Take a good look at that face. Does she look depressed?
I remember when my son was in high school. He came home one day with a list of stuff that parents should look for when your child is on drugs. My son and I went over the list together.
I froze. Most of the stuff my son already exhibited, and he wasn’t even on drugs. How was I to know what was real, imagined, or part of his everyday routine and behavior.
That’s how I feel (and many others, I’ sure) when you come home with a list from a doctor, a therapist, a well-meaning friend on how one looks when they are depressed.
Take my mother. She took downers and uppers all of her life. One day she was sad. The next day she was happy. The next days that followed were nothing to write home to the therapist about. And, yet one day, we couldn’t get her on the phone. After three days of silent, the police stormed her apartment and found her lying in the bathtub.
You can imagine the rest. The police did what they were taught at the academy. My mother never properly thanked them, but I did. I couldn’t understand why she rather lock herself in her apartment and play possum for three days instead of reaching out for help.
Or four years later, my father called me. His wife, (my mom) had checked herself into an insane asylum telling the doctors there that she had thrown in the towel.
Of course, the doctors labeled her as depressed. But after a month, they released her saying that it wasn’t a hiding place for failed living.
The doctor then called me and told me she was depressed. Really? By then, I had figured that one out. But, don’t go by what she looked like because there was nothing really to say. Nothing really that you could point out and say that this woman was depressed.
No, what her therapist told me was that my mother wanted out of living, and since suicide was no longer an option, she would hide out in the insane asylum and live her life happily ever after.
Did she? Well, we’ll go into that next week.
So, take a good look at my face. Do I or don’t I?