A reader writes:
I have been reading this thread with a lot of interest because, while I am not currently planning suicide, I expect to in the near future. I am 35 years old, and I have been suffering from severe depression for almost 10 years. I’ve started to write to you on this subject several times but kept deleting the emails because the best way I’ve learned to cope with the depression is to put all of my energy into keeping thoughts of it out of my head. For me, that means finding a way to make sure my brain is constantly occupied from the time I wake up in the morning until the time when I am exhausted enough to fall asleep. If I allow my mind to wander it will eventually wander into negative thoughts. Like it’s doing now. It was definitely a mistake to write this but what the fuck.
I don’t want to depress or bore you with all of the details, but once it became obvious that I was depressed, I did begin regular visits with a psychiatrist and a therapist.
I’ve been through at least two dozen medications and finally found a combination that at least helps to dull the pain. Therapy seemed more promising. My therapist told me to trust him and to be honest, and if I did so he promised that I would get better. I had hope. I was not promised an instant cure, I knew it would take time. But over the years I never lost that hope that things would eventually get better, even if I was eventually thinking in terms of years instead of months. But I had complete faith. Not blind faith, but the faith that comes from knowing that I was working with a professional who was trained for this and had over 40 years of experience.
I’m telling you this because people always seem to assume that someone suffering from depression hasn’t tried therapy or medication. The other thing they tend to say is “Don’t lose hope”. My hope was crushed in May when my therapist stopped taking my visits. No explanation was offered.
This was actually something I had gotten used to. I had gradually lost all of my friends over the years since I fell into this depression. It always followed a similar pattern. I hadn’t heard from this friend in months. I asked if I had done something, if he/she was upset with me. No, there was nothing wrong and hey, how about we get lunch? Then it’s back to unreturned voicemails and emails, or I’m busy, but I’ll call you next week. Maybe I had the wrong friends. Maybe a better friend would have stayed with me. There were longtime friends though, one of whom had been my best friend since the first grade. I don’t blame them. It may not have even been a conscious decision on their part. The fact is, most people don’t want to be around someone who is suffering from serious depression. One of your readers suggested that our lives belong to society, but I find that impossible to accept. It would probably be a better world if everyone treated each others’ problems with the same concern that they treat their own, but that’s not the world we live in and it’s unrealistic to expect most people to act that way.
That point was driven home today. After being abandoned by my therapist I realized that the only way I could continue was to give up all hope and accept my situation. This is not the feeling of hopelessness that many people, even those not suffering from chronic depression, may have experienced – the sudden irrational feeling of hopelessness. I’ve experienced that many times and I expect that to continue. It is nearly unbearable and it can last for weeks, but it does eventually pass. I accepted a calm, rational, knowing of hopelessness. But I live with my parents and my mom, who I know loves me and cares very much for me, was not willing to accept that hopelessness. She eventually encouraged me to go to a community organization that offers help for people with mental illness.
I went to my first meeting on Tuesday. I didn’t talk, except when the group leader asked the new people what brought us here. Today the group leader called and asked me politely if I would please not return next week, that I was bringing the other members down, and that perhaps I would be better off finding another group. So yeah, I went to a support group for people with depression and I managed to bring them down. So I’d really rather not hear that I need to be hopeful, or not lose hope, or whatever people like to say.
Yes, I realize that it’s not literally hopeless. There may be someone somewhere who can help me. But as I have no money, income or insurance and am being supported by parents who would be struggling financially even if they didn’t have to support me, I am as close to hopeless as I can imagine. So tell me why I am going to be forced to administer my own suicide, risking a failed attempt that leaves me brain damaged, when there are doctors and drugs that could do the job painlessly and effectively? Why will I be forced to do it in secret? Not that it wouldn’t still be painful to them, but wouldn’t it be better if I could openly discuss my decision with the few people that still care about me and give them a chance to prepare? Why is it okay to put someone out of their physical pain but not their mental pain? Why should it be reserved for the terminally ill when we are all terminal? Is there something special about knowing what the cause of death will be?
I’m sorry for sending you this.
Our reader wrote another email recently:
I’m happy for Rob Horning’s ability to much risk of saying something clumsily or at the wrong time. But there’s a flip side to that. It’s at least possible to convince oneself that a mildly inappropriate or awkward
statement spoken aloud will pass unnoticed or be quickly forgotten. Anything you put on Facebook is there forever. That is a horrifying thought.
Being given time to carefully choose your words is not always a good thing. I started writing this almost two hours ago, frequently re-reading the linked article, checking Wikipedia, Wiktionary, and a thesaurus all to make sure that this won’t end up as an embarrassment to me. I’m still not certain I will send it. What if I check the Dish later tonight to find this letter under the heading Poseur Alert?!?
Plus there’s no privacy. I’m not referring to the privacy concerns most people talk about regarding Facebook. I’m talking about the fact that if I put a message on someone’s Facebook page, it’s exposed to all of their friends (I assume so, anyway – I’ve never actually dared to try it). Most of those people are complete strangers to me. At a social gathering, at least I know that anything I say will only be heard by the people in my immediate vicinity.
I momentarily reactivated my account, which I finally decided to deactivate a couple of weeks ago, so that you could see what a shy person’s Facebook page looks like. Notice the lack of a picture, a total of 16 friends, and 12 unanswered friend or group requests of some kind. I opened the account three years ago. Please, for the love of all that is good, do not post this image anywhere online.
Edited and posted with permission.
The Dish 