The Well
The most surprising thing about depression to me may have been just how accurately other people described what it was like. I had read about it in novels and memoirs. But I’d never really felt it before. They’d nailed it — I really did feel like I’d fallen into the bottom of a dry, circular, gray stone well. I could see the blue sky at the top, but I couldn’t get out. Hell, I couldn’t even figure out how to start trying to get out. That, and I just didn’t care enough to try.
Photo by Lorri Carter, used with permission.
It happened in 2000/2001 when my husband, John, our son, Jacob, and I lived outside of Geneva, Switzerland. It is a spectacularly beautiful place, and we had made some good friends in our time there. But living in a country where you speak the language poorly can be very isolating. It’s impossible to forget that you’re not home.
But that’s not why I got so depressed. No, I developed what is known as “situational depression,” from something that happened that I just couldn’t cope with.
The New Millennium, Y2K, started with a bang for me. My sister Judy died suddenly, unexpectedly, and as a result of a lifetime of bad choices. I got the call from Dad just as John, Jacob and I were heading out the door to celebrate my birthday. I collapsed into a heap on the floor like a Victorian heroine; it took me years to get back up.
There were seven of us: Mom and Dad are always included in the count. Then there were the five of us kids: Beth, Bob, Judy, Fred and me. Beth was 9 years older, Judy 5. The boys 7 and 3 years older.
When we became adults, Judy was my best friend and a total pain in the ass. She won the award for “Person I Most Want to Smack” regularly. She was completely self-destructive, which started in our childhood; I started covering for her very early on. There were few times in life when offered a choice that Jude didn’t make the poorer one. And among her most stupid choices were cigarettes and alcohol. She smoked for 35 years and drank heavily for nearly as long (with many attempts at sobriety). That’s why she’s dead.
But she was equally wonderful. And whenever I shared a problem with Judy, well, it stopped being a problem and became situation comedy. She was funny and big-hearted. I’ve written about her here and here. At the end of her life, she worked as an advocate for the homeless, particularly homeless veterans. After her death, a homeless shelter was named for her.
Judy was also the most amazing mother. She got pregnant at 16 and raised 3 wonderful kids. Her daughter is my closest friend, she embodies the good from Judy without the self-destructive features. I rarely want to smack Jen. Jen’s brothers, my nephews, are terrific, wonderful people; we’ve remained close.
Yeah, Jude was like no one else I’ve ever known.
When she died, I felt I’d let her down, that I’d been unable to help her solve her problems. That was my role in her life, and I was usually pretty good at it. I felt guilty at the falling out we’d had when our mother died in 1997 – Judy turned to the bottle immediately and, well, I didn’t speak to her for two years. Thankfully, I can’t stay mad and I got back in contact with her six months before she died.
Anyway, there I was, 3,000 miles away from my family and from anyone who knew Judy. She was dead and I was devastated.
Like other things in life, my depression formed a routine. I could cope during the first half of the day. I’d get up, shower, get Jacob breakfast and head off to work. And I managed at work, too, somehow. My job was busy but didn’t need too much deep thinking; I was active and distracted. That was good.
But my tears started with the car engine as soon as I left work each day. I began to cry immediately, and I would cry all the way to Jacob’s school, where I’d dry my tears and head on in to get him. It never occurred to me that folks could see my red eyes, or that, from the back seat on the way home, Jacob could see my shoulders shake as I tried to cry silently.
When I got home, I would plop Jacob at the table with his homework and give him something to eat. Then I would head down into the well — it was in a corner of the hall where the back of the fireplace jutted out, forming a cozy corner. I would sit on the floor in that little corner in the fetal position and cry. And sob. And pound the walls and the floors. That’s where John found me frequently when he came home from work. Often Jacob came and sat with me and tried to comfort me. So did our dog, Cooper. But I was completely inconsolable.
My depression went into overdrive on Christmas Day, 2000 when Dad died. Ho Ho Ho.
