Americans should be very proud of themselves for finally stumbling into the 21st century by engaging in a full-throated dialogue about bullies, gays and marriage.
The question now remains as to whether we have it in our hearts to embark on a separate journey of compassion and understanding in regards to a protected class, no less important than those who strive to obtain our empathy due to their sexual orientation.
When I was growing up, my parents came to the conclusion that I was slightly different than the norm and sent me to see a child psychiatrist named Dr. Friend (seriously). He, in turn, prescribed a popular tranquilizer, Miltown. Consider this foray into the realm of brain science as a foreshadowing of the pain and suffering both my parents and I would have to overcome before I could set out on my life’s evolution.
Jump cut now to my 20th year when too much LSD landed me in two psychiatric hospitals after which time I spent two years medicated by Thorazine and Prolixin while receiving weekly doses of electric convulsive treatments (shock therapy) all with the aim of arresting the illness, then diagnosed as major depressive disorder. Through someone’s grace, it worked. I was then able to recoup my sanity, work six years in a neighborhood butcher shop and resume my college career, which included a 3.87 undergraduate grade point at Hunter College and acceptance into the graduate school of journalism at the University of Texas.
It was during those years in Austin that my true diagnosis became apparent when I was stricken with a ferocious onset of mania after which I was hospitalized and given my true cross to bear, bipolar disorder. It was a cross I did indeed bear well as I was able to become a successful journalist, radio talk show host and ultimately a certified peer specialist whose charge it was to assist others living with a mental illness in coming to grips with their own so-called demons.
The aim of this personal preface has to do with the 15-20 percent of the American population that either has or will soon have a diagnosis of a particular brain disorder, such as severe depression, bipolar disorder, schizophrenia, schizoeffective disorder, anxiety disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder or substance use disorder, to name just a few.
People living with a chronic brain disorder exist on the final frontier of societal acceptance. Today, those who live with other chronic conditions such as cancer, diabetes, asthma, epilepsy, AIDS, etc., are not, however, misunderstood in the same fashion. Likewise, those living with brain illnesses are often afraid to let others know of their disability. Why is there so much fear for such a significant segment of the population to disclose its conditions? Why do we still use terms such as “crazy” or “out of their minds” to identify folks who are simply ill? Why has “nuts” become the new N-word?
There are, I believe, two reasons for this. One is that many people who live with a brain illness have been relegated to the fringes of our society. Many are poor, live in inadequate housing (if they are not homeless) and must make do with Supplemental Security Income and Medicaid. The second reason rests on the shoulders of those who are frightened by them: lack of education. For conditions that have been so extensively documented, so many Americans are simply ignorant.
It wouldn’t take much for these folks to become learned about these chronic illnesses. However, so many simply turn their backs and live, instead, in their own world of delusions. In that case there is little to be done since there is no way to force knowledge on those who continue to believe that people living with a brain illness have been stricken because they are inherently bad or that God sees them as unworthy of so-called normality,
For me, I know who I am: I’m intelligent, non-violent and capable of living successfully in any area to which I put my mind. Sure, I take medications on a daily basis to ensure that all of this is possible. Of course, I continue to seek and receive professional help including psychotherapy. But most importantly, I accept what I have without complaint and strive to minimize whatever effects my illness might present.
Why is it then, I must always live with the realization that when people learn of my condition, I run the risk of being labeled a nut.
The 2012 doc, “Bully,” executive produced by my wife Cindy, directed, produced and written by Lee Hirsch and Cynthia Lowen raises a number of salient points about the relationship between school bullying and the lead-up to attempted and subsequent completed suicide. In fact, three of the five vignettes deal with situations whereby the child is either a danger to him or herself or a danger to others. In either case, modern mental health protocol calls for medical intervention and treatment.
With “Bully,” two of the five children do go on and complete suicide. In the other case, the child takes her mother’s gun and threatens the students on the ride to school.
The larger question, which is percolating among professionals and lay people, is the extent to which verbal or physical abuse within the confines of the school year is trigger enough to cause youngsters to opt for ending their lives. Furthermore, it is vital to discuss bullying and its possible effects since suicide is the third leading cause of death among those 10-24 years of age.
According to the American Federation for Suicide Prevention {AFSP}, harsh words or actions do not alone make for the unnecessary loss of one so young. There biological indicators as well as those related to the environment and personal/psychological conditions. Moreover, when coupled with a host of possible triggers and no barrier to the impulse, suicide completion becomes more likely.
The aforementioned triggers surely include bullying but there can be several other sparks, which can trip one, particularly a young one, LGBT or straight, into a death spiral. These can be drugs or alcohol, crisis in a relationship, loss of freedom, and the loss of a relative or close friend. It is also important to reiterate the stark link between suicide and mental health since AFSP estimates that 80-90% of those who live with a brain disorder live with a much higher suicide risk. The most unfortunate aspect of this equation is that many suicides can be prevented through proper medical care and keen observation on the part of parents, siblings and friends.
Take, for example, Tyler Long, the initial subject of Bully, We are told that Tyler succumbed in large part to incessant bullying and the blind eye turned by school administrators. However, a lawsuit filed against the Murray County, Georgia school district by Tyler’s parents, was thrown out before trial due to lack of evidence. There may have been solid reasons for Tyler’s suicide completion. He was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, Asperger’s Syndrome, and ADHD. He had just broken up with his girlfriend. He had just had a car accident. Indications are there was a rift, no matter how large, between Tyler and his parents. However, there we re no recorded instances of bullying within the past 18 months.
Somehow, the link between suicide and bullying has morphed into an intransigent gospel, not to be questioned and to a certain degree being bullied leads directly (Do Not Pass Go) to the taking of one’s life. Furthermore, once the ball has started to roll, there is no turning back.
