Hope for the Helpless!
© Paul Shearstone
In my book "Until You've Walked the Path" about my struggles with CFS, I refer to Danny, a good friend of mine that made a miraculous recovery from years of Chronic Depression. With the right medication and treatment from the Homewood Clinic, Danny finally found his way back to the light and put his depression behind him. That was a decade ago.
Recently, I received news that Danny had slipped back into a depressive chronic state to the point where he needed hospitalization. For whatever reason, Danny had decided to go off his medication.
In a tiny white hospital room on the third floor with no TV, no pictures and barely enough space to hold a single bed, I visited my friend. He had already been there for a week. He looked terrible!
Our conversation was strained and mostly one-sided. I understood and empathized due to my own firsthand experience with his condition. When one is that depressed, simple conversation is often a chore. Nevertheless, I persevered or more aptly put, we persevered.
While we talked, I found myself reminiscing the feelings I had back in the early 1990's when doctors knew little about what was once coined the Yuppie Flu - a disease most people at the time had trouble believing was even a disease at all. Malingerers! That's what they thought we were. How more wrong could they have been?
I remembered how fatigued and depressed I was and how difficult it was to articulate the gravity of my condition to others. And, for those fortunate enough to have never experienced 'Real' depression believed the tough-love "Suck-it-Up Soldier" to get over a little despair should surely work - shouldn't it? No... it never does.
As my conversation with Danny grew more one-sided, I found myself trying hard to be patient and even harder to hide any sign of impatience from him. It was then I caught my reflection in a tiny mirror on the clothes cupboard door in his room. Seeing the look on my face made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I had seen that face before. That distinct, exasperated expression, I had witnessed years ago on the faces of my family and caregivers who loved me enough to genuinely want to help, but felt so totally helpless in their efforts to do so. And, after all that, there I sat, this time, fortunately, on the other side of the fence, but nonetheless, feeling equally helpless in my efforts to help my friend.
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