A dark place

This week was a hard one for those with mental health issues. First, Kate Spade. Next, Anthony Bourdain. Depression is an ugly beast I know well. It drags you to a dark place where all you can see is down.

Money doesn’t help (except to the extent it can give you resources). Neither does trying to shake yourself out of it. Instead, it is a slow climb out of a deep well of sadness and melancholy. Not everyone makes it out. I really can’t blame people because life is hard. But it is also beautiful, stunning and surprising at times.

If you had told me fifteen years ago that I would be a criminal defense attorney with the public defender and a writer traveling to San Antonio to attend a prestigious Chicano workshop (Macondo, a workshop started by Sandra Cisneros), I quite simply would not have believed it. I would have laughed and waved my hand and said, “shut the fuck up.” I had lost my passion. My writing voice had disappeared.

It was 2003 and I was a first year associate at the largest law firm in Houston in the worst depression of my life. Worse than my senior year of high school. It was bad.

In Texas all alone. Friends, but no family. My boyfriend in California. All I did was work it seemed. And I would cry in the shower every morning thinking what did I do to my life? Yes, I wanted to die. But with the help of medication, a therapist and my friends, I crawled my way out. Just barely.

If I had given in to the urge, which was strong, I never would have published my stories, written this blog, met my shih tzus and most importantly, married my husband. I never would have went to Hawaii with my hubby and tried to surf or partied in Cancun with my mom. Or went to NYC to see one of my favorite bands, the Replacements, play live. And I never would have represented the developmentally disabled and mentally ill and found my legal calling.

In sum, I would have missed all this beauty. And accomplishments. There would just be ....

I was watching Parts Unknown this morning and it gave me such a rock in my chest to see Bourdain so vibrant on the screen. Talking to punkers in Burma/Myanmar. Encouraging them to live their dream and play in New York City.  Always looking people in the eye. Talking to them. His humanity was omnipresent.

But no one knows what is in someone’s head and heart. The road is a lonely life and while we all essentially live and die alone, perhaps it was just too much solitary time in faraway places.

So friends, please seek help if you ever have those thoughts.  You are not alone.

In the end, what I have figured out from this mad writing journey is that I am not alone. You are out there listening. There are a lot of us out here who feel the sadness more than most because we are empathetic and creative. And that is our greatest strength.

So don’t give up my friends. Ever.