This is just not true, and it’s shame if this is becoming de riguer among the experts and rest of us. First of all, being bullied is, as stated previously, more than likely just one of the factors. Secondly, with proper concern and care, a needless death can be stopped dead in its tracks.
Suicides are not inevitable and confronting someone with the ideation will likely not anger them and cause them to act out on the urge. Interestingly, research has shown that confrontation has the effect of lowering the person’s anxiety and opening up important lines of communication, which decreases any impulsive tendencies. Further, it’s simply false to believe that once a person embarks on the path, there’s no dissuading them. AFSP states quite clearly: suicide is the most preventable of all deaths and almost any positive action may save a life.
We all have heard that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Not all problems are of the bullying ilk. Moreover, being a good observer when there are obvious changes in behavior is key to coming to their rescue. . Visit afsp.org to learn more about ways to help when the situation presents itself. There’s no need to simply obsess as young lives wither and die by their own hand. You have two hands; stretch one out and pull someone back.
My husband came out before I did, and he did it publicly. It was 2005. He was living in Austin, Texas then and was approached by the Austin American Statesman to be a part of stories of Austin celebrities who’d struggled with mental illness. He was by joined singer Shawn Colvin, former NFL player Hollywood Henderson, and a former Lieutenant Governor. Eric was well known at that time for his years as an award winning radio talk show host there, and he was used to speaking his mind. He’d never spoken about it on the radio. He’d left the business and was working in the mental health field himself by then. In the story, he spoke about being diagnosed with depression in his early 20’s and then bipolar disorder in his early 30’s, and he was glad he did. He’d been well for many years. He’s well now.
Eric tends to be gutsier about things like that. I worry too much about what everyone might think. I always have. It took me years to discuss my early bout with post partum depression and my later battle with a perfect anxiety storm several years ago. My rounds with illness are few and far between, but when they come, they’re pretty harsh. http://cindywaitt.com/the-mean-reds/ . Happily, I’m well now too.
I call it “coming out” because it is. There’s a great big mental health closet in this country, and it’s bursting at the seams. An estimated 26.2 percent of Americans ages 18 and older — about one in four adults — suffer from a diagnosable mental disorder in a given year. That’s over 50 million of us. We either need a bigger closet or more people to step out of it. I get why they don’t. It’s not because they aren’t brave. They are. It takes guts to live with mental health issues. They don’t because it’s rare to find someone who gets what they have.
When I heard about the plot of the much lauded Silver Linings Playbook , based on the novel by Matthew Quick, that looks at the relationship of a young man struggling with bipolar disorder and a young woman who is recovering from tragedy, struggles with relationships, and has a big dose of anxiety on top of it, I had to see it. It was, in a strange way, our story. And, as good issue films can often do, it started a conversation.
One friend told me it hit too close to home. Another friend stated pretty clearly that although the film had a happy ending, she was frankly worried about the young couple dealing with not only one mental illness, but two. She had a point. Relationships are hard and relationships where one partner struggles with mental illness are most likely harder. But what if they both have one, like the characters played by Bradley Cooper and Jennifer Lawrence do, and like my husband and I do? I wasn’t as worried for them. When I see happy Hollywood endings, I know there’s more to come, (someone once said that the next scene after the credits roll is usually about the fight over who’s taking out the garbage…) but I felt that this couple would make it, maybe because… we did.
I’ve known my husband for 25 years, and have been with him for 16 years. We reconnected when I was fairly newly home from treatment for anxiety in 2009. Our first conversation was about that, and that’s when he told me about his own battles with what Winston Churchill called “The Black Dog”. I knew vaguely that he’d had depression, but I didn’t know the extent of what he’d gone through. I heard the whole frightening story in that first conversation. Here’s what he’s said about it, not only to me, but publicly. He first became ill in the early college years at Beloit. Then it hit. After a horrifying stay in the hospital, and multiple types of treatments, he says, “I was then able to recoup my sanity, work six years in a neighborhood butcher shop in Manhattan and resume my college career, which included graduating Summa Cum Laude at Hunter College and acceptance into the graduate school of journalism at the University of Texas.” A home run there, I’d say.
He goes on to talk about when it came back in his early thirties. “It was during those years in Austin that my true diagnosis became apparent when I was stricken with a ferocious onset of mania after which I was hospitalized and given my true cross to bear, bipolar disorder. It was a cross I did indeed bear well as I was able to become a successful journalist, radio talk show host and ultimately a certified peer specialist whose charge it was to assist others living with a mental illness in coming to grips with their own so-called demons.” Knocked it out of the park again.
For a guy with that harsh an illness, he’d hit a whole bunch of home runs and it seemed he was most likely home free. But still, it gave me pause. The Eric I knew was a calm and centered guy, seemingly a perfect foil for my buzzy anxiety driven moods. And he was. But what if HE got sick again’? It hadn’t happened for close to 30 years so there was no indication that it would, but still, I worried. Not excessively as people with anxiety disorders like me do, if they’re not managing it right, but I did worry sometimes. I’d gotten so much stronger, and I was proud of my recovery, and I knew I couldn’t let anything put that or me at risk.
We moved on to courtship and romance, and all that fun stuff. We were married in 2011. I was in the best, healthiest, and most important, the happiest relationship of my life. We could play like kids, but we were both grown ups. Then he got sick.
