As some of you all may know by now, I'm a huge fan of a local columnist, Chris Rose. His exploits during and after Katrina kept me more than entertained--some days he was what kept me going. He was my hero. Smart, funny, a real "trouper" with a sarcastic slant to his viewpoints on life that seemed, well, familiar to me.
Then one day, I noticed his columns had diminished, and then they stopped altogether.
I gotta tell ya too, at first I gave myself credit for being better at reading tone through text because I actually wrote him, saying, "I am a fan and I am worried about you." But no. Lots of people noticed. Lots of people wrote him. He wrote them back.
He wrote me back, too! The only thing he said about himself was that he was fine. The rest was all very diversionary chit chat, something else that felt very familiar to me too.
Today's paper contained the explanation for his missing columns--my buddy, my hero, had fallen into that pit--the same emotional hole he had termed "the dark creepies" in a very sad column I had referred you all to a while back.
I've told some of you privately via IM and e mail that there is a different aura in New Orleans now. People are cautious of one another. I say that we look deeper into each other's eyes now, looking for signs that "somebody is home". Because I can give a grand-slam list of evidence of people who have "snapped"--people who should have gotten help and might have, if depression didn't have the reputation of being an embarrassing "weakness".
(Just two weeks ago, I started throwing dirty dishes out of my back door too--tsk--unacceptable behavior Karen. Mad at me.)
But I wanted to share all of this with you because Chris Rose, as he always has, writes it better than me.
So if you are suffering from depression, or have, you might be interesting in hearing one man's story. A man who once thought depression was for wimps. A man who thought he could think his way through anything.
Chris Rose got help, and I'm so glad he did.
I had missed him.
Here's the link to his story:
I am still smiling at the part where he confides that his psychiatrist chided him about the message on Mr. Rose's answering machine--saying that it wasn't funny. "I can't come to the phone right now because I am emotionally unavailable." Heh. C'mon doc, it was kinda funny--but it's my experience that psychologists and psychiatrists are not fans of self-deprecating humor. heh?
Because on second thought--it's really not funny. Living with someone who is actually emotionally unavailable is pure hell.
And before anyone asks, I too, am finally getting help. My process may be a little slower because well, despite the hairs on my chinny chin chin, I am a woman, and my condition is little more complicated as a result. (translation: menopause) I'm also one of those folks who can't take tricyclids, but YES RON--I am getting professional help, and as luck would have it, or call it divine intervention, he also happens to be an addictions specialist.
I'm doing this because I woke one day and realized I missed me. That, and I was afraid that I might snap too, and instead of just hurting myself, I might hurt someone else.
If there is anyone reading this who is nodding their head in understanding, big hugs to you too.
Forgive my rambling--love to all.