Why is it news that Mike Wallace once tried to kill himself?
The real story is, why, in 2006, depression still is stigmatized to the point that its sufferers — myself included — aren’t comfortable talking about it.
As far as I’m concerned, it’s a chronic illness. I’m not currently on medication, and haven’t been for over a year. But I have been on antidepressants three times in 10 years and chances are good that I’ll be on them again at some point.
For me, depression affects my thinking, my behavior, my physical well-being, every part of me. There were days I could not bring myself to leave the bed. There were days I could not stop crying. I never tried to kill myself but there were times — when I was 24 years old, first married, stuck in Indiana — that I would think about driving off of the road, just hoping the pain that was inside of me would stop.
I thought it was my fault.
I thought something was wrong with me, that I was ungrateful, that I just couldn’t be happy with that I had. But it was no more my fault than a broken leg would be my fault. Depression runs in families: my dad, brother, mother (although she never sought medical treatment, as far as I know), my grandmother and my uncle all have been depressed.
Being attuned to my emotions is a blessing and a curse. On one hand, I generally know what I’m feeling. But on the other, I’m so sensitive to my emotions that I react more strongly than other people and I’m able to see sadness in other people, too. I hurt, a lot.
About a year ago, I noticed a change in a good friend. She was snappish, teary, just not herself. So I did something unusual for me — I opened up. Over time, I told her about my depression. I told her about sleeping too much, about crying too much. I told her that medicine can help, that itfixes a part of your brain that just doesn’t work right. One morning, she called me and said she couldn’t stop crying. I cried with her. I told her it could get better, to just call her doctor. I told her not to worry, but they’d probably get her right in if she told them what was wrong (they did, her only laugh of the day). She still takes Prozac today (I’ve been on Paxil — freaky shit — Wellbutrin — can’t drink alcohol! — and Lexapro.) and she’s a more compassionate person today.
If you’re reading this at 2 in the morning because you can’t sleep and you feel more alone than you ever have, you’re not. You may wonder if you’ll ever feel like “you” again — you will. No one has to know that you’re getting help … but, I bet that once you’re back to yourself, you’ll be just as mad as me that it was so difficult to get help in the first place.
I’m in a good place right now.
I have been happy with my own company … going where I want to go, watching what I want to watch on TV, eating what I want to cook for dinner … I haven’t had a date in over a month and I haven’t missed socializing with gentleman callers. I haven’t even seen Ryan all that much. I drop my hints here and there, and if he doesn’t bite, eh, whatever. A lot of nights, just hanging out is more appealing anyway.
Maybe it’s the companionship that I miss most about a relationship … but I’m not going to settle or sacrifice just to have someone to watch “CSI” with. Besides, who else but me wouldn’t mind that I paused last night’s episode roughly seven times to change the laundry, get a drink, go to the bathroom, see what the cats knocked over, heat up water for oatmeal, and go to the bathroom a few more times?
I’m on the mailing list for a local theater company because I went to one of their shows last winter. I received a message the other day about auditions for the upcoming season. I briefly wondered if Mark would try out … the plays at this theater usually involve some form of nudity, and, I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind seeing his bare chest again … but from a distance of 20′ or so, so I can’t claw his miserable little eyes out lol.
So my smoke alarms starting chipring tonight. Chirping may not be the best word, as it was more like blaring for 3 seconds at a time. Of course I don’t have any 9-volt batteries on hand so, at 9:35 p.m. I found myself getting dressed and going to CVS to buy some. I came home, put in the new batteries et voila! No more chirps.
Why is this remarkable? It’s not. But my ex-husband fucking BROKE a smoke detector — yes, broke it beyond all repair — just trying to change the damn battery at our old house.
I think that was the day I realized I could not live with that man for the rest of my life.
I can forgive a lot. So he wasn’t handy for shit, whatever.
But a smoke detector? Come on! If I was one day deeper into PMS, I would have left him a VM of the chirping noises, then silence, taunting him. “This is why I took the power tools when I left, ass!”
Ah, the healing power of ridicule!
to Mr. Fab’s dramatic reading of Right Said Fred’s “I’m Too Sexy.”
I had the Right Said Fred CD. I was mildly obsessed with “Deeply Dippy.”
Bravo, Sr. Fab. Bravo!
From Izzy, by way of Some Girl and Mr. Fabulous …
My List of 10
Nicotine: Never smoked a thing in my life. Not a cigarette, not a joint, not a thing.
“Nobody Wants to Be Lonely“: One of my favorite songs, by Xtina Aguilera and Ricky Martin. Dramatic, passionate and poignant. About the only time I can stomach Ricky.
Nick Lachey: My favorite “crush of the week.” Sigh.
NHL: I like watching hockey. I can’t really remember the rules, players or anything technical. But somehow, a game that moves so quickly calms my mind. I can just watch the puck go back and forth and relaaaaax …
NHSIJ: Back in my “I want to be a journalist” days, I was accepted into this six-week long summer program at Northwestern University. I was 16 and it was so much fun. They worked us like dogs and I learned a lot. (One important thing I learned was that I really didn’t want to be a journalist!) I also got to smooch a very cute boy who grew up to be a doctor. : (
“Nowhere to Here”: One of my favorite albums by one of my favorite bands, Blue Rodeo. In an angry exchange with a former flame, I tossed out one of their lyrics from “Girl in Green” — “Am I your lover or a subsitute?” He was like, WTF? but I was pleased.
