We're talking about depression

The news and social media have been full of talk about depression and suicide for the last couple of days. I’m glad that there are some awesome discussions going on, and people are talking about subjects that many feel are better left alone. But I am sorry that we are talking about these things because of the death of someone.

I was so sad when I heard about the death of Robin Williams from suicide. Multiple news reports indicated that he had been experiencing severe depression.

I first watched Robin Williams in the television show “Mork and Mindy” in the 1970s. I was a young teenager at the time. I remember being amazed at his energy, his ability to improvise—he was so different from any other actor I had seen at that time.

I always enjoyed his performances through the years. He was truly gifted.

And yet, he was suffering, too.

I don’t have anything profound that I can say here today. But here are some of the thoughts I’ve had:

*If anyone would have been able to “snap out of it,” to “just think about something else,” it would have been someone like Robin Williams.

Depression is serious. It is not something that a person can just “get over” with sheer will or positive thinking.

*If anyone would know how to find help for depression, it would be someone like Robin Williams. He had the means and the ability to find help.

Depression is formidable. It can make people believe that no help would be enough, that they are beyond help and beyond hope. And even in the midst of treatment, people can feel great despair.

*Because it is so serious and formidable, we need to learn more about depression. We need to help people get effective treatment. We need to be open about depression, talk about it not in whispers but in open conversations.

Here are some resources for more information:

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline

National Alliance on Mental Illness

National Institute of Mental Health

Peace to Robin Williams and to his family. Peace to all the suffering, whoever you are.

Love and saying no

“One of these days, I’m going to pack up my bags and leave. And then you’ll find out what it is to not have me around.”

I heard my mother yell those and similar words many times when I was a child. Usually it was during a tirade when she was complaining about how hard she worked and how little she was appreciated.

The words scared me. I pictured my mother packing suitcases—it was always two suitcases in my imagination—and leaving the house, leaving me behind.

What would I do without my mother?

It didn’t matter what kind of mother she was. I needed my mother, and I didn’t want her to leave.

I have been thinking about her words a lot over the past couple of weeks. Maybe they’ve been on my mind because her suicide attempt seemed like the ultimate threat. Perhaps that’s not a fair assessment, but that’s the connection I’ve made.

I told you in my last post that some wise people have helped me. One of those is my minister.

A few days after my mother was taken to the hospital, I met with him. I wanted to get feedback on my reaction to what she had done. I wanted to talk about the guilt that I felt because of all the anger and hate I felt, not just over the recent incident, but over a lifetime of pain.

During our conversation, I made the comment that I knew my feelings were wrong, that the Jesus of my faith tradition taught that we should love one another.

My minister said he couldn’t say what love was.

But he could say that love was not always saying yes. Sometimes, he said, love was saying no. Love didn’t mean that we had to put up with whatever someone did.

Those words helped me tremendously.

I have begun to see that loving my mother doesn’t mean that I have to place myself in circumstances where I am open to abuse.

I love my mother because that is what I needed to do as a child: bond with and love my mother.

She is my mother. She is not evil. She is not a monster.

But she has never acknowledged the truth about our past, nor does she admit that there’s anything wrong with the continuing put-downs, manipulations, and lies.

I was hoping that she would finally get the help that she needed. But she is choosing not to.

I rarely saw her or talked with her on the phone before her actions almost two weeks ago. I was trying to resolve my sense of guilt even then.

Now, I have a sense of resolution.

I cannot be around my mother, at least not now. I cannot talk to her or see her. I cannot have a relationship with her.

I don’t wish her harm. I hope she has a good life. I hope she is happy and healthy.

But for my own health, I have to stay away from her.

When life seems to fall apart

So much has happened since I last posted. I have struggled with the best way to write this post.

What has guided me in writing it is my belief that I must be honest with my readers, and I must also be honest in order to chip at the stigma that surrounds what I’m about to tell you.

About 10 days ago, my mother attempted suicide. She is 86 years old and lives in an assisted living home with her own room. She took what she described as a handful of sleeping pills on a Thursday night. She was found unconscious by the home’s staff the next morning and taken to the hospital.

The assumption was that she had had a stroke, though when a neurologist examined her, he thought otherwise.

All through the day that Friday, she became more and more conscious. That evening, she told me, my husband and my oldest brother what she had done.