Eventually, John suggested that I might need antidepressants. I would have been angry at him, but I didn’t have the energy. I did finally agree to go to see our doctor and get some help. I wanted/needed grief counseling. I couldn’t do this alone or just with John and Jacob and a bunch of supportive friends. I needed professional help.
But that’s where living in Switzerland became a bit of a problem. Medical care was great there, but there was the language barrier. And there were very different ideas on mental health over there. Our GP was perfectly adequate for flu shots and antibiotics. But this was different.
“You want to see a psychiatrist?” Dr. G asked. “But they’re all nuts.”
Dr. G had a good point. My experiences with psychiatrists had been hilarious and bizarre, but never helpful. Plus there was the language barrier. I gave up.
John didn’t though. Somehow he talked me into considering trying St. John’s Wort, which was unavailable in Europe as far as we could tell. My friend Bonny mailed some to me from the States.
I really didn’t want drugs. I was afraid of how they would affect my personality, that they would change it. That taking them would put a band-aid over my hurt and that the pain would be unbearable when it was ripped off. I wanted to get over my loss, get through it, tough it out. Be strong.
But my life was falling apart. So I took the damn pills.
It was the right decision and that realization was clear within a week.
Taking the pills didn’t do the things I feared. They didn’t change my personality. They didn’t gloss over my problems. They didn’t make the world rosy and happy and perfect. They didn’t bring my sister or my father back to life either though, sadly.
But the drug somehow let me get me out of the fetal position — up off the floor. It severed the connection between my car’s ignition and my tears. It enabled me to cook dinner, to pay attention to my son, to my husband. It let me go on with my life. The drug took just enough of the weight off my heart to let me recover. It let me deal with the world again, just like I always had.
Of course, the pain didn’t go away. Judy and Dad were still gone, as was my mother. But at last I could manage it. I could think of them, be sad and feel the loss. I think that that was part of what I was afraid of — that if I took the drugs that the hurt would vanish and, well, I believe that people need to feel, we must somehow get used to those empty places in our hearts, in our lives, in our families. But we also need to go on. And to do that I needed help. And in addition to a very supportive husband and son, well, the St. John’s Wort made a huge difference.
Here is something I always tell people when I tell them this story: Taking medicine for depression doesn’t mean you will always need to take it. But antidepressants can help, just like all of the other tools we use every day to help us get through life.
I took St. John’s Wort for several months, and it made a huge difference. In 2009 when my eldest sister, Beth, died too, I took it again, without hesitation. Because I knew that neither of my sisters nor my parents would have wanted me in that well. And I didn’t want to fall back in there either. It’s not a good place to be.
Me, Judy and Beth
* * *
Really Important Medical Information
St. John’s Wort is serious medicine. It has pharmacological properties similar to some prescription antidepressants. Do not use it without medical advice, especially if you take other medications, particularly other antidepressants. It interacts with them.
It also interacts with numerous other medications and supplements, and not in a good way.
SO REALLY: DO NOT TAKE ST. JOHN’S WORT WITHOUT TALKING TO A DOCTOR OR PHARMACIST
This is my personal story of how St. John’s Wort helped me. I am not a doctor or a pharmacist, or a psychologist, or any kind of “ist” at all. This is just my story.
Of course, the moral of my story is that if you need help, get it. Do not hesitate. Life’s short. My sister Judy was 47 when she died; Beth was 61. And me, well, I spent two years in that damn well. It was not a good use of precious time.
* * *
Many thanks to my blogging buddy, Lorri Carter, for letting me use her beautiful photograph of the well. I first saw it on her post: Falling Fast – the End of the Show at her blog, The Eff Stop. It’s really what I pictured sitting there in my corner in the well. Except mine was totally enclosed.
Lorri is a terrific photographer who somehow often manages to photograph souls. With this one she shows a piece of mine that I’m so glad I left behind.
And my deepest thanks to Le Clown for letting me share this story in a venue where I am less likely to be fired. Shhhhhhh.
About Elyse
85 Comments on “The Well”
Leave a Reply
The Community
Elyse this is was heartfelt and poignant. Your loss terrible, you healing hard. I am so grateful though you found the strength to heal and come back. Thank you for sharing with all of us your story.
