. It is a brainstorm where dueling neurotransmitters wreck havoc with our lives in ways too horrid to consider. It strips us of our dignity and leaves us with cold night sweats for weeks at a time. And it is always there. Always. “Have a nice day. Cheer up. Things will be better,” they say. And we try to cheer up and have a nice day, but things don't get better.
We spend time in hospitals taking their medications, their shocks, their patronizing. We spend all our waking hour's with a killer at our throat. We look in the mirror and the killer is us. He may one day claim his victim.
Then there are the constant assaults to put up with that the doctors usually can’t quite fit in to their textbook ideas about us. Some days there is a palpable coldness that chills us to our bones. Our bed and blankets and clothes don’t quite help. Waiting is all there is.
Other days tender nerve endings make light, sounds and other stimuli unbearable. A kind word cuts deeply. Birdsong sounds like nails on a blackboard. The fine sunlight filtering into our room blinds us so we go deeper into our covers. Waiting is all there is.
The next week a favorite tune becomes our enemy roiling around in our brain for days on end pulling us downward and downward toward the edge. Television becomes the purpetrator of countless jingles that wound. Obsessions abound. Compulsions embarrass. Waiting is all there is.
We are victims of an illness that is so cruel it can kill. And the world rarely knows the penalty it extracts many days just to be able to walk down the street and stay sane.
We don’t even have dreams to escape to. We have nightmares to wrestle with instead that leave us with a sweat soaked bed and tear stained pillow. That wife or husband or family don't have a clue what’s wrong or know what to do. We don't either. We curse God for treating us so. All people seem to shy away. Our best friends quit coming around, calling or writing. The sun never shines in the sunshine state and all is not right with our world. Maybe it never has been or never will be. That gun and that razor blade seem so seductive at times and the large building we pass on the way to the store seems to call out our name and beckons from its heights and wouldn't the fall at least offer surcease of sorrow?
Who stole the fun? Depression is the thief of joy. It steals our heart and soul and if we are not ever watchful, it takes our mind as well and a mind is a terrible thing to lose. We could even tolerate their medication and all those side effects, their electricity, their patronizing if only there were some glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel has many curves, detours and dead ends. Maybe we get lucky and find redemption in Prozac, religion or AA and become a friend of Bill's. Maybe not.
But if it is not too late and somehow you have never given up, then maybe these words from a survivor of the depression wars can assist you in the long, slow, neverending climb out of the black hole back into some light. The journey back is not easy. Some don't want you back. And the work never ends if you do come back from the edge. You can never relax and forget. The edge is slippery and strewn with banana peels. The best you CAN do is never give up and keep trying. That helps. Never give up. You will always have bad days. There is no cure. There is some hope: NEVER GIVE UP.
If you try to return from hell on the slow train there is no welcoming committee and life must in fact begin anew and not where you left off. Your first and still favorite girlfriend and your best male friend aren't waiting at the station. But there are other people to meet. And perhaps some of those old friends will be happy you returned as well. You became different and are not the same person they knew and loved. You were probably pretty scary to them. Give them the benefit of the doubt, be willing to move on.
Then perhaps one day if you are lucky, technology lends you a hand like it did me. By chance you acquire a computer and get online. The internet becomes a real presence in your life. You miss it when you are away from the console. You have something to wake up to. Email from online friends. News of any sort you choose. Music. Endless tutorials. Software to review and share.
The light at the end of the tunnel gets a bit brighter. Days pass more quickly as you learn to work the net. There are search engines to try. Sweepstakes to enter. People to meet. Interactive games to play with others. Time is not so much of a burden. You can still learn, grow, socialize in a new way. Your views can be sent to multitudes of Ezines hungry for input. BlogsRUs. Reality of a different nature begins or returns slowly. Not as you wanted perhaps but life is more bearable again. Writing begins or continues. There is a renewal of hope.
Redemption of sorts in cyberspace.
We spend time in hospitals taking their medications, their shocks, their patronizing. We spend all our waking hour's with a killer at our throat. We look in the mirror and the killer is us. He may one day claim his victim.
Then there are the constant assaults to put up with that the doctors usually can’t quite fit in to their textbook ideas about us. Some days there is a palpable coldness that chills us to our bones. Our bed and blankets and clothes don’t quite help. Waiting is all there is.
Other days tender nerve endings make light, sounds and other stimuli unbearable. A kind word cuts deeply. Birdsong sounds like nails on a blackboard. The fine sunlight filtering into our room blinds us so we go deeper into our covers. Waiting is all there is.
The next week a favorite tune becomes our enemy roiling around in our brain for days on end pulling us downward and downward toward the edge. Television becomes the purpetrator of countless jingles that wound. Obsessions abound. Compulsions embarrass. Waiting is all there is.
We are victims of an illness that is so cruel it can kill. And the world rarely knows the penalty it extracts many days just to be able to walk down the street and stay sane.
We don’t even have dreams to escape to. We have nightmares to wrestle with instead that leave us with a sweat soaked bed and tear stained pillow. That wife or husband or family don't have a clue what’s wrong or know what to do. We don't either. We curse God for treating us so. All people seem to shy away. Our best friends quit coming around, calling or writing. The sun never shines in the sunshine state and all is not right with our world. Maybe it never has been or never will be. That gun and that razor blade seem so seductive at times and the large building we pass on the way to the store seems to call out our name and beckons from its heights and wouldn't the fall at least offer surcease of sorrow?
Who stole the fun? Depression is the thief of joy. It steals our heart and soul and if we are not ever watchful, it takes our mind as well and a mind is a terrible thing to lose. We could even tolerate their medication and all those side effects, their electricity, their patronizing if only there were some glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel, but the tunnel has many curves, detours and dead ends. Maybe we get lucky and find redemption in Prozac, religion or AA and become a friend of Bill's. Maybe not.
But if it is not too late and somehow you have never given up, then maybe these words from a survivor of the depression wars can assist you in the long, slow, neverending climb out of the black hole back into some light. The journey back is not easy. Some don't want you back. And the work never ends if you do come back from the edge. You can never relax and forget. The edge is slippery and strewn with banana peels. The best you CAN do is never give up and keep trying. That helps. Never give up. You will always have bad days. There is no cure. There is some hope: NEVER GIVE UP.
If you try to return from hell on the slow train there is no welcoming committee and life must in fact begin anew and not where you left off. Your first and still favorite girlfriend and your best male friend aren't waiting at the station. But there are other people to meet. And perhaps some of those old friends will be happy you returned as well. You became different and are not the same person they knew and loved. You were probably pretty scary to them. Give them the benefit of the doubt, be willing to move on.
Then perhaps one day if you are lucky, technology lends you a hand like it did me. By chance you acquire a computer and get online. The internet becomes a real presence in your life. You miss it when you are away from the console. You have something to wake up to. Email from online friends. News of any sort you choose. Music. Endless tutorials. Software to review and share.
The light at the end of the tunnel gets a bit brighter. Days pass more quickly as you learn to work the net. There are search engines to try. Sweepstakes to enter. People to meet. Interactive games to play with others. Time is not so much of a burden. You can still learn, grow, socialize in a new way. Your views can be sent to multitudes of Ezines hungry for input. BlogsRUs. Reality of a different nature begins or returns slowly. Not as you wanted perhaps but life is more bearable again. Writing begins or continues. There is a renewal of hope.
Redemption of sorts in cyberspace.
Copyright 2007 by Robin Hall
No comments:
Post a Comment