Depression and the Angel who Saved Me

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” - Laurell K. Hamilton

What a powerful and spot-on statement about Depression.

Millions of people suffer from Depression every year, but unlike some other illnesses or disabilities, you can’t see it. There are no physical signs; and in most instances, unless someone tells you they have it, you would never know.

A lot of people seem to think that when someone is depressed, they are simply just filled with sadness.

Sadness, in overwhelming amounts at times, does play a big role in Depression, but more often than not, it combines with Fear, Anxiety, Loneliness, Self-Doubt, Panic, Dread, Self-Loathing, and a host of other negative and hurtful emotions.

Depression moved into my life in late 1989. I had lost my grandmother around Thanksgiving of 1988, then my father to cancer in February 1989. A few months later, in June, I went through my first divorce.

In just those few short months, I felt as though my entire world was forcefully and mercilessly torn apart.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t eat or sleep. I was lost in a mire of emotions from which I couldn’t escape. I could think of nothing other than all I had lost. I had to move back into my mother’s house because I had nowhere to go.

A Downward Spiral

I turned to the bottle. Every day. Every single day, (even on Sunday, when, at that time in my state, bars were not open) I would go home after work to shower and change my clothes, then head straight to the bar or wherever I could drink myself into a stupor. I would meet up with other regulars and drink anything I was given until closing time, and for a while, I would be numb and no longer in pain.

I did this for months. Astonishingly, I always woke up in my own bed, my car unscratched in the driveway, not knowing how I possibly managed to drive myself home without incident.

Thank Goodness I didn’t hurt myself.

Thank Goodness I didn’t hurt someone else!!

I found myself in the seemingly endless and vicious cycle of Depression and Alcoholism. The sadder I was, the more I drank; and the more I drank, the sadder I became.

“Will this ever end!” I asked myself daily. I couldn’t see a way out. I needed help, but I’m the person others come to for it. I don’t ask for it for myself.

One morning, after shutting down the bar and stumbling into my room, I saw the knife on my dresser and decided that I had found the solution to my pain.

My Angel

As I sat on the bed and pressed the blade against my wrist, I realized that if I didn’t call Stephanie to say goodbye, she would kill me

Oh, the logic of an alcoholic!

Stephanie was an Assistant Manager at a local convenience store where I had worked in the past. She worked late into the evening most days, and it didn’t take long at all for the two of us to hit it off and become close friends. We would often spend time away from work together having a drink or a meal and commiserate with each other on the hard times we both found ourselves in.

I called her at work that night, crying and, I’m sure, not making much sense. I wanted to say goodbye and thank her for being such a good friend. After a couple of minutes, she told me she had a customer and made me swear to stay on the phone.

What she actually did was use the phone in the office to call for help.

A few minutes after resuming our phone conversation, my mother came into my room followed by two police officers and EMTs who I knew. They helped me to realize that I not only needed help, but I truly wanted it.

After that, I referred to Stephanie as “My Angel.” She saved my life — literally — and did more for me in that moment than I could ever thank her for.

The Path to Well-Being

I admitted myself into an inpatient clinic to get help for both the Depression and alcoholism. It was a good program with a wonderful staff. And, during group sessions with other patients, I realized that I wasn’t the only one suffering and that I was not alone.

Once I left the program, I quit drinking altogether and learned ways to better manage the sadness when it hits.

It’s been nearly thirty years since that night. I still have inner battles, but now I’m able to “reel in” my emotions so I can positively cope with them. I also ask myself, “What would Stephanie say to me right now?”

One of the ways I handle Depression is to write. Writing what I feel when I feel it and then reading my words forces me to examine my emotional state and decide how I can change it for the better.

The following is something I wrote a few months ago when I was having a really, really, bad day.

It’s back.

It never really goes away, though.

Some days are better than others but it’s always there, lurking, waiting to strike.

Some days it hits just a little. Just enough to be an annoyance.

Other days it hits so hard that I can’t even get out of bed and face the day.

Most days when it’s bearable, I can find things to occupy my time and keep my mind busy.

Other days, it’s all I can do to convince myself to go on living.

There is a constant voice in the back of my mind that says, “Do it. End your pain.”

I walk into the kitchen and see the knife.

I open the medicine cabinet and see the pills.

I’m in the car and think, “If I just veer into the other lane in front of that truck...”

I try to put on a brave face around family, friends and coworkers.

I can’t let them see how broken I am.

I’m a hypocrite.

I tell others that there is nothing wrong with asking for help. It doesn’t make you weak.

But I won’t ask for the help I so desperately need.

Too proud I suppose.

Don’t like others worrying about me. Who am I to deserve their concern?

I hate this.

HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE THIS!!

Why can’t I be happy?

Why is the pain and sadness so overpowering that some days I can barely function?

Don’t I deserve at least some joy in my life?

Why is it so damn hard for me to tell the ones I love what I’m going through?

Stubborn.

Don’t deserve anyone’s help.

Don’t want to be a burden.

Worthless.

Useless.

Can’t do this any longer.

Goodbye.

I read that again and again during good days so that when the bad days come, I’m better prepared to fight back and show Depression that it does not control my life.

I know I’m going to continue to have inner battles with Depression now and then. But now, I know what I can do to keep the sadness at bay and knock that son of a bitch to its knees for a change!

Stephanie passed away a few years ago. I miss her terribly and think about our friendship every day. I will forever be in her debt for what she did to help me through that dark chapter of my life. She will always be my friend and My Angel.