Thanks, Val. I’m just glad I finally used the tools that were available to me. Getting help — whatever kind — is really important. It saves so much pain and wasted time.
The well is an apt metaphor for depression. Thanks for sharing this Elyse.
I don’t recall where I read it first — but I have seen it repeatedly. And Lorri’s photo was just right — knowing that there was blue sky, air, and hope at the top if I could just get there.
Depression is so common and so debilitating. Love your message – there are a myriad of ways to treat it, but getting help and finding what works for you is essential.
When I first read your comment, I remembered seeing statistics saying that depression is one of the most costly of all illnesses. Yet it’s ignored. A quick Google search led me to this article: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/robert-leahy-phd/the-cost-of-depression_b_770805.html.
As a society we need to stop hiding it and give it less of a stigma. It happens to a lot of us (Fifty percent of children and adolescents and 20 percent of adults report some symptoms of depression, according this article).
But you’re right — there are different sollutions and folks need to find what helps them.
Great piece, Elyse. When I got sick and had to retire, everyone was concerned that depression would be lobed on top of my other health issues. I don’t know why, but I didn’t feel depressed, just dizzy, tired, and achy. But, I tried to go on the antidepressants that the docs prescribed. Every single one of them made me either edgy or feel depressed. I couldn’t take them. But, then again, I didn’t feel depressed.
But, I supposed the person who is depressed isn’t always the best judge, are they?
They gave you antidepressants in anticipation that you’d get depressed? Talk about putting the cart before the horse! I guess their hearts were in the right place. But different people have different triggers and that needs to be taken into account. Crazy!
The well description is so accurate. Dreaded feeling that slide down.
Everyone has different body chemistry – a lot is trial and error.
Exercise and sunlight works for some
Thyroid medication turned out to be a miracle for me
I have friend who uses St John’s which helps her – but her dad is a doc and monitors carefully – it is serious medicine – even if old remedy.
The important thing is to hang on and find something that works – not just live miserably.
Brave post. Thanks for sharing
Thanks, Mouse.
I wish I could really claim that description, only I had read it before I found myself there. But it is apt.
There is no one solution for depression, and the remedies are hit or miss, which is why there are so many different ones. I was lucky that the first one I tried worked for me — often people have to try different remedies and combinations. But the cost of not trying is wasted years and so much pain.
Elyse,
Thank you for sharing such a personal story. I’m so glad you found your way back. It is hard to ask for help. It is hard to accept help. But getting help is the answer.
Getting help is the answer. I’ve read many blogs on people’s struggles and so often people are afraid of taking medicine to help. It’s not always the answer and it might not work. Or it might be part of what’s needed. But you hit the nail on the head when you said “getting help is the answer.”
I’ve been there twice, so I know a tiny bit of what you went through. My first bout put me on my butt for 2 years – get up, plug in DVDs, and watch movies all day before going to bed, where I rarely slept. 26 months of my life, flushed down the loo. It took a variety of events to get me going again, but like you, when it hit again, I knew what I had to do.
Great message, and a truly touching story, Elyse. I’m so sorry for your losses – but in an odd way, I’m also thankful, for burdens shared are burdens halved, and to have you out there to share makes me VERY happy and proud to know you, and helps me get through my little hurdles.
Very well done, my lady.
What a sweet comment, John.
That well is a nasty, cold place to be — sorry you’ve been there too. And the time I spent there really does seem, as you described it, flushed down the loo. I feel terribly guilty because this is when my son’s first signs of ADD were apparent and we were trying everything to help him. And I was AWOL. But until I got help, I couldn’t do anything. And you know what they say, put the parent’s oxygen mask on first …
Depression is not a fun place, but at least caught yourself by listening first. Otherwise, the downward spiral continues. Thanks for sharing your story!
Actually I waited way too long. I never will again — if I get anywhere near that well I am getting help!
Maybe so … but you still took the first step.
