My Depression

Depression is a strange phenomenon.  I know the signs.  Years ago I was in a deep, suicidal depression.  I also did crazy, wild things – like driving 70 miles an hour in a 30-mile zone and going off to Europe with only $300 and a thirteen-year-old kid.  I was diagnosed as manic-depressive, now called simply bipolar.  It was a relief to realize that my mental state was involuntary, due to a chemical imbalance in my brain.  I went on medication, and I have not had a Depression since.  Until Thursday. 

I remembered those days, before I was on medication, when I struggled to get dressed before my children came home from school.  On Thursday instead of showering and getting dressed in my usual slacks and shirt, I pulled on a mumu and collapsed in my recliner.  All day I lay there.  I simply could not get up to do the dishes or make my bed.  I had taken my pills, as always, but I could not cope with the situation.

I had received two blows which sent me into a spiral of grief.

Charlie my cat was not there to comfort me.  Always as soon as I put my key in the lock, he came to the door to greet me.  When I sat in the recliner, he lay on my lap; we watched television together.  I put my hand out and stroked his soft, soft fur.  I was alarmed on the day I felt bones beneath that fluff.  He was losing weight; his kidneys were failing.  Last week, instead of coming to be with me, he hid in the closet, looking miserable as he curled up among my shoes.  His vet said it was better to end his suffering.  She gave him a shot.  I held him in my arms as he put his head on my shoulder and went to sleep.

Now he is gone and there is no one to comfort me.

I’ve known for months that my friend Sally had terminal cancer.  Still, it was a shock when her daughter called and said, “Mama died between three and four this morning.”  Sally and I were friends since high school, for 70 years.  We did not live in the same towns.  We each had other friends.  But ours was a special relationship, as if we were sisters. 

Others have lost dear pets.  They grieve, and then they get another cat or dog.  I can not replace Charlie. 

Other people have lost loved ones.  Vista lost a husband after 72 years, Eileen after 67.  Mariam, 92, grieves for her sister, who was 97.  They are coping and greet every day cheerfully.  I have other friends, dear friends, who comfort me.  But 70 years?  It is as if my whole life has been ripped out.

Every day I see Vista and Eileen and Mariam and know I will soon be “up and at ‘em” again.  Unlike my bipolar episodes, I have a “situational depression.”  It may take a while, but this time the Depression will go away.