Tom Traubert's Blues

In addition to connecting about our work in the world, the colleague and friend I had coffee with yesterday also shared a tragedy from his personal life with me: His 22-year old daughter killed herself earlier this year.

Oof. I can only imagine the pain that comes with losing a child in any capacity, but to lose a child to suicide must have its own set of difficulties.

I may not know exactly what that's like, but I do know about loss. And I do know about severe depression. I know what it feels like to be separated from the best parts of yourself and not believe there is a path back, let alone be able to see it.

Up early again this morning, I can feel a heaviness in my chest. It's hard to say exactly what it's about, and I'm guessing it's a combination of old and new wounds, with a not small dose of wow-this-life-can-be-painful that I felt wash over me when I heard about my friend's daughter.

What's a girl who's alone in the house and feeling sad this cold November morning to do? Put on some Tom Waits and let the tears rip, of course:

Wasted and wounded, it ain't what the moon did, I've got what I paid for now
See you tomorrow, hey Frank, can I borrow a couple of bucks from you
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

I'm an innocent victim of a blinded alley
And I'm tired of all these soldiers here
No one speaks English, and everything's broken, and my Stacys are soaking wet
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

Now the dogs are barking and the taxi cab's parking
A lot they can do for me
I begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open,
And I'm down on my knees tonight
Old Bushmill's I staggered, you'd bury the dagger
In your silhouette window light go
To go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

Now I lost my Saint Christopher now that I've kissed her
And the one-armed bandit knows
And the maverick Chinamen, and the cold-blooded signs,
And the girls down by the strip-tease shows, go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

No, I don't want your sympathy, the fugitives say
That the streets aren't for dreaming now
And manslaughter dragnets and the ghosts that sell memories,
They want a piece of the action anyhow
Go waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

And you can ask any sailor, and the keys from the jailor,
And the old men in wheelchairs know
And Mathilda's the defendant, she killed about a hundred,
And she follows wherever you may go
Waltzing Mathilda, waltzing Mathilda,
You'll go waltzing Mathilda with me

And it's a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace,
And a wound that will never heal
No prima donna, the perfume is on an
Old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
And goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen flame keepers
And goodnight to Mathilda, too

I reckon Tom's right. Some wounds will never heal. They'll ease over time, they'll wax and they'll wane, and they'll teach us just what we need to understand to bring our own best selves to the world...

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...

Where Does the Good Go

I feel a bit like I'm being tested right now. My long-term relationship is over. I am hoping to change jobs, but I applied for three different positions and got offered exactly none of them. So to combat the desire to stay in bed and eat bon bons all day, I've taken to making a daily list of things for which I am grateful.

Sleep is always on the list. I love to sleep. That's true whether things are good or bad -- it's just so awesome. Last night I got about 9 hours, which reminds me of a line from When Harry Met Sally: "That's the good thing about depression. You get your rest."

Yep.

Tonight, however, when I crawl into bed and pull out my gratitude journal, it's these identical twin sisters and their rockin' song that are gonna top the list:

Where do you go with your broken heart in tow?
What do you do with the left over you?
And how do you know, when to let go?
Where does the good go? Where does the good go?

Good question. I've been wondering that myself. On some level I trust that it's out there in some sort of cosmic recycling bin, but it feels more like it got pulverized because I don't see or feel any trace of it right now.

Look me in the eye and tell me you don't find me attractive
Look me in the heart and tell me you won't go
Look me in the eye and promise, no love is like our love
Look me in the heart and unbreak broken, it won't happen

It's love that leaves, that breaks the seal
Of always thinking you would be
Real happy and healthy, strong and calm
Where does the good go? Where does the good go?

Where do you go when you're in love and the world knows?
How do you live so happily while I am sad and broken down?
What do you say it's up for grabs now that you're on your way down?
Where does the good go? Where does the good go?

I don't rightly know, but hopefully it'll become apparent before too long...

Love is an Open Door

I picked up my daughter from school this afternoon and on the way home, we heard a song from Frozen on the radio. The song reminded us we've been meaning to go see the movie before it left the cheap theatre. As luck would have it, when we got home we found out there was a showing in 15 minutes at a theatre just 10 minutes from our house, so we headed straight over.

The movie was cute. We enjoyed it. It had some good special effects.

But there was one particular part that struck a chord with me, which was this song:

But with you
I found my place
I see your face

And it's nothing like I've ever known before....
Love is an open door
Love is an open door
Love is an open door

During the lead-in to the song, he tells her he'll never shut her out. That's a promise, as hard as I tried, that I failed to elicit from my last love. He needed to preserve his habit of retreating; I found that it smacked too closely of the depression that has riddled my family and broken countless hearts (including my own) over the years. Nope, I don't want to be shut out. I won't be, and this is where much of the clarity about the breakup comes from this time around.

When I heard this song during the movie I was thinking yeah, love is an open door, until it slams shut in your face. And that's how I'm feeling, a big part of me at least, but I know the truth is that even when we have to say goodbye to one love, love remains an open door in more ways than one:

1) There's the love that the two of us will always have for each other;
2) There's the love that we'll find with our next partners.

So even though it feels like it is slamming shut in my face right now, I gotta believe, along with Anna, that:

Love is an open door...

If I Die Young

This song has been weaving its way in and out of my consciousness for the last week and change -- ever since one of my coworkers took his own life last week:

If I die young, bury me in satin
Lay me down on a bed of roses
Sink me in the river at dawn
Send me away with the words of a love song

He was 33 years old, and the father of three young boys, ages 2, 4, and 6. He was a veteran of two wars -- Iraq and Afghanistan -- and, as is likely obvious from his cause of death, he'd long battled depression.

He was also funny and friendly and full of life, so it was a real shock to all of us having him at work one day, dead the next:

Lord make me a rainbow, I'll shine down on my mother
She'll know I'm safe with you when she stands under my colors
Oh, and life ain't always what you think it ought to be, no
Ain't even gray, but she buries her baby

The sharp knife of a short life
Well, I've had just enough time

I wasn't able to attend his funeral, but my coworkers said it was especially emotional when his children were each presented with a set of dog tags. When I heard that, it did seem fitting -- as with so many other soldiers, leaving the war-torn country doesn't necessarily mean finding peace within.

I saw my acupuncturist today, a woman who participates a free acupuncture clinic for veterans for just that reason. We were talking about the tragedy of all this, and I told her that though I hadn't struggled with suicidal thoughts, at the lowest point in my postpartum depression, I longed for non-existence -- for myself, for my kids. Thankfully I wasn't sick enough that I tried to harm myself or my children, but just having the feeling that I didn't have in me what it took to live my life was one of the most frightening experiences I've had.

Luckily, I knew on a deep level, even in the grip of those dire feelings, that that wasn't really me. I knew that the best part of me loved my kids more than anything else in the world, and wanted nothing more than to be well enough to fully embrace my life with them. So I reached out, and I got help. "You knew," my acupuncturist said. "People don't always know, and it really raises the stakes for those of us who do."

I'll say. I don't know exactly how yet, but this death motivates me even more to try to use my experiences to help others who find themselves in a similar position...