It was Valentine’s Day 2012. We were still newlyweds. I knew he’d been feeling off, and had had a slight medication change, but he just hadn’t been 100% Eric. But… he was functional. I was looking forward to a planned night out to dinner and his usual roses and card and all the little wonders he’d do on special occasions. What I got was a call from his department head at the community college where he taught. She wanted to know if he’d gotten home all right, as she thought he might be having symptoms of a heart attack. It wasn’t his heart, we made sure of that. It was his brain. It had stopped functioning the way you need to function when you want to go through life and go through it well. If you’ve ever seen someone you love like that, you’ll know what I’m talking about. It’s quite simply…terrifying. A “brain illness” (that’s what we call it) is particularly excruciating, not only for the person suffering through it, but for those who love them. You don’t know when it will end, and as psychiatry is still somewhat “trial and error”, you don’t really know IF it will end.
It ended and it ended well. We got through it. Strangely, as Eric got worse, though, I got stronger. Someone had to be. He’d done it for me as I was recovering and had been there, as my family had. My turn, then. Gradually, after a few one step forward, two steps back dance, he pulled out of it. The meds that had stopped working for him were changed and they landed on the right “cocktail”. He went back to therapy. And one spring day, he was almost suddenly after several months, my Eric again.
I’m not sure if we have an actual “playbook” to manage what we manage. “My Eric” is now the calm, centered, funny, thoughtful, and brilliant man I fell in love with. But the struggling Eric was “My Eric” too. The “In sickness and in health” clause we’d agreed to in June of 2011 was tested earlier than I’d thought it would be. But we got through it. We are actually better than ever right now. We were tested. We passed. And, if it comes back again, to either of us, we’ll pass that time too.
I’ve heard this line before. I don’t know when, but I always liked it. “The world breaks everyone, and some are strong in the broken places”. We didn’t break and I hope this story, as hard as it was for me to tell, can help just one of the millions who has or has ever had a dark time, or loves someone who has a dark time. It IS dark, it is scary, and it is cloudy, but sometimes, at the end of that, there is a silver lining.
“Careful the things you say
Children will listen
Careful the things you do
Children will see
And learn
Children may not obey
But children will listen
Children will look to you
For which way to turn
To learn what to be
Careful before you say
“Listen to me”
Children will listen”
Stephen Sondheim Into the Woods
12 years ago, I wrote a piece for Huffington Post called “Who Did You Bully Today?” In the piece, I called myself out for a few things like very unkind gossiping, but then asked what we as adults can do to set an example for our families, our communities, our workplaces, and our schools.
Initially, studies indicated that the increase in school anti bullying curriculum, along with public awareness campaigns, actually helped decreased bullying in the period between 2005 and 2014. The numbers went from 29.9% of children reporting being bullied to 13,4%. The piece about this study stated,
Much of this success can be directly attributed to heightened awareness. A 2013 report found that school-driven bullying prevention programs can decrease bullying by up to 23 percent. Clearly, these efforts to reduce harassment are having a positive effect across the country.
Unfortunately, some studies indicated a spike. In 2021–22, about 19 percent of students ages 12–181 reported being bullied2 during school,3 In 2021–22, among students who were bullied, 22 percent reported that the bullying happened online or by text. Fast Facts: Bullying (719)
Then, there is this. Cyberbyllying, which I refer to as somewhere between the “dark ages” and the “wild west”, is off the charts. Not only are our kids suffering, but adults are paying the price.
About halfof U.S. teens (53%) say online harassment and online bullying are a major problem for people their age, according to a spring 2022 Center survey of teens ages 13 to 17. Another 40% say it is a minor problem, and just 6% say it is not a problem.
The data started pulling things together. And it’s alarming. What we see in adults mirrors what is happening to our kids. “In a 2018 article on the Ohio State University Wexner Medical Center website, Ken Yeager, Ph.D., reported, “Adults are being bullied at levels similar to adolescents, according to a 2017 survey conducted on behalf of the American Osteopathic Association. The online survey of more than 2,000 U.S. adults found that 31 percent of Americans have been bullied as an adult. The survey defined bullying as being subjected to repeated, negative behavior intended to harm or intimidate.””
A recent study of adult internet users revealed that more than one third of respondents stopped, reduced, or in some other manner, changed their online activity because of cyber bullying. And more than one quarter were victims of, what they self-described as, severe online harassment. Nov 10, 2021.
Without data, I would still venture a guess and say those numbers have increased.
I am not encouraged these days.
So, what to do? Of course, bullying and violence happens in the home and it’s horrific. Though improvement has been seen since the bipartisan Violence Against Women Act in 1994, there are still millions of cases every year. And we know the damage that does to victims, and to children who witness.
And of course, it’s vicious online. The numbers above are probably telling only half the problem.
But what I want to focus on right now, is the lack of improvement we’ve seen in adults being bullied in the workplace. The Waitt Institute for Violence Prevention, along with our partners the Workplace Bullying Institute, did the first national study, done by Zogby in 2007, of workplace bullying, 37% of workers have been bullied at work. In 62% of cases, when made aware of bullying, employers worsen the problem or simply do nothing
A new 2021 study by WBI, told a similar story. According to the 2021 WBI U.S. Workplace Bullying Survey, conducted in January 2021, 30 percent of Americans have suffered abusive conduct at work; another 19 percent have witnessed it; 49 percent are affected by it; and 66 percent are aware that workplace bullying happens.Jan 12, 2022
60% of employers, when made aware, denied, rationalized, discounted, and even defended the bullying behavior.
The WBI and researcher Tim Fields came up with the types of bullying. These are both covert and overt types. This is how the describe the types of bullies.
Here’s what I’ve learned about the types of workplace bullies from the Workplace Bullying Institute founders Drs. Gary and Ruth Namie, and from studying the work of the late workplace bullying activist Tim Field.
The first four types fromthe Drs. Namie, and the last four come from Tim Field.
