I Just Don't Know

At first I was a little angry.

How dare someone with lots of life end it when there are so many people that are up against the unlucky lot of a life cut short - not by their own doing.

Then I realized, I am not one to talk.

I spent good part of my teen years and most of my 20s and 30s fighting depression and feeling suicidal off and on.   Only by the Grace of God...... I  guess.

It was nursing that saved me.  When I was depressed it felt good to make the sacrifices to my patients and working at doing the best I could for others.  Definitely I am living proof that doing good for someone else or "volunteerism" and being active can lift depression - or at least make it liveable.

But - I had to really work hard at it.  It was exhausting - just as exhausting as what I am going through now.

So, I suppose you could say that those who are depressed really do work hard at trying to get healthy, just as we with cancer would.  Just like cancer, eventually it can end one's life too.   It's just unfortunate that mental illness isn't something that is visible  - such as a broken leg or -  cancer! Because of this invisible malady, one isn't given quite the same empathy.

I have recently played the cancer card a couple of times (once to get information from a stubborn management company to move along the sale of our apartment, the other time to move along information to speed up an MD referral) but you don't see too many people playing the mental illness card, at least, not with the same effect.   The mental illness card turns out to be the Joker.

Instead of "let me help you" and kindness, it's a good ol' roll of the eyeballs and avoidance.  Sometimes even a snicker or two.  I have seen this happen over and over - in public and in the hospitals.

I still have bouts of depression now and again, but not as strong now that menopause has taken over my body and mind.  I pretty much roll along on an even keel these days, thank goodness.

 But I haven't ever got rid of that "little demon" on my shoulder that whispers in my ear - telling me that I am a bad person, that no one really knows the awful side of me and all the terrible things I have done (no, nothing legally wrong!) and how can people see me as someone who is good and brave and amazing and talented....how can anyone love the real me?

I just don't see it! 

Recently, I talked with a suicidal young man long enough for the police to arrive and dismantle the rope he had ready to go and whisk him away, probably to the psych intake unit.   That call hit me hard, and when it was over, I have to admit,  I took an hour off the phones to cry.  

I don't know whether I was crying in relief for him, or sadness in the reflection of my own life.

So, today, it's no longer anger I feel.  But it isn't sadness either.

I don't know what it is.

The trip to the Sunshine Coast - on the ferry.