"Lucy, You've Got Some 'Splaining To Do"

The first thing I need to do is apologize and/or warn you ahead of time as to the length of the tale I’m about to relate. I recommend you settle in with a cup of coffee or tea or your favorite libation of choice should you decide to venture forth.

A few days ago, I did a post about the top ten ways one knows when one is depressed that elicited a number of concerned and caring responses via comments on my blog, as well as several private emails. Again, allow me to express my sincerest gratitude to those of you who reached out to me to extend a comforting word or a listening ear. I cannot begin to tell you how much that meant to me; especially since none of you would even know me if we passed each other on the street. I mean, the only thing we have in common…as a group…is the adoration of one Vincent D’Onofrio…aka… Detective Robert Goren. (Ah, the miracle and wonder of the Internet.)

Enough of the pleasantries, it’s time to get down to the heart of the matter; i.e., depression. Now, I realize this is a topic that is uncomfortable for some and a “disease” that a great many people do not understand. In fact, until recently, depression was one of those maladies that one did not discuss in “polite company.” Depression is considered to be a type of mental illness, and no one wants to go through life labeled as a “whack job.” (Right, Bobby?)

To be honest, I used to be one of those people who didn’t understand how anyone could be depressed. I was always the life of the party, always on the go, throwing dinner parties, going to parties, the last one to throw in the towel and call it a night. My mantra used to be, “You can sleep when you’re dead!” Now, I look back and wonder what the hell happened to that woman because nowadays all I want to do is sleep. My mom used to marvel at my energy and commented once, shortly before she passed away, that she wished she could live long enough to see me slow down. (Well, Mom, I’m almost at a standstill these days.)

I mean, I realize that one does not get through this life without hitting a bump in the road now and again, and I was no different. I had bad days here and there, but I always managed to “snap out of it” and contrived to work my way through the tough times. I never considered myself to be the “type” who could ever be diagnosed as clinically depressed…until the spring of 1997.

Actually, I suppose it started a few years prior to that when everyone I cared about started dying on me. Mom died in March of 1991 and Dad followed in August of 1992. Then I inherited our family home, which had to be completely renovated, and anyone who has ever undertaken a major house renovation project knows that can wear on one’s nerves. Then, three days after Christmas in 1995, my close friend and mother of my godson, Nathaniel, dropped dead of a massive heart attack. Carlisa was forty-four…one year older than me.

Now, I “handled” or got through all of this…or so I thought. As I tell everyone, you never quite get over losing people you love…you get through it. In the spring of 1996, however, my boss’s husband suffered a severe stroke, and that…albeit I didn’t know it at the time…was the beginning of the end of my life as I had always known it. (One note of explanation…this was prior to my move to Cincinnati.)

How could my boss’s personal problems affect me, you may well ask? Well, I’ll tell ya. When I took this job…back in July of 1985…I knew that I was going to work for a very powerful, opinionated, demanding woman. As long as I know what is expected of me…from an employer…I can do demanding…as long as one is fair and “reasonable.” Besides, I took the job in order to move closer to Mom & Dad. Mom had suffered her first heart attack on Easter Sunday in 1985, and she and Dad were getting on in years. I just wanted to be around to help out.

So, I went to work for Pat Clonch. Pat was the product of a broken home; both parents had been alcoholics. She had married young, had three kids, divorced, never remarried until the kids had grown up because she didn’t want someone else telling her how to raise her kids. She was a successful entrepreneur in her own right, having started and grown a large real estate company. She was, conversely, respected and despised by various factions in the community because, quite frankly, it was a small town, primarily run by a bunch of “good ol’ boys” who thought a woman’s place was in the bedroom…not the boardroom. She put her real estate company “on hold” to accept a temporary position as Executive Director of the local Chamber of Commerce/Economic Development Office until they could find someone to fill the position permanently. Twenty years later, she resigned from her “temporary” position.

Sorry, I just wanted to give you some background on my former boss, lest you wonder why I stayed so long at the fair…twelve and a half years…to be precise. A contributing reason was…quite simply…I liked my job. I was the regional director of a statewide program that provided technical assistance to small businesses, and I had a lot of friends in the industry. Plus, I helped coordinate/administer several local and statewide loan programs for businesses. In fact, I won a statewide award for being named the SBDC Director of the Year just two weeks before she fired my sorry ass on September 16, 1997, but I’m getting ahead of my story.

The main reason I stayed…it was home. Most of my family and friends…my “support group,” if you will, was there.

For the most part…through the years…I got along with Pat. In fact, I respected her and visa versa. I could get things out of her when the other employees couldn’t, and they would all come to me when they wanted something. I’m talking “work stuff” here, but I knew my boundaries and I knew when to pick my battles. But all that changed when Chris, Pat’s husband, had a stroke in the spring of 1996. You see, Pat was accustomed to doing pretty much as she pleased. She served on several local and state committees, was always in “important” meetings, making decisions regarding economic development efforts in the community, was involved in local and state politics, etc. To put it simply, staying home to take care of an indisposed spouse put a serious crimp in both her social and business lives. She was miserable, and when Pat was miserable, trust me...she made it a point to make sure everyone around her was miserable as well.