In their words…
1) The Screaming Mimi — These are the specialists in “the outbursts.” Some of the rants are well timed, and some are just uncontrolled. Either way, it’s not the most effective tactic, although they rarely know that. They’re the classic “slam them into the locker” types. They tend to lose their temper at each other and sometimes the host in double screened news show interviews. It’s fun to watch for a few minutes, until you change the channel because really nothing of value is being heard or said.
2)The Constant Critic — Haven’t we all experienced the “know it all”? They rarely know it all, but they’ll let you know they do, both on the floor and on the networks. Like Downton Abbey‘s dowager countess, “I am never wrong,” and the elementary school tattle tale, it’s always someone else’s fault. Always.
3)The Two-Headed Snake — I like to think of these folks as the “divide and conquer” champions of the playground. The “enemy of my enemy is my friend” tactic is at work here. Backstabbing is their game and they do it well.
4)The Gatekeeper — This one is my personal favorite when it comes to Congress. If you can’t do something yourself, then keep someone else from doing anything at all. Obstruction, obstruction, and more obstruction. Nothing gets done, and they like it that way.
The Attention Seeker— The “grandstanders”! The speech makers that everyone starts to tune out are in it for themselves. They love the attention, they love the press, they love to be noticed. They’re the class clown with a mean streak, and the show off that no one likes. They don’t play well with others, because it’s all about them.6. The Wannabe— These are the Hill dwellers who just aren’t very competent. Knowing this, they’ll make sure others look as clueless as they are. It keeps the focus off their deficiencies. If little Johnny isn’t the best student in class, he’ll make sure little Susie and little Bobby look worse than he does.
This sounds familiar to me. I’ve been bullied years ago, in the past at a much younger age, prior to my career in social work and in philanthropy. And what I hear from other adults is close to what they are experiencing. I’m lucky. They are hurting, as are parents of bullied children. From a piece I read recently:
“Bullying is among parents’ top concerns for their children, according to a fall 2022 Center survey of parents with children under 18. About a third (35%) of U.S. parents with children younger than 18 say they are extremely or very worried that their children might be bullied at some point. Another 39% are somewhat worried about this.Of the eight concerns asked about in the survey, only one ranked higher for parents than bullying: Four-in-ten parents are extremely or very worried about their children struggling with anxiety or depression.“Most of us encounter adult bullies at certain points in our lives. An adult bully can be an intimidating boss or colleague, a controlling romantic partner, an unruly neighbor, a high-pressure sales/business representative, a condescending family member, a shaming social acquaintance, or other types of abusive relationships,” surmised a 2016 online article at Psychology Today. An adult bully can also be a president, a politician, a professor, a physician, a police officer, a TV producer, a preacher, a parent, a partner, or a peer. A bully likes power and control. “It’s my way or the highway.” Bullies can often be found in positions of power.”
The specifics of what bullying can look like ..
Types of bullying include:
Verbal abuse
Threats
Humiliation
Sexual harassment
Ostracism or isolation
Withholding resources or information
Intimidation
Sabotage
Reputation damage due to rumors
And the costs of being bullied. The WBI lays it out,
In addition to negative career consequences, many workers experience significant health issues because of bullying. Physical ailments such as high blood pressure, more illness, or mental health symptoms can become common. In particular, workers who are being bullied experience anxiety and depression and dread going to work.
But wait, there’s more…for both the employee and employer.
Bullying is about power, and creating feelings of defenselessness and injustice in the target. The bully may even be the boss. In fact, some statistics indicate anywhere from 50% to 75% of bullying involves a manager targeting an employee, which often leaves the target in a defenseless position not knowing what to do.
Employee:
Post-traumatic stress disorder
Phobias
Depression
Sleep and digestive disturbances
Employer:
Turnover – cost if someone leaves because of bullying
Cost of investigations leading to potential legal actions
Increased absences due to physical and psychological impact
Breakdown of trust within the organization
Negative impact on climate and productivity
In the violence prevention movement, we have stressed that being a bystander to bullying is letting it happen. The term that has been used, is “upstander”. It’s difficult in a toxic environment for employees, students, community members to report bullying by higher ups. As we’ve seen, the consequences are dire. But if the bully is confronted by peers or others who intervene, bullying can stop as quickly as it started. We’ve taught kids, through programs that standing up in a safe and appropriate way, can stop bullying within seconds.
Are we looking in the mirror? We CAN change this.
In another piece I wrote in Huffington Post, “Until, we get what we do to others and how we model for kids, the anti- bullying movement won’t move as well as we would hope. A study we did in Iowa by Dr. Alan Heisterkamp, former educator and administrator in the Sioux City School District, and past head of the University Of Northern Iowa Center for Violence Prevention confirmed that kids whose parents (and I would add other adults in positions of authority) spoke to them about violence and bullying were more likely to view violence as wrong and intervene when it’s happening.”
With the violence prevention agency, Futures without Violence, we did an ad years ago about the importance of modeling non-violent behavior to children. It said, essentially, “They’re waiting, they’re watching, they’ll listen.” They are and they will.
Cindy Waitt, a former social worker, is the director of the Waitt Institute for Violence Prevention. With WIVP over the past 25, she has supported with her partnerson ground violence prevention programs such as Mentors in Violence Prevention, and Futures without Violence Programs, “Coaching Boys into Men”. The work has been done locally, statewide, nationally and internationally. She was the Executive Producer of Emmy nominated documentaries, “Bully”, HBO’s “Private Violence”, and the Peabody award winning “Audrie and Daisy”, as well as the new film,” This is Where I learned Not to Sleep” featuring, family violence survivor, former police officer, and now trainer of communities and law enforcement.
