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“Depression is like a
sneaky little monster. It tiptoes through the house smirking and peeping
around corners, a wicked visitor. By the time the busy victim catches
sight of the monster it can almost be too late to recover from its dirty
tricks.” Mona and her friend, Lana, were visiting over a cup of coffee.
A bowl of popcorn and peanuts was on the table. Lana reached for one of
the kernels and popped it into her mouth.
“Oh yes,” Lana picked
up the creamer and drizzled a pattern on the top of her coffee with it.
Both women stared at the cup as if there might be some solution in the
dark and light swirls there.
“I'm reading this
book,” Mona said. “It is all about depression and the way it behaves.”
“You mean it isn't a
nasty little personality hell bent on destruction?” Lana wasn't that
easily swayed.
“Well, I had to do
something. I feel like I'm acting as a counselor wherever I go. Whether it
is a clerk who is glaring down her nose at everyone or an angry driver
just on the edge of road rage, I'm telling you, depression is real. I had
to do something, read a book about it, anything to understand what is
happening.” Mona felt she was blithering in an attempt to make herself
understood. “It seems I have to be eternally alert.”
Mona had managed to
catch Lana's attention. Lana asked, “who wrote that book?”
“Richard O' Conner,
PhD. It is called, Un-doing Depression. Here look at it.” Mona handed
the book to her friend.
Lana was a quick
learner. She immediately buried her head in the book's pages. “He says
here, “this is not a treatment book.”
“I know he said that
but it sure is enlightening.” Mona had to defend her interest in the
material. She jabbed her finger down to a place on the page, “Did you see
what he says about one out of four having depression?”
“Look at all he lists
here. 1. Sad, empty mood 2. Loss of interest in former pursuits 3. Eating
disorders 4. Weight loss or gain 5. Lack of Self Worth 6. Decrease in
activity 7. Hopelessness 8. Diminished ability to think. Yep. Oh yeah!
I'm depressed, this proves it.” Lana chuckled.
“Oh well,” Mona
laughed, too. “I guess we can find an excuse for anything, being brainless
included.”
“I think we are doing
what he said not to do.” Mona had to note. “We are practicing
self-treatment.”
“There's a whole lot
more!” Lana had to continue.
“Don't read
anymore.” Mona grinned, “it makes me too depressed.”
“Just this,” Lana was
insistent. “Abraham Lincoln, Eleanor Roosevelt, Sigmund Freud, and Ted
Turner suffered depression.”
“I know, I read
that.” Mona picked up her cup of coffee and tasted the warm, soothing
liquid as she gazed over and out the small window there in her kitchen. A
little bird bounced from limb to limb and then on over to the bird bath.
The filtered light coming through the glass was bright and seemed to be so
strong. Years of living through the sad condition of cerebral palsy with
her daughter had honed her mentality to a different level. There wasn't a
day over forty-five years when something or other had happened to bring
hurt to her as a mother. In order to function, to subconsciously spit in
the face of the agony a new world of practiced life and living had to be
implemented.
Like her Dad, who
once observed a miserable situation, “You see this beautiful little rock?
Well, I'm telling you that is all I got out of the whole scenario today.
But, just look at it! Isn't that the most incredible color? Look!
There is pink, black, tan, and flecks of white going through it. I'm
telling you, now that is gorgeous.” |
