LET'S TALK

Adjusting attitudes a lifesaver

Count me as one of those mourning the dead ... friends and loved ones who have died, those who have died at the hands of terrorists or law enforcement and those who have died by their own hand.

I still have Robin Williams on my mind, the actor and comedian we all knew and loved, the man we all thought had everything, but who, behind closed doors, found life too unbearable to continue living and thus took his life.

I know a fraction of what he must have felt.

I battled situational depression, something I've hinted at numerous times here when discussing the challenge of reconciling childhood and teen daydreams and expectations with adult realities ... with self-esteem issues thrown in. The things I wanted the most out of life always seemed to be tantalizingly out of reach. If you have no chance in Hades of obtaining your heart's desire, it's not so bad. But if it seems within reach -- if it's dangled in your face like a carrot and snatched away -- you tend to feel cheated.

I wasted a lot of time feeling cheated. You know, as if somebody owed me something.

It never got as bad as an attempted suicide, although there were times I went to bed thinking that if I didn't wake up, so be it.

I've committed the same sin most of us do ... looking at other people's lives from a vantage point of ignorance and thinking, "Wow, he lives a charmed life. He's got looks/money/fame/power/prestige/drop-dead gorgeous romantic companionship/beautiful children, etc. He's got to be happy."

You can have all those things and still be lacking. In my case, I had a God-shaped hole in me that I was trying to fill with things, and people, who didn't want to fill it.

In 1997-99, everything broke loose. The headliners were my mother's death, a divorce, a return to college and major surgery. It was a lot to deal with. I went to therapy for what a social-worker friend (not my therapist) referred to as a low-grade situational depression. I got on a medication called Celexa, which I was told wouldn't "cure" the depression but would make me feel better. It did seem to do its job, but what I remember most about Celexa is the dreams. I had the most wonderful dreams while on the stuff. Vividly colorful dreams filled with panoramic landscapes in which everything seemed to have a painterly effect. And none of the undesirable side effects listed on one website. Ironically, the dreams reminded me of the landscapes in that sad Robin Williams movie What Dreams May Come.

It took a major spiritual attitude adjustment, that came thanks to a class I attended at a friend's church, to make me see things differently. It made me stop basing my happiness and well-being on circumstances; it made me realize that there's joy in helping and serving others.

Not to say I don't still have my down days and go face to face with that old depression demon. I still lack some of the things I've always wanted. Life still dangles those carrots and snatches them away. But I know who and whose I am; that demon has to flee.

But this is my story. It wasn't Robin's story. It's not the story of so many others who suffer from depression, situational or clinical.

So allow me to bring up the rear in reminding us that we all have our crosses to bear and our battles to fight, no matter how cute we are or how many numerals represent our bank account. We can all stand to take a look at that brother -- or sister -- of whom we are keepers and read on and between the lines to see if they're hurting. We can all stand to be good, nonjudgmental listeners to those who confide in us. If we're praying people, we can pray for them. And if our brother needs somebody who can handle his pain better than we can, it may take driving him to the therapist, hanging out in the waiting room, driving him home, checking on him and repeating the scenario the next time around.

Anything to keep from seeing another soldier (of life) down.

There's a saying that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. And no matter how serious, or chronic, something may seem, it's all temporary.

hwilliams@arkansasonline.com

Style on 08/31/2014

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