Ms. Farrow tells the truth. If we live long enough, the losses multiply. Yet, I am less graceful about the losing that inevitably comes with age.
Since Aristotle, playwrights have used a three act structure. The first being the introduction to the central character, the second the challenges, joys, actions, and interactions, the third is how it is resolved. Will the character triumph or perish? The three act structure gives depth, lessons to the arc of the narrative. One event must lead to another and then to another — this unifies actions and meaning and creates the semblance of a story.
Modern medicine has given us the gift of longer lives. It’s given us three acts, at least. So I imagine myself, like my mother, in my early 90s. I’m not confident I’ll get there, nor, at times, am I confident that I would choose getting there. I suppose it depends on the day, the week, the month, the year. A third act might have started at 50 not too long ago.
Supposing again, that I live to 90, my third act at 60, started about 7 years ago. I have a happy marriage, a son who thrives, a daughter in law who I adore, a family who sees me with all my flaws, but all my talents, I’m financially stable, and I’m doing what I think has been the strongest work I’ve ever done. So, what the hell would I have to complain about?
This. My third act is on my phone. The contacts I scroll though, now dead. The texts and the emails show the roller coaster that has had less ups than downs since the final act of my life began. A sudden death, the pictures of a funeral I organized, coming out of a mind bending, soul crushing 6 month depression, pictures of a gaunt woman I hardly recognized with hair loss to fall from an illness that took many months to diagnose, another sudden death, my husband’s short but painful depression, a diagnosis leading to a major surgery. It’s all there in texts and calls and pictures. There were at least five more deaths of dear ones, three sudden, two long and lingering.
As of late, there is my husband’s near catastrophic fall. The ambulance, the weeks in hospital, up and down corridors, begging the overworked staff to help. I captured some of all that on that little phone in the closet of the room they put him in. The dingy room, the chapel, the bench outside the oppressive feel that hospitals have. Now the sudden change from a quiet house of sanctuary to a very active skilled care unit that was full of people and relentless construction to make it safe. The third act of my life so far is all captured in a little rose pink covered Samsung.
But, on that same phone, I saw how I survived. My husband survived. If he had fallen backwards into the concrete basement instead of up the stairs, he would possibly be dead. I have no pictures of my husband since his fall, he wouldn’t want that. He generally walks tall with long strides. That’s not the case right now But I do have pictures of all the grab bars, the new walk in shower, the expanded steps that are walker friendly.
I’ve had a preview of very old age. It took me from the beginning of the third act to the near end. My home is ready for the “dying of the light”, the frailty, the so called “Golden Years”. That’s a blessing. Or at least that’s how I see it, for now.
I have my son’s wedding pictures on the rose gold Samsung, the pictures I took when I began to see the light at the end of the long dark tunnel of clinical depression. I have joyful pictures of all my family together, celebrating my mother’s 90th. I captured a Malibu sunset, the ocean, a trip to the lake I love, the gorgeous flowers my family and friends sent when I was hospitalized, the acts of kindness to me and to my husband, my garden in May when the world goes from black and white to lush color. I have pictures of documentary posters and screenings of films I’ve Executive Produced, of which I’m proud. I’m privileged and I know it.
Three act plays usually end two ways. In triumph or tragedy. Some are meant to have no meaning. Yet, I’m drawn to the plays that tell a tale of a flawed character, like us all, and how we roll through, or get stuck and either endure or leave life itself. Hamlet was altered to be a five act play, instead of the original three acts. His tale did not end well. For all his youth, he chose to no longer navigate a cruel world. Arthur Miller’s Willy Loman suffered from a loss of identity. Romantic comedies are the simplified versions of the three act play… boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl back. Happy and unrealistic endings please us. Yet, we are also drawn to the rougher more tragic figures as well.
A much younger friend is quite ill. I rail against that. Calamity shouldn’t reach someone at that age. A family member lost a 34 year old brother. Their third acts came too early. It shouldn’t be. But life is not that tidy. We lose young people, to accidents, to rare illnesses, to gun violence, to depression and suicide. Why is the play of their life just one act? Their fate should be ours, not theirs.
The use of flashbacks in plays, done through memory, that can go backwards and forwards, break away from the three act structure. I love flashbacks. I look for them through dreams, through memories, and now, my rose gold Samsung with Spotify, hooked up to my car, playing the music of the seventies from my 20’s, instead of the music of the 20s as I approach my own seventies, not too very far off.
If I could be assured that my son, my husband, my friends and my career were in my future, I’d go back in a second. When I listen to Hall and Oates, Fleetwood Mac, Steely Dan, John Lennon, Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne, Bonnie Raitt, CSNY, in my car, attached to the rose gold phone, even the one hit wonders take me into my past and bring up a time, a place that I’ll never see again. It cheers me… the going back. Is the feeling close to what Richard Burton felt, on reuniting near the end of his life with Elizabeth Taylor? He said, brutally, “what a terrible thing time is”.
Or should we be grateful for one more day, one more sunrise and sunset. The character Emily, speaking after her own death, from Thornton Wilder’s magnificent play “Our Town” has a beautiful, yet heartbreaking monologue about life that’s both sad and hopeful about the sometimes, just sometimes, sheer beauty of life.
“But, just for a moment now we’re all together. Mama, just for a moment we’re happy. Let’s look at one another .I can’t. I can’t go on. It goes so fast. We don’t have time to look at one another. I didn’t realize. All that was going on in life, and we never noticed. Take me back – up the hill – to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look. Good-by, Good-by, world. Good-by, Grover’s Corners. Mama and Papa. Good-bye to clocks ticking. And Mama’s sunflowers. And food and coffee. And new-ironed dresses and hot baths. And sleeping and waking up. Oh, earth, you’re too wonderful for anybody to realize you. Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it? – every, every minute?”.