My mother has been depressed for my entire life. She has mostly been untreated. She has taken antidepressants off and on, but she always stopped taking them.

With this incident, she spent three days in a mental health ward. She was diagnosed as depressed. She was deemed not to be a danger to herself and released to go back to her assisted living home. She is not seeking additional help.

Why she did what she did, what she wanted to do—all of that is her story. I can only truly tell you my story.

I have done a lot of reading about the aftereffects of attempted suicide and suicide. But this is not a post about how to care for the one who attempts suicide. It is not about recognizing the signs that someone is contemplating suicide.

Frankly, I’m not in the position to be able to write such a post.

But you can find information about suicide and suicide prevention HERE.

This post is about the messy, emotional aftermath of a suicide attempt by a family member.

Even though I have been familiar with the world of mental health issues for years, I still had a hard time imagining that someone in my family, someone that I knew, would attempt suicide. So I was first shocked. Then horrified and afraid.

Over the last 10 days, I have had a lot of conflicting emotions swirling through me. But the main one has been anger. White hot anger that has made my chest feel like it’s full and about to explode.

And hate. Hate and resentment and bitterness and anger have filled me up.

If you have been reading my blog for a while, you know my relationship with my mother has never been easy.

Even with that history, my emotions have surprised me and made me feel guilty. I don’t want to be a person who hates. I don’t want to be a selfish person.

Thankfully, I have talked with some wise people who have reminded me that it’s OK to feel this way and that it’s best not to deny the way I feel. I won’t always feel these emotions.

And perhaps others who have been in this situation have felt the same way as I have and felt the same fear about revealing that to others.

So I am revealing it to you.

I’ll be back on Wednesday with a better explanation of what some wise people and some quiet contemplation have helped me to understand.

Depression is dangerous

This is not a post that I planned to write. But it’s one that I was compelled to write.

About a dozen years ago, I met with my insurance agent to discuss my policy and to see if any changes needed to be made.

During the visit, he told me about a life insurance policy that was available for people in my age range that was at a low price.

I had life insurance through my employer, but I liked the idea of having extra insurance that I would have regardless of where I was employed, so I filled out the application.

I had to include health information on the application. I was a bit concerned because I had been going through tests to determine if I had asthma, and I had just learned that I indeed had the lung disorder.

On a return visit, my insurance agent told me that I didn’t qualify for the low-cost version of the insurance.

“Is it because of the asthma?” I asked.

He seemed uncomfortable when he spoke.

“No, it’s because of the depression,” he said.

Oh.

Up to that moment, I had not thought about the effects depression might have on my future health. I had not thought about how others might judge my future health based on my having depression.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) website, one risk of suicide is “depression and other mental disorders, or a substance-abuse disorder (often in combination with other mental disorders). More than 90 percent of people who die by suicide have these risk factors.”

Also according to the NIMH website, people’s physical health can be affected by depression: “People who have depression along with another medical illness tend to have more severe symptoms of both depression and the medical illness, more difficulty adapting to their medical condition, and more medical costs than those who do not have co-existing depression. Treating the depression can also help improve the outcome of treating the co-occurring illness.”

And in online reports here and here on studies on life expectancy, I learned that the average life expectancy for people with mental illnesses may be lower than those without mental illness.

Why am I writing about this? Over the weekend, I learned about the suicide of a son of Rick Warren, a well-known evangelical pastor and author. According to one news report, his son had suffered from depression for years. He had received treatment, but he killed himself.

I’m not sure why reading about this young man’s suicide affected me like it did, why it turned my thoughts to my own battle with depression and to others with depression who have suffered so much. I didn’t know him. I know who his father is and I’ve read one of his books. That’s about the extent of my connection.

But the suicide of anyone is tragic. The loss of a person to suicide shouldn’t happen.

I don’t know the details of Matthew Warren’s life.

I’m not a counselor or therapist or expert or medical professional.

I’m someone with depression.

And I know this: depression is dangerous. It is serious. It is not to be taken lightly.

I know something else. I am better off today than I was before treatment.

Treatment can help people with depression. There is always the hope of getting better. Suicide is never the answer.

If you have symptoms of depression, please get help from a professional. Please don’t ignore it or try to self-treat.

And please, if you or someone you know is suicidal, reach out for help. If you don’t know who to reach out to, call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273 TALK (8255).