I had an inkling of the topic when you asked about that shot. I shoot that place every year because I have that same feeling. I spent a lot of my teens and twenties depressed – at the time medications were not something that were even considered. Depression was a sign of weakness. I did get help and learned coping mechanisms that forced the bleakness back – they took effort and practice but eventually when a thought about my worthless life would cross my mind I would laugh, because I no longer thought that way. Those skills served me well through the sudden loss of my Mom at 53 and the loss of my grandparents over the next few years. I felt it all, but never got down into that ball on the floor. I fought my way through it – I owned it. When I lost my Pop a couple of years ago it took me over. It’s funny how we’re supposed to be strong and pretend we’re alright. I’m back now, but there were some very dark months when I couldn’t see the light out of that well. Depression is serious stuff. The more people are willing to talk about it the less stigma there will be, the more likely we are to look for help. Thanks for sharing your story. Well done!
Thanks again for letting me use that picture. And I’m not surprised that you guessed at my purpose. It is so fitting.
Isn’t it amazing once the dialog is opened how very many people have been down there? That, of course, begs the question of why there is such a stigma involved.
You also brought up your different reactions to different losses. I think that some relationships are just more complex or issues are unresolved and that makes the loss so much harder. When my sister Beth, who was very ill and absolutely read to go, went, it was peaceful and sad but it didn’t send me back into he well (that I and I got help proactively). It sounds like your order was erversed, but the same feelings happened.
I think the finality of losing everyone who preceded me hit me hard. I also had some issues with family members that I never saw coming. Most losses would bring us together. That last one pushed us apart.
I think talking about depression does a couple of things. Of course removing the stigma is crucial. But when we just buck up and hide it, those around us who can help have no idea of where we are at.
My Aunt Marion, who was the last of my father’s siblings, was the only remaining one, she used to look off in the distance and say “There’s nobody left who remembers.” It was heartbreaking.
You’re right. When we’re in the well, we really shouldn’t hide it. But it’s such a natural reaction. I do it with physical illness too. Because it gets tiresome to say what’s going on, it must be worse to hear it all the time. It’s a delicate balance when one is feeling normal. Once you go over the edge, oh dear!
Have a nice Thanksgiving!
This was really touching, Elyse. I have family members who suffer from depression and it is difficult for everyone involved. I’m glad you found something that offered you relief while you were dealing with your grief.
It is a difficult problem (as are all illnesses — they always affect the whole family). It is really all about getting rid of the stigma and being willing to accept help. Sometimes folks don’t even realize they need it. Others are resistant because they see it as a weakness. But if you take medicine for a headache, why not for a heartache?
Elyse, you are awesome. Thank you for sharing your story. It’s extremely relevant to me right now. Anti-depressants are very helpful if used correctly.
My problem, as you know, was admitting that I had a problem. From there finding a solution to the problem was the easy part. Fixing the damage done is not so easy, though.
You know, TwinDaddy, I think it’s hard, because men and women often handle the depression differently. I collapsed into a heap and blubbered endlessly (not my normal M.O.). Men, I think, often get grouchy and/or lash out.
You’re doing what you need to do. You admitted that there was a problem, and are trying for solutions. To me that would mean volumes — it doesn’t give previous behavior a pass, but it gives it a huge break.
Yeah, I was definitely grouchy and irritable. Not so much fun.
Beautiful story Elyse and I could feel your pain as I read about your loss. I’m so sorry that you lost your sister (on your birthday) and your father (on Christmas day) and I hope that you are still somehow able to celebrate those very important days without too sadness. Also, I hope that you realize that you were not responsible for your sister’s life, her choices OR her death. You loved her and supported her and tried to impart your guidance on her but it was totally on her if she listened or not. xo
Thanks, Wendy. The timing did, in a word, suck. It is something of a family tradition that I wrote about in what I think is my best bit of writing ever. It helped me get over a lot of the fear of the holidays: http://fiftyfourandahalf.com/2011/12/02/both-sides-now/.