Or do we echo Fitzgerald’s Nick in his masterpiece “The Great Gatsby”
“And as I sat there, brooding on the old unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night. Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther. . . . And one fine morning——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”
So I drive on, imagining my past, my first act, through the car and the music and the little rose gold phone, happy to be back there, if only for a moment. But the car is in drive, and forward is where I go.
Easter is a time of miracles. Or at least that’s how I see it. We all have our own way of looking at life on this planet, and that’s just my way. I realized that this Easter day, marked a strange and mystical milestone for me.
12 years ago today, on April 4th, 2009, I entered a very well known facility in Tucson for anxiety and depression treatment. There is a sign on the way in that says, “Expect a miracle”. Very few see it.
How I ended up there and what the experience was like is a story for another day. The facility was a campus, it was lovely and expensive, but the program was tough as nails. My family and I didn’t know all of it when we decided I would go there. They tend to make it sound like a therapeutic paradise on the website, and on our phone conversations. We also had two recommendations from people we trusted. I soon found it about the 16 hour days, the rules, and how to survive the process and come out of it stronger.
I got better there, but it was one of the most difficult experiences I’ve ever had, and I’ve had plenty of difficult experiences.
There I was in the desert, 1,300 miles from home. The desert itself was both literal, and I suppose proverbial. Vast, stripped down, stark, and both dreary and beautiful, sometimes at the same time.
I knew no one and we were cut off from the world. Family could call and leave messages, could send flowers and packages, but as no cell phones, tv, books that we not treatment approved, newspapers, or internet were allowed, we were on our own. We could call friends and family during a phone hour. There were lines though, and for the most part, you usually ended up trying another day.
I spent 42 days there. We were scheduled from 6 am to 10 pm every day.
And yet, there was a sense of magic about the place that I didn’t see for at least two weeks. No one does, as they arrive traumatized and the shock of entry sets you back before you start to gradually improve. Survival shock mode lasts a couple of weeks, then you move into just a day to day get through it, but finally, if you’re lucky, you move from survive to thrive. Many didn’t last there and left. I stayed.
Easter that year was April 12th. I was still in the shock phase, imagining my friends and family happily celebrating. I was newly single, which was a very good thing, but I saw how it helped many patients who had supportive partners. I was lucky to have siblings who cared, but that Easter Day, I found little comfort.
After a walk around the campus using one of the rare free times that day, I thought, why am I here? Is it the right thing? It felt a bit like free falling with no where to land. I needed something, anything to ground me. I needed a sign. I needed a mystical message. I prayed.
In the cafeteria, they had an Easter brunch of sorts. I sat with a beautiful and warm woman from California that I had met in the first few days. We talked of our despondency in being there, feeling alone, feeling cut off. We decided to make a pact. We would each ask for a sign that told us, we were on the rocky but right path. Her sign was white roses. Mine was, as usual, a double rainbow, an unlikely sign in the desert.
About 5 minutes later, we heard banging on the roof, an extremely strong cloudburst. People, starved for rain, went to the window. It lasted several minutes. We stayed at the window. An enormous double rainbow just stunned us all. I have yet, to this day, to ever see one like it.
My friend did not receive her sign, but she had given it much thought and told me she had decided to transfer to another treatment center by the ocean. I hope she is well.
But for me, for whatever reason, I stayed, and in a sense, I shed parts of the old Cindy, and formed a new one. If some of us think of Easter Day as an ascension, I also look at it as a spiritual rebirth, a sign of hope, and a sign of transformation. and really, a miracle.
When I spoke to one of the group therapists the night before I left, I told her that I didn’t miss my destructive relationship with an alcoholic husband, who was a good person, but was drowning in depression and dysfunction. I had been back and forth with this for 24 years. It wasn’t all his fault, it was mine too. I was still fond of him, but I didn’t miss the dance we’d done all those years. She said, referring to the entry sign, “There’s your miracle, Cindy”. And so it was.
My son Ben and I, spring 2017, after recovering from a 6 month depression
“In depression this faith in deliverance, in ultimate restoration, is absent. The pain is unrelenting, and what makes the condition intolerable is the foreknowledge that no remedy will come- not in a day, an hour, a month, or a minute. If there is mild relief, one knows that it is only temporary; more pain will follow. It is hopelessness even more than pain that crushes the soul. So the decision-making of daily life involves not, as in normal affairs, shifting from one annoying situation to another less annoying- or from discomfort to relative comfort, or from boredom to activity- but moving from pain to pain. One does not abandon, even briefly, one’s bed of nails, but is attached to it wherever one goes. And this results in a striking experience- one which I have called, borrowing military terminology, the situation of the walking wounded. For in virtually any other serious sickness, a patient who felt similar devastation would by lying flat in bed, possibly sedated and hooked up to the tubes and wires of life-support systems, but at the very least in a posture of repose and in an isolated setting. His invalidism would be necessary, unquestioned and honorably attained. However, the sufferer from depression has no such option and therefore finds himself, like a walking casualty of war, thrust into the most intolerable social and family situations. There he must, despite the anguish devouring his brain, present a face approximating the one that is associated with ordinary events and companionship. He must try to utter small talk, and be responsive to questions, and knowingly nod and frown and, God help him, even smile. But it is a fierce trial attempting to speak a few simple words.”
― William Styron, Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness
I have had three major depressive episodes in my life, and several mild to moderate episodes. Perhaps I’m writing this for me, but I hope that now, while I’m in remission, I’m writing this for you or someone you love.
