Is it because we don’t lie in a hospital bed with tubes attached to us; is it because we don’t have crutches or casts or boils or rashes; is it because we don’t have distorted faces or some abnormal growth in any part of our bodies; is it because we don’t lose our hair or grow drug-addict thin or have chemotherapy or dialysis; is it because we walk, talk, drive, laugh, smile, take care of our children, go shopping, cook, and look like you that we, are not considered sick too? Don’t get me wrong here now, I’ve been around people who struggle with physical illnesses. I hung out at my dad’s clinic when I was a kid and have seen patients gasp for air, heard patients moan over their pain and more. My grandmother spent her last days with us as she battled with lung cancer. So, no sire, I am not one to belittle these. And it is good that there is pain management for these illnesses. Morphine. Lidocain. Prednisone. Demerol. Nebulizers and Ventolin puffers. Mefanamic acid. But what about us? Yes, there’s Prozac, Cymbalta to name a few, but these are stabilizers to be taken for a long period of time, they do not give temporary relief to a panic attack or an overwhelming hurtful memory that triggers a panic attack or extreme anger or sadness. Straight jackets to keep you from getting physically hurt when enraged? You can’t put them on yourself. You can drown yourself with alcohol to (supposedly get to sleep) your already beaten liver with all the maintenance meds you are taking. When the mind of a depressive comes alive with no warning at all, it slowly starts to affect every part of your body AND soul. There’s no Advil or Flanax or the strongest pain reliever you can take, to, just for a minute, stop the pain. It has to be felt. To be excruciatingly endured ‘til God knows when. So, you either hide, cry, scream, throw things, break things, kick, box, drive like crazy, curse, bang your head, scratch your arms etc….. Why? Because you feel hopeless and you can’t understand why you cry one minute and feel numb the next. Why? You feel guilt that you can’t function well. Why?Because You feel like a failure,as a mother, a teacher, a wife, a friend..Why? Because sometimes, physical wounds are fixable. but otherwise, when all else fails, usually, more often than not, the depressive challenges mortality. Because it’s the only thing that makes sense. Death is bliss. No more pain. BUT Just like the cancer patient, she walks through chemotherapy and dreams of growing her hair again. Just like the diabetic, he works to manage his sugar intake. Just like that basketball player, grimacess over the pain of physical therapy. They all fight and endure painstakingly to get better. SO DO I. Who have a full head of hair, who eats whatever I want, who walks, run, skip, and kick. Who cusses at the driver that cuts my lane, who wears make up and sometimes, misses an underarm epilator need. JUST. LIKE. YOU. But I am ill, just like them. And need just about the same patience, understanding, adjustments, love, hugs, kisses and chocolate cake and gossips, once in a while.
(but spare me the pity)
Thank you, Dr. Marie Lim, for staying with me over the phone. I wouldn’t have probably written this post.
Inside my cookie jarr 