I have to admit that I was not the only target of her sudden erratic behavior…everyone was susceptible to her wrath. And you never knew when she was going to strike. Many times, we would be in the middle of a staff meeting when she would take the opportunity to reprimand someone…in front of the entire staff, mind you…for some minor mistake. There were times when Pat would ask me to prepare a particular report or document, and I would take the requested item to her. She would look at it, then look at me, and ask me why I had brought this to her…she didn’t want it or need it. Or, I had prepared it incorrectly…she wanted it a different way. It got to the point…when she asked me for something…I would prepare it three or four different ways before I presented it to her. She accused me of trying to take credit for someone else’s work, which is a thing I have never done in my life. Over a very short space of time, Pat managed to turn a fairly amiable work environment into a completely unbearable situation…for the entire staff. It got to the point that everyone…and I do mean everyone…dreaded coming to work.

Eventually…gradually…I noticed changes in myself. I started to withdraw from family and friends. I didn’t want to do anything…no shopping, no movies, no going out to dinner with friends, or having them over to my place. I didn’t want to talk on the phone. I avoided everyone. I started to sleep more. (So much for sleeping when you’re dead, huh? That woman had disappeared. As far as I was concerned...I was already dead.) I knew I was in trouble…that something was horribly wrong…but I kept thinking I could deal with it on my own. I never wanted to admit to myself…or anyone else, for that matter…that I was “depressed” and needed professional help.

By this point, everyone is probably asking, “So, why did you stay? Why didn’t you just leave and get a another job?” Both, very good questions. I knew I needed out, but as I explained, Pat was a very powerful woman, and it was a small community. She knew everyone and those who didn’t know her personally…well…let’s just say that her reputation preceded her. No one wanted to piss her off by pilfering one of her employees. Trust me, I interviewed for a couple of jobs and it got back to me that, even though they were interested, they didn’t want to upset her. Besides, I had a pretty “specialized” job, meaning I would most likely have to leave the area, and I wasn’t ready to do that. (Life's a funny old dog sometimes.)

So, one Saturday afternoon, I was taking a nap on the couch when I was awakened by the slamming of a car door in my driveway. Now, I had become quite adept at avoiding unwanted guests by dashing from the living room into the dining room, but this caller had started up the sidewalk and was almost to the front porch steps. My front door had a large, oval frosted window, and I didn’t have time to skedaddle from the room, so I literally “dove” to the floor between the coffee table and love seat to avoid being seen. Eventually, my would-be visitor gave up, but as I lay there…hiding…a prisoner in my own home, “kissing” my carpeted floor, I said out loud to myself, “Oh, Lou Ann, you need help.”

Next, I made an appointment with my doctor and reluctantly accepted several samples and a scrip for Prozac. That was in the early spring of 1997. The irony is, one day Pat and I were returning to the office following a meeting, and I can’t recall exactly how the discussion came about, but I told her about the Prozac. I don’t think I used the word depressed, but she responded by telling me that I was too young to need anything like that. Before I left work that day, she buzzed me on the intercom. She just wanted to reiterate her concern for me and told me…hand to God…that she loved me and would do anything for me, and just wanted me to know that she was there for me if I ever needed her. Now, here’s a conundrum for you…exactly how does one go about telling one’s boss that SHE, in fact, is the predominant reason for your present dysfunctional mental state? (See what I mean about my Big Fat Freakin’ Life.)

Anyway, the Prozac helped. Work still sucked and did, in fact, right up until the day she fired me. (What a relief that was. I never truly realized how much of my “soul” I had allowed that woman to drain from me until I was finally rid of her.) I was gradually able to “wean” myself off the Prozac after I was free of that awful woman. And I was “dealing” with giving up my home, moving away from my family and friends, learning a new job, and trying to make a new life for myself here in Cincinnati…when my oldest brother died, flinging me full tilt into my second bout with depression.

Leland was sixty at the time…a very young, vibrant, HEALTHY sixty, and one day he sat down in his easy chair to take a nap…fell asleep…and never woke up. I started crying and couldn’t stop, so it was back to the Prozac for a while. One thing I’ve learned is…once depression gets its hold on you…it’s reluctant to let go.

Well, this is wayyyyyyyy more than I intended to write in one installment, and...believe it or not...this is just the beginning. (There is sooooooooo much more.) I’m sure it was tres boring for many, if not all, of you, but I have to say that it was surprisingly cathartic for me. If nothing else, perhaps those of you who have never had the patience for, or understood people with depression will realize that we don’t want to feel this way and we can’t just snap out of it. We have to find our own way back up out of that big, black hole into which we've tumbled, and that takes time, my friends. It helps to have the love and support of family and friends along that most difficult and turbulent of journeys.

While searching YouTube earlier this evening, I came upon the following Josh Groban video. It just seemed to go with the subject matter. The song is, "Don't Give Up, You Are Loved."


YouTube video by ifstudents. It is now 4:00a.m. and me and my sad tale of "woe" are going to bed.