First, the darker side. When many hear the term depression, they may think about a person who is in grief, who suffers a chronic illness, someone who may be sad over a loss. And indeed, some of those people will, under those circumstances, understandably, be depressed or enter into an episode of major depression.
But what I have is different. It’s an illness. This is a depression not only in the mind, but a depression that lives in the delicate chemistry that makes up our complicated human bodies. It’s real, it’s not imagined, and it’s serious. It kills approximately 45,000 of us per year, and I think that figure is low.
It can recede and remit, but there is no cure, only treatment. When treatment works, I’ve been able to go years between episodes. But it must be treated.
There are many theories as to how depression occurs. One interpretation is that neurotransmitters in the brain are out of balance, and this results in feelings of worthlessness and despair. Magnetic resonance imaging shows that brains of people who have depression look different than the brains of people not exhibiting signs of depression.
First, here’s just a wiki version of what this is:
A major depressive episode is a period characterized by the symptoms of Major Depressive Disorder: primarily depressed mood for 2 weeks or more, and a loss of interest or pleasure in everyday activities, accompanied by other symptoms such as feelings of emptiness, hopelessness, anxiety, worthlessness, guilt and/or irritability, changes in appetite, problems concentrating, remembering details or making decisions, and thoughts of or attempts at suicide. Insomnia or hypersomnia, aches, pains, or digestive problems that are resistant to treatment may also be present.
Here are some things that have helped me over the years. And remember, some things help for mild to moderate depression. If your depression is severe, you need medical treatment.
–Psychotherapy. It helps along with other treatments. For me, it’s an add on.
–Some nutritional supplements can help. Talk to your doctor or read up on supplements that show actual research on which supplements can help.
–Yoga and meditation have been helpful for me in lifting me out of the crippling anxiety that can come with depression. As I have an anxiety disorder as well as major depression, I continue to do this at least twice a week.
–Anti depressants, although this can take time and many get trapped into what we call “Medication roulette” My doctor did a test that matches your body chemistry to a drug that show which drugs you may metabolize better than others.It does not however, show efficacy. But it helped me understand why SSRI anti depressants didn’t work for me.
–A severe episode may require more. For me, twice, it required more.In more serious cases, hospitalization or intensive outpatient treatment may be required. My first two major episodes were assisted by the right medication and in one case, a treatment facility in Arizona.
–My thirdsevere episode required another method. I did Ketamine in Los Angeles in 2016. It worked quickly, and though not without complications, it was amazing.However, it was short lived for me and I returned to California a month later for more and that worked brilliantly. Ketamine treatments are becoming more widely available now.Do some research on this.
–My moderate depression was helped tremendously by Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation. It’s a longer term process, but it did help. And TMS treatment centers are showing up across the country. I needed a special machine called the Nexstim, so I had to travel, but for most, other machines work well.
–Read up on everything, when you can concentrate, and that may be hard. If not, have family members or friends research anything that may be of benefit.
–If you are feeling suicidal, you need immediate help. Don’t keep that to yourself. Reach out.I’m very fortunate to have not been suicidal, but I’ve met many who were at a treatment facility in Arizona I went to in 2009. I had no judgement of those who had attempted suicide. I understood them.The suicide prevention hotline is 800-273-8255
–While you are in the difficult process of waiting for the fog to lift, you may choose a number of options to get through it. Some people literally try to sleep through it. I get that. I walk through it the best I can, while knowing that life as usual has altered.
–If you can, move your body. I swam every day during my 2016 episode. There were days when I’ve forced myself, but research shows that exercise can alter your brain chemistry and in a good way.It didn’t liftme out, but it can help a mild to moderate case.
–Spend time in nature and get natural sunlight every day, when and where possible.
–Talk to friends, family, and a therapist. It can help to just express yourself and have someone telling you they love you and know you’ll get well. Try to not isolate totally, keep talking to people who understand and will listen to you.
–For those friends who feel a party or large social event or travel might help a severe depression, set them straight. At least for me, during those three horrific episodes, my time was best spent one on one with trusted family or friends or with people who understand depression.
– Throwing a severely depressed person in with a group who are not depressed and don’t get depression or what it is, and are just having a great time, can be harmful. That’s just my own experience, but many depressed people have told me they feel the same way.
–Even three to four people together can be stressful for me, and may be for you. Again, it’s different for everyone, but for me , the only large groups I could handle were people who were in a group therapy setting, who were experiencing what I did, and understood.
–When you find family or friends who don’t understand what you are feeling, perhaps share the opening quote above. It’s the darkest, toughest, but best quote I’ve ever read on depression by acclaimed author William Styron.You won’t always feel this way, the pain will end, but until you dig out, that’s how it can look.
–Try to do the smallest things that seem normal. Just a trip to the grocery store, doing a few simple emails, cleaning the house. For some, it’s impossible or seems impossible. But give something a try daily.
–Avoid drinking. I enjoy a glass of wine or so while I’m cooking or when out to dinner. When the 2016 episode hit, I did what I’ve done the other two times I’ve experienced this. I just don’t do it. If you choose, and things are stable, and you do it very moderately, there could be time for that when recovery happens and when stability comes back into your life. That depends on each person, their illness, and their history.
–Try something creative. You may enjoy a bit of art, making a new garden space, re arranging a room. I try to keep busy. It makes the days go by quicker, and believe me, when you are in this, you want the day to fly by. If you can’t though, don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t create this illness.
–Nutrition. As I’ve experienced before and many do, the appetite can be gone. I stopped cooking. I love to cook normally and I’m a “live to eat” kind of person. First, eat what you can get down, even if it’s forcing yourself. Later, do some reading on healthy foods that can help lift the mood.
–Have a complete blood test done, including vitamin levels. You may be insufficient in some areas and a course correction may help.
