40 - My Depression

My Depression

Webster’s Dictionary: Low Spirits…Gloominess…Dejection

Have I known depression? You bet I have . . . long ago during my children’s adolescent years when I found myself to be a maternal stranger in a strange land. To explain, my children grew up within the protection of a large and loving family. The family consisted of a grandmother, a great-grandmother, a grandfather, an uncle and the three of us, my daughter, my son and me. We all lived together in what I believed to be harmony. At least we all lived together in a household of high moral values, of respect for elders, policemen, teachers and their religion.

It was when both children entered Junior High School that I felt the time had arrived for me to go to work, find an apartment for us and continue our lives as a single family. Bruce was fourteen and Robin twelve when we made that move. I went to work in the Graphics Arts department of Convair and as my income increased we moved to a nicer apartment in a lovely neighborhood.

That is where I learned about depression. Bruce was seventeen and Robin fifteen and their lives were embedded in the era of that time. The introduction of drugs, the non-importance of respect and the sexual revolution were all a part of it. I was set down in
the middle of the hippy era and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I fell into a deep depression, not understanding and doing all the wrong things, saying all the wrong things, demanding all the wrong things and making all the wrong mistakes. As my children demanded their own independence, I faded into the total darkness of depression. It took many years before I lived to be free of that disease and the mistakes I made. My mistakes created havoc between me and my children, who I loved much more than I expressed.

Now I am 90 years old and have lived many years free of depression, not even when my doctors told me that I had only six months to live. That was four years ago and I have lived and loved this life I now lead. I have been blessed by one special miracle after another. There are miracles that come into my home when people I love walk through my door. There is the miracle of the San Diego Hospice that has cared for me throughout all these years. There is the miracle of family and friendships that know no bound. And I believed that I had been the luckiest woman in the world until the last few weeks when I, once again, became deeply depressed.

What happened is that I became ill with something between a cold and the flu. It has been almost epidemic here in San Diego and I became one of the victims. For a short while the illness did not eafect me emotionally. It was not until after two new medications were prescribed for me that I became depressed. Obviously I was allergic to them, but I didn’t realize that at the beginning. I didn’t even recognize the depression that became a part of my emotional reactions. And again I said the wrong things, did the wrong things and made all the wrong mistakes.

I am now in an “I should have known better” stage. I do have idiosyncratic drug reactions and have always been afflicted with them. I know I must always check my reaction to new drugs. Failing to do that caused depression and I became too sure of what I thought and of myself. My agitation and feelings were way beyond my norm. I put myself in a “have to be right” position and I haven’t been like that for many years. What I was saying was silly and somewhat child-like. I began criticizing what is important in my life . . . that which I truly love and respect.

As soon as I realized what was going on, I stopped taking the drug even though it stopped the back-pain. Stopping the drug also made me understand that many of us might take a giant step backward, forgetting how wonderful, kind and gentle living can be. I often wonder if we are placed in difficult medical positions so that we may be able to relate to the same ailment in others. We then can be truly empathetic because we’ve been there, done that and can understand those who are suffering the darkness of depression.

The problem that exists is when severe depression is not recognized. That I’m having a few bad days is not clinical depression. Medical help is desperately needed for those who suffer with constant depression, Though I realize that the depressed sufferer must be willing to improve with medical and emotional help, there can also be a pair of welcoming arms and loving hearts that will be there to hold and love them when they are ready. That is the wonder of love. That is the salvation of the needy.