Shout Until They Hear You
She calls me at lunchtime today and says very plainly:
I’m checking myself back into The Ward.
The Ward is what we called the place she first stayed back in the early days of her depression. She hated it then and wrote me long letters about the drab walls and décor, the regulation blankets that itched and raised an angry red rash on her skin and the listlessness of her ward-mates.
They all look dead, babe, she scribed plaintively, all of them seem like they’re drugged out of their heads. I don’t think I belong here. I want to go home. I wrote back. Ineffectual letters over which I agonised, not knowing what she wanted to hear or needed to know. In the end, I settled for telling her in a hundred ways that I missed her and hoped she came home soon.
She visited a friend she met there a while back; a friend that had lived through a messy suicide attempt and had found himself very alone and utterly petrified of what living meant. She told me that they had redecorated. There was pop art on the walls and new sofas in the therapy rooms and the strip lighting had been replaced with something softer, more welcoming.
These changes seemed to please her but the unspoken wish was that she’d never need to be there again.
“I’ve been crap,” she says today in a matter-of-fact voice. “I feel like I’m being suffocated all the time and nobody wants to listen.”
I feel a stab of guilt and think back to my hash of text messages and hastily typed emails. There was talk of a Skype date but it was never kept. Was this where I missed it? I think back to the courtyard bench and her show of bravery. Another episode, depression clouding over the sun in her sky.
“I thought about swallowing something,” she continues and her voice walks the line from fact into fear. She wavers and I bite my lip and swallow my gasp. “I emptied all my Dad’s pain pills into my hand. He said I was being a drama queen.” When she chuckles, her bitterness seeps down the line. “So I checked myself in because if I don’t off myself, chances are I’ll kill him instead.”
I don’t ask if she’s serious.
This is what it takes. Weeks and months of being told by those closest to stop crying wolf; concern that has faded and been washed away to be replaced by irritation and a sense of obligation. It’s easy for people to forget when it isn’t happening to them. She tells me this with a sigh. She drums her fingers against the phone and tells me how much she hates being depressed, how her mental health seems to be slipping. I tell her I’m sorry but the words feel flimsy.
I can hear her smiling down the phone. “At least you listen,” she concedes, “at least I don’t have to shout to make you hear me.”
She is checking herself into a place where there is pop art and soft sofas; a place she doesn’t want to be but realises that for now, it has to be her home. Her family is swarming now, this is what it takes for them to realise she’s in trouble.
I’m proud of her.
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Stereo. 20-something aspiring bon vivant. London based. Exceptionally Nigerian. Partial to snark. My default setting is "wry". Jeans and blazers are my uniform. Landlady. Speed reader, tuneless singer, hoarder of words, drinker of Schloer; I am suspicious of most people, have zero tolerance for tomfoolery, have a vast DVD collection, worship at the altar of Al Green, own too many bottles of nail polish, have small eyes, small ears and giant hair and owe approximately 86% of my awesome to the Parents Typewriter.
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Depression is a scary thing. I’ve never been this serious, but from what I’ve experienced, it hurts. Getting yourself to go to treatment is such a huge step and I’m proud she did it, even if she wasn’t happy there. Like stated, it’s got to be her home for now. Even through hastily written mail and texts, you were there for her and that’s all that matters. I’m sure now you’ll be a bit more careful with these messages but you’ve been there for her and that’s wonderful.
You need to write a book, this was fantastic and so emotional.
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February 24th, 2012 at 16:23
I can’t even imagine. I’ve had my down times but nothing that I could call depression. It floors me just how difficult it is for people and also makes me so angry that people dismiss it. I do my best to be there for her but I always feel like I’m failing or letting her down.
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my god, you have perfect timing. just this morning, an email in my in box. she’d held a gun, she said, and changed her mind. my words felt flimsy in response, though i said all the right things. and at least i listened. she said a story i’d told had perfect timing for HER, helped the gun to be laid down – how do you even begin to absorb that?
and now, here’s YOUR story. perfect perfect timing. the universe moves in mysterious ways. thank you for this.
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February 24th, 2012 at 16:13
Whoa. The timing is almost eerie. Happy that your friend changed her mind and smiling at the fact that your words are that powerful. Even when you do not realise it.
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i don’t really have words. i’m sorry, that you feel probably scared and a bit helpless. i’m..well…not glad, per se, but relieved, that your friend is getting real help somewhere, and recognizes what she has to do. sending much love over the ocean.
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February 24th, 2012 at 16:08
This is it. She makes me proud because despite the negativity surrounding her, SHE knows what she has to do to get better and is doing it. As always, your concern and love mean the world.
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For some people, every day life is a struggle to survive. Not because of how they live, but why. Some of us need a pretty steady reminder of why we keep putting one foot in front of the other and trudging down the road.
You helped her remember that reason.
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February 24th, 2012 at 15:57
Thank you, Matt. I can’t imagine what it’s like to be struggling with depression so I try to help where and how I can.
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Having been on your side of the fence, I certainly understand the clawing sense of panic when our loved one talks of hurting themselves. I remember sitting in my step-father’s apartment during one of our weekend visits, begging him to get help. Even as an eleven year old, I knew that this was something you don’t treat lightly.
I’m so sorry that your friend struggles; but, I am so glad that you do hear her, and that she doesn’t have to shout to make herself heard.
Wishing her peace and light…and wishing that for you, too.
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February 24th, 2012 at 15:57
I feel useless most of the time but she says that I am helping by listening and by sharing the parts of her story that she is happy to disclose.
Thank you for your good thoughts and positivity, Brandee.
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I will post my response on my blog in the next day or so.
For what it’s worth, this makes me want to cry in identification and sorrow…
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February 24th, 2012 at 15:53
I thought of you when I was writing this post. My heart goes out to you, Mark. And I will continue to do my best to encourage you as you go through this.
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I lost one of my closest childhood friends to suicide when we were in our late 20′s, and I still think of her often. There is so much misunderstanding about mental health, but I think awareness is increasing.
I’m sorry to hear about your friend’s situation, and I empathize with you as well. It’s difficult watching loved ones suffer! Thankfully she is getting the support she needs. xo
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February 24th, 2012 at 15:40
You’re right, Robin. Awareness is increasing and I can only hope that it continues to do so. This is why my friend presses me to share her story and why I will keep doing so as long as she wants me to.
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I so admire your writing style. You’re matter-of-fact about the situation, yet you’re still able to honestly describe the tinge of guilt you feel, however subtle and probably unnecessary. I’m sorry to read about this kind of situation always… but it sounds like she does have someone who listens and pays attention. Very, very closely.
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February 24th, 2012 at 15:26
Thank you, Cassie and thank you for coming back! I have been told that listening is a great way to show support because there isn’t really much that words can do when faced with something like this. I’ll continue to be there for as best as I can.
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I do not know what to say, Stereo. I hope your friend finds compassion, comfort, healing and love as she deals with something many, many of us have struggled with as well. You are doing all of us a service by sharing her story.
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February 24th, 2012 at 15:11
Part of the reason I love her is that each time we speak, she tells me “make sure you write about this, people need to understand.” She’s so right and I know she is happy that her story is letting others know that they are not alone in this.
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I love that my computer is eating comments lately. Oh anyways. Well do I know this situation. For others and myself.It puts new meaning into the over used song “Love Is A Battlefield” because it really is- loving others and even loving yourself- becomes torturous so often for so many people. Thank goodness she has you.
She is blessed, as we all are, sister.
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