Saturday Night

(This is cross-posted from my blog; I didn't think that it necessarily should be, as it's rather personal and I don't like to get *too* personal on a blog that is not mine. But Melissa feels very strongly about the message behind this post and asked me to put it up here. Thanks for giving me another soapbox, honey.)

So here's what's been going on the past few days (And many thanks to everyone for their well wishes):

I received a call on Sunday morning that a co-worker of mine, a wonderful, vivacious, exceptional woman, had passed away on Saturday. This was an extraordinary shock, as we have already dealt with the death of another beloved co-worker within the last few months. (For her and her family's privacy, I shall refer to her as "R.")

The most horrible thing about her passing, however, was that she took her own life.

I was flabbergasted when I heard what had happened. R. was, as I said before, an extraordinary human being. Not only did she work for a non-profit AIDS/HIV education center, but she also was very active in other social causes; working to create shelters for battered women in Israel, other social causes at home and in Israel, and in her temple. She had a great love of nature and environmental concerns. She was very passionate about helping others, and although it may be a cliché, there was not one person that she met that was not greatly affected by her amazing energy and passion. This was very evident at the funeral service yesterday, when her small temple was packed to overflowing with well over 200 people.

You never would have known that she was struggling with a devastating case of clinical depression.

Most of us in the office didn't have the slightest clue about her condition. Partially because of her keeping it a secret due to the stigma connected with mental illness, and also that, I'm sure, she did not want any of us to worry about her. R. was just that way; always worrying about others before herself.

Also, part of the insidious nature of depression is that it saps the energy you would use to seek help.

She had a wonderful marriage to a great man, three beautiful and fantastic children, a great career, and fulfilling hobbies such as gardening, weaving, and writing poetry.

However, as wonderful as her life was, her disease was too strong.

Late Saturday night, she rose, took an overdose of pills, and walked into a lake.

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Clinical depression is a disease. It is a powerful, crippling disease. And although current celebrities and self-help gurus would argue this, it is not something that can be ignored or easily cured. Taking a multi-vitamin and working out will not cure depression. "Getting over it" will not cure depression. Changing your diet will not cure depression.

It's easy to bash Psychiatry, Psychology, and therapy as quackery. It's easy to claim that psychotropic medications are unnecessary and over-prescribed (which, granted, they can be).

But like any disease, you will need two things to fight it. You will need your doctor, and you will need medical treatment.

And even then, sometimes the disease can be too strong.

But it doesn't have to be.

The biggest problem with fighting mental illness is the stigma that surrounds it. We need to stop claming that people that are mentally ill are "not sick."

We need to stop making people feel ashamed about depression.

Please, if you think you have clinical depression, see your doctor. See a Psychiatrist. Get some help.

If you're so inclined, you can make a donation to the The National Alliance for Research on Schizophrenia & Depression (NARSAD).

And thanks again for your support. Send some well wishes and good Karma to R.'s family. They're going to need all the help they can get.