Sunday, February 28, 2010

Sympathy for Walter and Marie...and all the Depressed

Man, I get so bummed when I read about suicides. I know that just holding on really does make a huge difference. I've been on that brink severeal times. I spent good chunks of my life considering suicide, starting at the age of 9. I didn't know when I was 9 that I was a depressive. I know now at age 50--turned the big Five Oh a week ago--that yes, I had serious depressive issues since around age 7, which is really weird to consider. One doesn't think of young kids as depressed, right? Being sickly didn't help, and I wonder if the medications I took (including steroids) didn't just make it all blossom into a black, black flowering tree that will not be uprooted no matter how much I pray.

I was a kid when I first saw Walter Koenig as Chekhov. Because to this day I have a huge love and soft spot for the original STAR TREK and its cast, I felt a particular pang contemplating the horrible, horrible grief Mr. K and his family is dealing with. I am so sorry for them. I had to switch off the news video of his address to the press, cause his face was too painful for me to watch for more than a minute.

I wish his son had felt like I did at every moment when I was on the brink and I could NOT do it, could NOT ultimately complete the task, only because the image of my parents (later my parents and my husband) having to deal with the aftermath. My mother's devastated cries. My father's silent sorrow. I could see it, and it stopped me. That images kept me from slitting my wrists or overdosing on multiple prescription medications or walking suddenly in front of the multiple buses and trucks that went past the busy streets of our neighborhood. I once was at the top of the Empire State and though, ah, this might be good, I could fly for a bit before dying. So much for a cheerful tourist stop. But those images of mom and dad and later my Toots stopped me. More than once. I wish Walter's son had his father's grieving face so clearly in his mind that he would have stopped and checked himself into a clinic. So sad.

And jhow sad about Marie Osmand's son, also a suicide. I like Marie. I like her big toothy smile and perkiness. I remember the dorkily endearing quality of her show with her brother, both very likable human beings. You never want nice folks to have to suffer, but there she must be, her heart a shredded thing today.

I am in the "whew, missed that bullet" stage, cause my body almost took me down into the pit again late last year. I've had a negatively affected mood and motivation, but I have not suffered a full-fledged dip into the darkness. Thank God for this mercy.

If I had a prayer today for depressed folks it's this: that they would just hang on until something joyful slits the darkness; that they would see the faces of their beloveds in their minds so distinctly and intensely that the step out a window or the noose around the neck would be unthinkable just one more day, and then one more day, and one more...

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