In the light of the recent spate of suicides, especially that of Anthony Bourdain, whom I greatly admired, I felt called to write, once again, about depression and suicide. Contrary to popular belief, talking about it doesn’t make it increase. I, for one, was only diagnosed with depression once in my life, and that was after I gave birth, when my baby girl was a few months old. I was exhausted and isolated in a small French town with my infant child, while her father (my ex-husband) left for work early and came home late. I went to see a doctor because I was constantly tired. I mentioned to the doctor that apart from being exhausted, I was also crying a lot – pretty much every day, upon waking. The doctor put me on Zoloft straight away – apparently more suitable for me than Xanax as I was still working on anger issues on top of the rest. And once again, though I was pretty lost and disconnected with myself, I knew I could easily get addicted to anti-depressants, so vowed to myself not to take them beyond three months. That’s about the time it took me to get my life back on track.
I basically had post-partum depression without knowing it. The baby books I had bought didn’t mention it, and there was not much blogging for new moms out there at the time. I’m pretty sure my mom didn’t have it, and since she was my role model for mothering, I was ill-prepared. I was truly depressed, but not suicidal; just tired, sad, lonely and guilty for being a new mom and feeling that way.
The first time I experienced depression, I was not medically diagnosed. I was sixteen years old and had problems at home, so I wanted to end my life. The only thing holding me back was the thought of bringing grief to my mother. It was my connection to her that stopped me from taking action on that plan, which was the only way I could imagine putting a stop to the emotional pain I was experiencing at that time. The thought of making her sad was even more unbearable than what I thought of as my sad life at the time. And yet, here I was living comfortably, in a beautiful apartment overlooking Repulse Bay in Hong Kong, getting good grades in the International Baccalaureate program of an exclusive private school.
Nowadays, through my work at the Gassho Center for Healing Arts, I deal with people regularly who are depressed and suicidal. I am not an expert in this field, but I do know that this state of being is linked to isolation and loneliness, so I make myself available to hold space for them and be genuinely present and caring. Every single one of us can do so much by just allowing ourselves to be vulnerable and attentive to our own feelings and emotions. That is the first step in reaching out genuinely towards others. Still, I constantly have to remind myself to be kind, to myself first and then to others, from a restaurant employee or shop keepers, to my husband or daughter.
Mindfulness and mediation has helped me so much in this way. Each thought we have can either come from a place of fear or from a place of openness and love. I remember this native American story from Clarissa Pinkola Este’s Women Who Run with the Wolves: A wise man was once asked, “There are two hungry wolves constantly battling within us. Which one will win?” The wise man replied, “The one you feed.”
I would gladly reply to your comments at reikicebu@gmail.com.
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