Nipples: Gotta admit it, one of the best places to be touched. ; )
New Year’s: I’ve never had a good New Year’s Eve kiss. What’s up with that?
Naked: What I’d rather be right now.
Normal: The kiss of death.
*You know you remember the Sesame Street song … “Sunny day, sweepin’ the clouds away …”!
File this under “crazy shit you say at 1:09 a.m.” –
Me: “I’d vote for Bill again and again if I could.”
Him: “Clinton? No way. I’d vote for Tom Hanks, though.”
Me: “Tom Hanks???”
Him: “Yeah. He seems like a good guy. Or what about Oprah? I’d vote for Oprah.”
Me: “No. She’s probably a closet Republican. And you don’t even vote.”
Him: “But I’d vote for Tom Hanks.”
Sigh.
So my friend Chris and I were talking last night, and he tells me that he’d like to date a black guy this summer, just to try something new.
I love all kinds of men so I thought that was a fine idea.
Then I had the brilliant idea to call this our United Nations summer. I even suggested I could make bingo cards with different nationalities. (I really need an alphabet bingo, as I realized all 3 men I’ve been involved with in 2006 have last names beginning with the letter “m.”)
Of course, with my luck, I’ll be lucky to move past the free spot on the bingo card lol.
I went out with a black guy once, when I was in college and worked for a large retail store. I was the operator, which meant I answered the phones. It sucked — but it kept me from working the registers. Anyway there was this super-cute guy and we went out once, but then I went to visit a friend out of town then he went on vacation, then I went to school. Also, this guy asked me out when I was like 17 and he was 22; he had a baby but wasn’t involved with the kid’s mom anymore. This was in like 1991 or 1992 and his big date idea was for me, the suburban princess, to go with him to a drive-in movie to see “Poetic Justice” in Detroit (I still lived in Michigan then). Yeah, right. I told him no. His race had nothing to do with it; the fact that he had a kid did. That was the summer I had to listen to choruses of “Baby Got Back” from the adoring black men I worked in a factory with. One man actually got canned because he grabbed my, well, can. ; )
Anyway, this year has been Irish and German men. Booooring. I need some spice!
But right now I need more wine. Damn Indiana and their liquor laws. I’m too drunk to go out for more wine and I won’t be able to buy more tomorrow. At this rate I’ll have to crack into my last beloved bottle of riesling — and I’m too tipsy to fully appreciate it. Monday is stocking-up day!
No matter your political leanings, this poll is interesting.
The first presidential election that I could vote in was in 1992. I was a freshman at Michigan State University. I was so excited, I could hardly stand it. My enthusiasm has been tempered over the past few years, but I still feel that voting — esp. in presidential elections — is of paramount importance. As Ryan can tell you, I have little patience for those who do not participate in the electoral process. We have many rights and few responsibilties. Voting is one of those responsibilities.
Thus ends the civics lecture for this evening.
P.S. Oh, fine, I’ve only had ONE glass of wine. You don’t even want to imagine the drunken political rants I’m capable of.
I went to my first wedding as a single person today. The bride is a woman I work with; she met her husband last August and was engaged in December. It all seemed so quick, but they both are devout Christians and believe this was God’s plan. And seeing them together, it’s hard to disagree.
She is my age yet refused to “date around,” instead waiting for the right man. She bought a house last fall, before they got too serious. He lives an hour south so they decided she would live with him after the wedding. She put her house on the market, sold it within the first month and didn’t lose any money. The ceremony was lovely and she looked radiant. As someone who knows that wedding vows don’t always ring true, it was refreshing to be in the presence of two people who seem to bring out the best in each other.
The thought of standing in front of my friends and family, taking those vows — knowing full well that I meant every word when I said them on July 18, 1998 — and taking another chance at “forever” made my chest constrict. It is going to take a strong and patient man to get me anywhere near an altar again, that’s for sure.
It’s May 11th and the overnight low is going to be 41 degrees? I put away my winter clothes. Looks like I’ll be wearing capris, a t-shirt and my winter coat tomorrow.
“Cherry Pie” by Warrant is stuck in my head? I doubt I would have heard this delightful gem during my three-hour Thursday-night TV binge of “Survivor,” “CSI” and “Without a Trace.” Make it stop.
I am irritated that my ex-husband still has a girlfriend? He mentioned her — unnecessarily, might I add — in an e-mail he sent me earlier in the week. If it’s the same girl, that means they’ve been together over six months. What the hell? He was such a lame-ass husband. Maybe she can look past his workaholism and phone-sex addiction. Then again, maybe nine years with me gave him qualities that would make him a good boyfriend (if you get past the workaholism and phone-sex addiction). He was used to dealing with an opinionated, independent, intelligent, challenging woman so, hell, anyone else probably would be a cakewalk. I don’t know if he’s happy. I don’t even know if he’s happier. I just know that I’m coming up on two years since my “I want a separation” speech and his life seems a hell of a lot more settled than mine. Ugh ugh ugh.
No one left a comment defending Ryan’s God-awful sandals/socks combo? Oh yeah. Because there’s nothing else to say.
Why is it news that Mike Wallace once tried to kill himself?
