Results tagged “depression” from Marilyn Sewell

I called my insurance agent just this morning--a really lovely man with whom I've been working with for years.  He has handled both my auto and my homeowner's insurance, and I must say Jeff has always been kind and helpful, pointing out ways to save me money at times.

So when I called his office today and asked for Jeff, the secretary said in a rather tense voice, "Who is calling?"  I told her, and she transferred me to another extension that I assumed would be Jeff's.  But, no, another agent answered and when I inquired about Jeff, he said, "I don't know if you've heard that Jeff passed away."

I was shocked, since Jeff was middle-aged and seemed to be fine.  So I asked this agent--who turned out to be Jeff's friend and office mate--what had happened to Jeff.  "He had a number of health issues," the man said.  "And then he became depressed.  They put him on medication, but it seemed to make him worse.  So sad.  It was in the papers--you may have read about it.  He just disappeared last June 12, and nobody knew where he was.  They didn't find him until July 7."  I asked how Jeff killed himself, and his friend said, "They never told us." 

The ubiquitous "they":  "They" put him on medication.  "They" didn't find him . . . ."  "They" never told us.  Who did what?  What actually happened?  "They" will probably never say, and we will probably never know.  It's the way we all speak when we don't want to assign responsibility, or get too close. 

The agent that I talked with was concerned and sad that he had lost his friend and co-worker.  He couldn't understand how someone could become so despondent that he would want to kill himself.  He said that life is so precious to him that he could never imagine taking his own life.

It is difficult for people who have never been clinically depressed to understand how devastating that disease can be.  I've been there, and I know.  Depression makes you feel cut off from others, as though you're behind some kind of glass, and you can't break through.  You can't engage others, except in a mechanical, phony way, because you feel so dead inside.  You can't feel joy in simple things, like a lovely sunset or a piece of music that ordinarily might lift your spirits. 

In short, you are experiencing the singularly most painful feeling for human beings--acute emotional separation, from others, from your own emotions, from the usual pleasures and interests of this world.  Sometimes there are feelings of worthlessness and guilt.  And besides this, you have the sense that you will never get any better.  Your pain is so great that you feel you must escape it at all costs.  Even thoughts of the effect your suicide might have on family and friends may be discounted.

I have never tried to kill myself.  Fortunately, medication has worked for me when I've been depressed, and I've come out of it in several weeks or so.  In the great majority of cases, some medication or other will be effective.  But not in absolutely every case.

I lost a friend some years ago to chronic depression--a brilliant academic, she never could break the life-long cycle of depression, and she committed suicide.  When I went to my 50th high school reunion this last July, I was greeted by the hostess there in my home town of Homer, LA, who explained to me that of our class of 49, 13 were dead--two of suicide.  The next person I talked with was a man in another class who told me that his brother had killed himself years ago.  Welcome to the real world.  Suicide happens all too often. 

So I must end this writing by saying that if you know anyone who is depressed, encourage this person to get help--this is not something you can "tough out."  True depression is not the same thing as being situationally sad because something bad has happened--that kind of sadness is understandable and part of all human experience.  However, for those with a chemical imbalance in their brain, sometimes difficult experiences can lead to clinical depression.  If you know someone who ever speaks about wanting to end his life, take those statements seriously, in particular if they have a specific plan as to how to do it.

Depression is a disease, and it is too often a fatal one.  We need to understand it as such and do all we can to help those sufferers heal.

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About a year and a half ago, I was one depressed woman.  This was not a biological depression--this was a situational depression.  You see, I knew that I would soon be leaving my post as the Senior Minister of the First Unitarian Church of Portland, but I had no idea what form my relational life might take after I left the church. 

I knew that I wanted to write, and I needed to leave parish ministry in order to pursue that calling--but for 17 years my community, and most of the intimacy in my life, came from my relationship with my congregants.  I had always thought that some day I would meet a man who was right for me, and we would make a home together.  But the years went by, and although I had several promising relationships, no man turned out to be the one I could settle down with.  So I continued to give myself almost wholly to my work.  There was plenty of it, to distract me from my loneliness.

As time went on, and my retirement drew closer, I gave up the idea that I would ever be partnered.  (Hey, it hadn't happened in 17 years, had it?)  I tried to explore options that would give me companionship.  Maybe I would live in a four-plex with writers and/or social justice activists.  Maybe I would try to live communally.  Maybe I would leave Portland altogether and go somewhere else where there was a large, thriving UU church, and try to make new friends there.  I explored these options in some depth, traveling and talking to people, looking at various living situations.

