Depression – Really?
Mon., April 28, 01:34 PM
I’m one of those people whose response to depression is “ride it out.” That’s what we always had to do before modern medical aids (in the Middle Ages, y’know), because there was no other recourse.
There’s a lot of depressing stuff in my life right now, and the Bipolar One immediately offers, “ask your doctor for Paxil.” No! Not because I think that the pills don’t help chemical depression. No one knows that they do more than those who live with her. But pills won’t solve these problems. (It’s like that old joke: is it paranoia if someone really is after you?)
The issues are real. There are global issues, such as fighting in Iraq or the rotten state of the U.S. economy. (And no one believing what I say about them.) There are personal issues, such as Husband’s poor health, or daughters’ (both of them!). Naturally, there are financial matters involved with all of this.
“Medication will help you cope,” insists the Bipolar One. I’m coping; that’s not the issue. The most pills can do for me is make me forget about all these issues for a time, but they’ll still be there when I wake up.
What I’m saying is that I want the right to say I’m depressed. It will pass. Eventually. It always did before.
What I really want is pastry. Even unsweetened piecrust. Fortunately, there isn’t any, because my blood sugar is already out of whack.
In talking with my daughters this weekend, I realized that I left a couple of celebrities out of the Friday Five a couple of weeks ago.
- At an annual convention of the National Association of Radio Talk Show Hosts (yes, there really is such a thing), I met June Lockhart. She is best known for being the mother on “Lassie,” but ten years ago she had a radio show; she was sitting on panels and such for this convention. Other speakers at that particular NARTSH gathering included Larry King and Paul Harvey, but I actually spent a half hour or so chatting with June.
- About thirty-five years ago, when I was working in Manhattan, I saw a crowd gathered around a speaker and stopped to listen for a few minutes. “Just another pretty face,” I thought to myself – I did recognize him, but I didn’t much care for his message. A couple of months later, he was dead – Robert F. Kennedy.
My memory must be slipping.
I don’t think any of you are in the vicinity; nevertheless I want to wish a happy sixth anniversary to Ray Andrewsen, the morning man at my favorite radio station, WQUN – 1220 AM. The station is my idea of perfection – local news plus CBS network, and my kind of music. The only thing it hasn’t offered me is a job – but then again, I’m no longer eligible.