It turns out that lots of folks in Judy’s life felt the same way I did — they thought they were her savior. In truth, we all enabled her to be as self destructive as she was. But thank you for your kind words. It’s nice to hear it again, that it wasn’t my fault and that I couldn’t have changed it.
It’s really important that posts like this get written and read and that depression is destigmatised. Thanks for sharing your story and to Le Clown for providing the forum. And thanks for letting people know a possible way out of the well, sometimes this is the only light you need to get started.
Le Clown has really provided a wonderful forum here, hasn’t he? It is full of people helping people, which is what we should all be about, isn’t it. He has his finger on some vital needs.
There are lots of different ways out of the well. The secret is to try and to get help.
What struck me about the well metaphor was that, from all the way down there, you can still see the blue sky and know it’s there.
My favorite tool against depression is to remember that it lies. Depression lies to us.
I swear, Lorri’s photo really is the image I had in my mind as I sat in my corner. I knew there was a way out, I just had to find it. First, of course, I had to WANT to find it.
That’s an interesting idea — that depression lies. I always felt that it was like something lying on top of me, rather than deceit. Maybe that’s just another metaphor.
Thanks for your comment. Something else to think about.
Yup, it’s another way I like to make sure that depression is externalized, thought as something outside of myself that I am fighting, as opposed to a part of myself that is messed up or needs fixing. For me, I was never broken, and so I don’t need to be fixed.
It does indeed feel like you’re at the bottom of a well with no way out. I’m glad you were able to find your way through your depression, Elyse.
Thanks Sandy. There are lots of different ways out. They can be damn hard to find, though.
Your post couldn’t have come at a better time. I have dealt with panic and anxiety for almost 20 years. The depression has just started in the last 7 to 8 years. It comes and goes in clusters. I can go years or months and be fine and then go for months to a year dealing with it. Each time it comes it seems to be worse and last longer. I have 3 small kids and one on the way I can’t spend my days in bed as I want too and have been the last few months. It is taken a toll on our family right now. I have only ever went to the doctor and gotten something to take once and took it for a few months. I hate to take stuff all the time. I would rather take natural stuff if I can find it. I am worried about taking something why I am pregnant. I am going to check into the st johns and see if it is something I can take why I am pregnant.
Just because it is “natural” does not mean it is necessarily safe. The properties — the reasons why it works — are the same as some of the prescription antidepressants. It’s really important that you check with your doctor — look on the internet, etc. It might also depend on how far along you are with the pregnancy.
There are also other options to drugs. You have to find what works for you and keeps that baby inside you safe too.
Hi there,
I think my answer was not as kind as I meant it to be. I get nervous when people take my opinions as medical advice. I’m sorry — I answered with less compassion that I feel.
I don’t know what the effect of St. John’s Wort is on a pregnant woman or her baby — but I wanted to tell you that there are lots of different answers for the hurts you’re feeling. But you need to ask medical folks. I do medical writing, so I know a lot of terms, and I have a lot of common sense. But really, I can’t give you medical advice.
It sounds like you are having a really terrible time — family changes however they occur are so difficult. I read your post from today and you do sound like You can find the sollution. Talk with your doctor. He/she will know what to do. You really can do it. You can climb out of the well.
your reply was fine I know I have to check it out more before I use it. I know before I had looked into stuff to take before. But with everything going on and feeling the way I do I couldn’t think of the ones I had heard of or checked out in the past. I haven’t ever tried it but am going to check into it and ask my doctor about it. I am already 20 weeks along and just now tomorrow getting to go see a doctor. I am going to ask them about it too. I have heard a lot of good things about it just don’t know if it is for me right now but also good to keep in mind in the future if not for now.
Good luck with the appointment and whatever treatment you can get. Let me know, as I’ll be thinking about you.
Wow, this is such a thorough account of an illness more common than people think. And you tell your personal and sad story with clarity and encouragement.
I have been in that well too. I wish I had read this when I was. It makes me believe that what you have done is help people by sharing. That is such a gift. Thank you.
