World Waits For You

Last night I got some emails from someone I care about very much that made it apparent to me, as it has been before, that he was depressed. Not a little bit, but really out of touch with his goodness. I urged him, as I have in the past, to get some help.

I remember so well what it was like for me when I was depressed. I knew something was wrong for a few months before I sought help. I guess I thought I would start feeling better, and I don't think I knew or believed that anyone could help.

Then one day I got a postcard from my best friend, who knew I was overwhelmed. She didn't know the depths of where I was -- but she knew I was overwhelmed. Parent of two young kids and all that. The postcard said: "Ever wish you had another day in your week?" Meaning, you know, too much to do, too little time.

Only when I read it I thought: "No. I've never wished that. I can barely get through the seven days of the week that I have to get through now, I can't imagine if I had to deal with eight."

It was shortly after that moment that I called my doctor and made an appointment. My doctor prescribed antidepressants and sleep medication -- I wasn't sleeping either -- and made an appointment for me with a psychiatrist.

I loved my doctor, and I knew she wanted me to see the psychiatrist, that she thought it would help, so I went. I really hated the psychiatrist the first time I met her. I never really warmed to her too much -- she wasn't a particularly warm person -- but I came to appreciate that she was doing her job. She asked me all kinds of questions that felt like accusations: "Maybe you don't want to be at home with your kids. Maybe that's not for you. That's not for everyone." I remember that one well. I loved my kids desperately, but I didn't want to be with them. I didn't want to be anywhere.

And then the medication started to work. I started to be able to cope more with my daily life. I started to be able to be asked questions about who I was and who I was mad at and what it was going to take for me to feel better. It was a long, long time before I truly felt better, but the relief of being stabilized by the meds really saved me when I wasn't sure anything could, and that allowed me to do the work I needed to do to heal.

Some people aren't so lucky. This song is from the movie The Bridge, a documentary about the suicides of people who didn't get help:

When the world wants right and wrong
Could you break me the news
If i asked you to lie
Would you tell me the truth

In this darkest hour
A brave face will break soon
The world waits for you
The world waits for you
Could you carry me through

It's hard to wake up
Fateful hands that we find
Promises bogged down
Just chasms to climb

In this darkest hour
A brave face will break soon
The world waits for you
The world waits for you
Could you carry me through
Find strength from the words
Of those that went before
Take what you need
But leave even more

It's hard for me when the people I love are depressed. I'm very familiar with the feeling, that's for sure. My parents both suffer from it. My cousins too. And there's not much I can do. Except shine my light, and try to be there for them when theirs grow dangerously dim.

The trick, as I've learned, is I need to stay focused on myself. My own path. My own healing. I can't do anyone else's...