And then life tossed me a surprise--I met a most amazing man!  OK, indulge me: he's handsome, wise, funny, affectionate, and has a deep and abiding sense of integrity.  He's also talented and strong and gives himself gladly to make his community a better place.  Our values are precisely the same.  Ditto our aesthetic sense.  Ditto our politics, etc., etc.  I know this is getting sickeningly sweet, but believe me, dear reader, it's all true! 

I don't mean to say it's all sweetness and light--misunderstandings occur, as in all relationships.  But these little instances can't touch the core--in other words, I can't imagine living without him, and he (miraculously) feels the same way about me.  So we're getting married on Sept. 6.

I know better than to do that "and then they lived happily ever after" thing--because I will continue to have to work on my stuff--you know, trying to be a kinder, gentler human being.  No person can do that for another.  And yet to be loved, and to love, while dealing with the vicissitudes of life--well, that's an amazing blessing.  A small miracle, I call it.

My fiance and I talk about loss even now, at the beginning.  Both of us are old enough to know that we won't live forever (the way all young people think they will), and that one of us will lose the other, at some point.  We know that.  And it makes every day we are given so very precious, so very sweet.  I walk in thankfulness.

Well, dear reader, I don't know how you are experiencing your life right now.  Maybe you're feeling a little, or a lot, desperate.  Maybe your cheer is just a show--maybe you're whistling in the dark, as they say.  Or maybe you've just fallen in love.  Or fallen ill.  Or fallen into incredibly good fortune.  Or become enlightened.  I don't know. 

But know this: you can expect only one thing in this world--you can expect that you will be surprised by life, over and over again.  So try to stay awake during your time here, and be prepared.  For whatever. 

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This morning David Kellerman, 41, Acting CFO of mortgage giant Freddie Mac, was found dead, an apparent suicide.  Freddie Mac has been harshly criticized for financing risky loans that are now defaulting.  The company was also under fire for planning to pay more than $210,000,000 in bonuses to their executives, to give them incentives to stay.  Kellerman, who had taken over when the former CEO had been relieved of his duties, was responsible for 500 employees and was working on the current financial report at the time of his death.  He leaves behind a wife and a five-year-old daughter, Grace.

Why did Kellerman kill himself?  Was it the many points of pressure?  Was in shame, for being involved in what he knew were slight-of-hand loan deals?  Was it some illegal act that is yet to be uncovered?  There will be an investigation.  There will be follow-up articles.  But we may never know the truth.  He himself may not have fully understood the demons which pushed him to take his life.

But the question before us is: what's worth dying for?  Making a mistake--even a big one--is not worth dying for.  Doing something that you are ashamed of--that's not worth dying for, either.  Trying to live up to others' expectations and failing--that's not worth dying for, either.

What is worth dying for?  To save the life of another, perhaps.  To make justice.  To go against the powers that be, when the powers are corrupt and evil.  These are things worth dying for.  We remember those who have done so: the firemen of 9/11; soldiers who lay down their lives for their comrades or for their country; Martin Luther King, Jr.; Archbishop Romero; journalists who are murdered for writing the truth about crooked political leaders.

But suicide?  No.  It is always, always, always possible to start over when you make a mistake, or when you do wrong.  Forgiveness is always an option.  If it were not, which one of us could keep going, with our more or less constantly besmirched lives?  We all "fall short of the glory of God," as my saintly grandmother used to say.  We can say, "I was wrong.  I'm sorry."  And we can start over.  Every day, in fact.

The one who commits suicide just "wants out," because the pain is so great, and that person cannot see an end to the suffering.  Many of us feel that intensity of pain at one time or another.  But depression can be cured, pain will end, and life turns round.  Dear reader, if you're ever considering suicide, remember that. 

It is sad beyond words when a little five-year-old is left without a father--and answerless questions that will last a lifetime.  Suicide colors so many lives, and for so long: a wife left alone; fellow workers asking, "Why?"; friends blaming themselves and saying, "I should have called . . . ." 

 Sometimes it takes courage just to keep going, just to get up every morning and face the day.  But there is no honorable alternative, for it's not just your own life--you belong to all of us.  We are all diminished when any one person takes his life.

We are irrevocably connected, the one with the other.  Stay with us, brother.  Hang in there, sister.  Together, we can find a way through anything. 

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