Thanks. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell this story for a while. So many people fear antidepressants, just as I did. And while I don’t think they are THE answer, they can be AN answer. Different strokes for different folks. They helped me.
I do hope to have helped someone by telling this story. It was a long time ago, and I have gotten past it, mostly. So it was not easy going back.
I just saw the movie Silver Linings Playbook this weekend which just happens to be about mental illness. It displays a clear picture of the importance of receiving the right help. There is no doubt that your story will help so many, even if it’s just to take the first step. When I was having difficulties the thing I didn’t like was that my doctor was very quick to give me heavy duty medication. Personally, it seemed a little over the top and I went another route which worked out well for me. Everyone is different, but help is help I’m all for it!
There are so many people suffering, and usually they are alone. And even if they aren’t, they feel that way.
It’s amazing to me that when I discuss this topic that it seems like so many people have been there. It is a shame that depression is so stigmatized, as if it were a weakness. I don’t think it is a weakness at all; it’s a heightened sense of feeling that hits most of us at some point in our lives.
I’m going to have to remember that movie title,Tops.
Wow. This is powerful. Sad, yet triumphant. I haven’t had to deal with any losses like that, yet. I’m obviously not looking forward to it. But, when I hear stories (like this one) about people grieving and rising again, it makes me feel better equipped for the day when I finally have to live it. Life’s downers are easier when you are in good company. Thanks for sharing, and best of luck to you moving forward.
P.S. I recall hearing something about St. John’s Wort interacting with foods like Mushrooms and Cheese. Have you ever had any interactions from foods? I loosely looked into it at one point, but gave in to the same fears that you described.
I don’t know about interactions with food, Adam. I don’t recall that being a problem (although I have serious GI problems so I don’t know that I would have noticed).
Losses of loved ones differ. Sometimes you are, sort of glad, because the folks were ill, in pain, or ready to go. Those are sad but acceptable. Others, where folks aren’t ready (Judy could have lived to 100 and still she wouldn’t have been ready), those are harder. I lost both sisters — one plunged me into depression, the other made me very sad but it seemed natural. These happened a long time ago, and I really have recovered — although there are moments. I just felt it was an important story to tell, and Le Clown offered me the venue.
I hope you have a long time before you find out about the losses.
Your story was important to share. Thank you.
I’ve heard good things about St. John’s wort for depression, although I never tried it myself. Thank you for sharing this, Elyse. I’m so sorry about Judy, but I really enjoyed your writing about her. She sounds like she was a good soul, just a soul with some issues that she struggled with. And I tell people the same thing about medications—they won’t change your personality, they won’t make you into something else, they just help you function again, and sometimes help you to see things in a less distorted way. And most people don’t need to take them forever. And even if you do, so what? Some people take meds for blood pressure etc, for their whole lives. It’s just a different type of thing.
Absolutely. It’s a tool. We don’t get weird when we have to take antibiotics or, as you say, satins. We have a societal problem with depression, we don’t want to admit it’s there, even though a large percentage of us suffer from it at one time or another.
St. John’s Wort helped me, but I was worried about mentioning the name. It doesn’t matter what worked for me; it won’t necessary work for the next person. Everyone needs to seek their own solution.
Judy’s loss was a long time ago, and I have adjusted to it. Like other losses, I have moments when I want to pick up the phone and tell her something, then I realize that I can’t. Even 12 years on, sometimes I forget. But I am fine. Thanks, Weebs!
You describe it well (no pun intended). Never a fun place to be. I’d try to comfort you too, even though i have but two legs…unlike that OTHER cooper….
Why thanks, Cooper. Do I need to scratch behind your ears???
I am no longer in need of comfort, though. This took place in the early 2000s. When I hear/read of folks who are struggling with depression, though, I think of my experience. I was afraid to take anything because I think that you really do have to work through problems whatever they are — and I feared that drugs would just gloss over them or make me a zombie or take away feelings. Fortunately, at least for me, they did none of that. And I managed to get out of the well.
All Coopers are grea, you know. And Your furry one is still alive and kicking — and shedding!
i had the same zombie fears prior to medication. i still fight the well from time to time but that’s just the way things are…
I don’t think I know of anyone who hasn’t at least approached that edge. Life bites us all from time to time.
Depression has taken the lives of some people close to me, including my father. This is a powerful reminder that it must be treated as the disease it is.
Renee I’m so sorry. In a way I think that it might/must be harder for men. I fell into a blubbering mass — I think men often harden making it that much harder to get help.
It needs treatment, not the isolation it often gets.
I’m so glad you found your way out of that well, Elyse.
Thanks, Laura. Me too. It was a long time ago, but the memory is still fresh.
Elyse, thank you so much for sharing your story. You may not know this, but this will help a lot of people who are suffering from the loss of a loved one and even people who are just suffering from depression in general. It really does help to have friends and family who love and support you. God knows the only reason I’m still breathing is because of my amazing mother and a very sweet American friend of mine who have each shown me such a huge amount of love and support.
And now I send all of my love to you and hope, somehow, that it helps you. <3
Thanks Zenith. I am fine now — out of the well, and I can think of my sisters and usually laugh now. Time and drugs helped me get there.
Thanks for saying that you think it might help some people. That’s why I told the story. It’s such a hard place to be as you found out. Glad you had good support too. It makes a huge difference, doesn’t it?
It does, it really makes a huge difference! I’m the kind of person who hates talking about my problems but it’s nice to have someone there with me when I find myself in that dark, cold place, Even if no words are spoken the whole time I’m with a loved one, it’s just such a great comfort having them there with me.
Actually I find writing about them to be quite therapeutic!
I think a lot of people do – I’m just not that brave.
This one was a touching post. I have grown up seeing one of the person whom I love a lot, suffering with depression. And I know how much it affects lives of people around him. So I usually do not talk about that phase, because I do not want to relive those memories again. And everyday I pray to god that, we do not have to see days like those again. But what hurts me most is that, that person is perfectly alright now, but somehow I no more find the same person in him because those medicines have changed his personality a lot. And the worst thing is that, in our part of world people still find it difficult to accept that it’s just another disease and it can happen with anyone. I wish no one has to visit that well. It’s the worst place in this world.
I don’t think that India is alone in not recognizing the existence of depression and mental illness. No, not by a long shot.
I’m glad your friend/relative has gotten treatment, and got out of the well. It’s a hard subject to bring up, especially if you think that the medicines keep him out of depression but maybe blunt their personality. (That’s everyone’s fear about them, I think). I don’t have any good advice for you, Arindam. Maybe he needs to talk with his doctor.
Wish I could answer this one, my friend.
Elyse, thank you for sharing such difficult times with us. You’ve described that helpless feeling perfectly. Before I had postpartum depression (after my son was born), I had no clue how much it could crush a person’s soul and very reason to live. For me it was almost like a physical weight was pushing me down and I had no strength or desire to stop it. I still haven’t been able to write about my experiences with that and my panic attacks/anxiety yet, but reading about how you’ve coped is inspiring to me. To know you’ve fought your way back out of that well to feel the light on your face again moved me to tears. I only wish I had also known to seek help, whether medication or therapy, to get myself through those dark times.
It made all the difference, getting help. I waited way too long though. Hopefully you won’t find the well again, and won’t have to deal with that weight. But if you do, hopefully, you will get help.
But you know, I swear blogging helps a whole lot. Not that I am depressed these days, but being able to write about and share my experiences and to be able to share those of others is really empowering.
Happy Thanksgiving my friend.
Writing and blogging about it helps for sure. This is why I wrote about my dad, I get so depressed this time of year, it’s hard sometimes (I’m sure that’s pretty common,unfortunately)
Yes, it is apparently the hardest time of year for most people. I’m determined to be charming throughout. Because I am at heart, an actress!
…and you have the academy awards to prove it…!
I may need to keep them foremost in my mind …
Actually I will have a good time. John’s whole family will be at our house, so it will be busy and crazy and fun. If it were my family, the police would come too.
ha! That’s good. I hear you. And the sirens in the distance coming to my brother’s house after my nephew and my mom get into a brawl over the last turkey leg and if Obama is sending this country to hell….Happy Frickin’ Thanksgiving!
God Bless US, Every One!
And you know, Darla, Frickin’ Turkey is even better than roasted. Ask Martha Stewart next time she passes by!
I took St John’s Wort for a time and found that if I drank cola I’d get a migrane – not fun! And my sister was taking it while on the contraceptive pill and got pregnant. So your warnings are absolutely true and fair – seek medical advice! I’m glad you’ve found a way out of your well, and thank you for sharing your story.
*sending love and hugs* and also praying for you & yours.
Thanks, FHC, sending it back. Migraines are no fun, but easier to deal with. However, I’m not sure if the pregnancy can be blamed on SJW — no form of contraception is 100% (nor are the people who take them). But medical advice really is in order — it’s medicine!
When my sister went to one of her appointments, there were signs on the walls at the hospital/doctors surgery saying that it had been found that St John’s Wort stopped the Pill being effective. It’s also known that some antibotics stop it working as well (but usually the doctors will warn you about that). Xxx
Really? I’d never heard that.
I only know it because I was working in a hotel and one of the girls I worked with was on antibotics for a short time and someone else mentioned it to her. She was then a bit concerned because she and her boyfriend had had more sex in those few days than they’d had in a while. Maybe it’s not as commonly known as I’d thought.
One of the things that I discovered immediately after giving birth to my daughter was that depression comes in many forms. After she was born I couldn’t get up off the couch, couldn’t shop or make dinner. I barely got my boys off to school and I slept nearly twelve hours a day. I went to the doctor thinking something was wrong with me because I’d stopped showering, complaining that it was too much effort. It was as though the air had been replaced with mud.
That’s when he suggested I may be depressed. I told him that wasn’t possible, since I wasn’t sad and enjoyed all the same funny talks with my family I always had. He described depression to me as not only emotional but physical and that my body had slowed down when it was necessary to do so because I was under stress, but for whatever reason failed to speed back up.
I took his advice to increase my exercise, supplement my diet with trace minerals and take an anti-depressant. I was reluctant at first because i still wasn’t convinced I was depressed but the drugs worked miracles for me. I remembered what it was like to be normal again.
You are very courageous for sharing this post with blogworld. I admire you immensely.
Thanks for your thoughtful comment, H.E. I’m glad you found your answer, too. It is such a difficult problem, depression, with so many different ways of showing up and messing up your life. It sounds like your doctor was terrific. Exercise and sunshine helps me too. A walk in the park is sometimes the best possible therapy — it’s where I think things out, get my bearings, ground myself again.
I’ve read so many posts written by folks struggling with depression — and their stories are often much more difficult than mine. That’s really why I wanted to write this post — and Le Clown’s forum was perfect (Thanks, again, Eric) I found my way out and learned that it’s ok to get help. That’s the most important message.
There is a real fear of taking medicine for depression, partly because anything that touches the mind is that much more frightening than say something that treats a different part of the body. But when we need help, it’s better to get it than to stay in the well. Whatever type of help that works. The well is cold and damp and very unfriendly.
Thanks for sharing this deeply personal story with me, Elyse. There is so much here that I can relate to, and obviously for many other people also. Your gift is greatly appreciated.
Hope you’re doing ok, Chris.
The metaphor of a well makes sense to me. Have you fallen again since? Thank you for sharing.
When I lost my other sister in 2009, I took meds again. I did not want to go back down there again.
I have recurrent serious health issues that get me down pretty low sometimes. So yeah, I’ve been down since. But I also found the answer that works for me. There’s one for you, too.
Thank you. I have a strong feeling that both my father and my grandfather have barred certain paths for me which doesn’t mean that I don’t have any thoughts into their directions. I do feel sometimes that I’m containing a storm in a small water glass; maybe I just need to be more generous with myself? I am on my way. Thank you again.
You’re welcome, TAE. Be safe. You’ll find an answer. A good one.