–Know that your gut bacteria can be related to mood.
-If you can’t find the right treatment close to home, go elsewhere if at all possible.
–Remember, it’s hard to describe this to someone who has never had it. The strongest quote I ever found on the depths of this is above, from author William Styron. It’s dark but brilliant. Have others read that so they just might get a glimpse of how the darkest parts can look to the person suffering.
–Know that it WILL lift. There are treatment resistant depressions, but there are other methods that can be used that go beyond traditional antidepressants.
–You may notice that after a period of terrible psychic pain, you may awaken to more clarity, a better day. Take that as a sign that you are getting better, even if the days go a bit up and down.
You aren’t alone. At one time, in any day, in this country, approximately 20% of us can be experiencing a mental illness. The term brain illness is a better one.
You aren’t a bad person, you didn’t make this happen to you, and that fact that you’re alive and still moving forward is a testament to your strength.
For times of recovery, I choose to look at brighter themes, more clear cut, not perfect, but hopeful like an early spring. I return to Styron, who ended “Sophie’s Choice” this way. He said and I end with this, “This was not judgment day – only morning. Morning: excellent and fair.”
For you…to the morning and the light…you are a precious soul and you can survive.
“Princeton-educated and seemingly savvy about all sorts of things, she still never knew that feelings of shame, secrecy, helplessness, and despair — the classic signs of postpartum depression — may affect as many as one in 10 new mothers within six months of delivery, according to the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists. More incapacitating than the “baby blues,” postpartum depression is marked by severe sadness or emptiness, withdrawal from family and friends, a strong sense of failure, and even thoughts of suicide. These emotions can begin two or three weeks after birth and can last up to a year or longer if untreated.” Denise Mann “Out of the Blue” on Brooke Shields post partum depression
I didn’t know what hit me. I had no words for it then, in 1981. No one did. I was a healthy 25 year old mom, with a college degree, a nice husband, a beautiful son, a supportive family…and I was in hell.
My first husband and I a few years before our son arrived.
It didn’t start right away. In those days, your hospital stay was around 3 days or so. The first few days were happy, my parents were thrilled with their first grandchild, my husband was over the moon with happiness, and after a difficult labor, I was excited and proud that I’d gotten through a difficult labor with a healthy 9 pound boy.
Looking back, although I’d never experienced depression before, the triggers were there. Ben was large, overdue, and I had many sleepless nights for a few weeks. I know now that can be just one of the triggers that precede the light going out in my mind.
They also did things differently then. My doctor did not deliver my son, it was someone else in the practice I didn’t know. Perhaps they used an on call system. And, because due dates were less precise then, the practice made the decision that I should be induced.
It began at around 7:30 the morning of October 21st, 1981. I was checked by a nurse, who had orders to put me on what they called a “Pitocin drip”. Nothing much happened for a few hours except for some minor cramping. The nurses weren’t around much, they would just check in about every half an hour and perhaps add more of the pitocin. Around 11, I could feel my waters breaking. And then all hell broke loose, by 11: 30. I was having no breaks between contractions. None. Transition phase of labor is the hardest, but there are some breaks. I had none. I kept telling them that but nothing was done. In those days, doctors were rarely questioned, particularly by women. I just went along with everything. I found this gem of an understatement online, but yes, this is correct. No one stopped or slowed it down. I got so bad, I could barely speak.
Pitocin: Pitocin can cause harder, more frequent contractions than a woman might otherwise have. As can happen in natural labor, very strong contractions might be stressful for the fetus. This may require temporarily stopping the Pitocin.
In any case, someone, most likely my husband, asked for help. They let me know they were going to call in an anesthesiologist. But no one came. I heard the nurse saying that they were having trouble locating him.
Eventually, they came back in, sat me up, and shot me full of blessed relief. I had labored so quickly, that they were shocked when they checked me. I was ready for delivery. I could feel nothing. There was no pushing, but an episiotomy was done (meaning a cut). Forceps were used and there he was.
He was perfect and absolutely beautiful. I was in heaven and I was in love at first sight of this robust little thing. The name Ben just fit him perfectly.
But a day or two later, I began to feel odd. I felt out of sync, depressed, agitated. I’d been sad before, as we’ve all been, but this was something far worse. I spoke to a nurse, who cheerfully said, “It’s no big deal, it’s just the “baby blues”. It will go away. I kept telling her that I wasn’t crying, wasn’t sad, this was a different feeling. She again cheerfully said, “You are making a big thing out of nothing. Looking back, although I’m a non violent person, I could have cheerfully strangled her.
It was just last year when I ran across this.
” Synthetic oxytocin (Pitocin) is widely used in obstetric medicine to induce and/or augment labor and reduce post-delivery bleeding. A study published January 30 in Depression and Anxiety now suggests women who receive synthetic oxytocin during childbirth may be more likely to experience postpartum depression or anxiety.”
I could still look at this beautiful boy with wonder but something had shifted in my brain and the fog wasn’t lifting. And even as I went home, a home I loved, it got darker and darker.
Ben, perhaps a month old.
I tried to pretend. It didn’t work. I tried to speak about it. Although everyone loved me, no one knew what to do. I had a hard time being alone. I was beginning to be scared, really scared, that I would feel that way forever. My doctor said it would pass. And, still, it didn’t.
Then a bad thing turned into a stroke of luck. I developed an infection where they had made the cut and had to return to the hospital. I felt relieved as I was barely functioning, and as my husband had to work, I moved into my parents home.\
The infection was handled, but speaking to the doctors and nurses on a general floor I was told that my “baby blues” would pass. Thinking back, I could have cheerfully strangled them too. But finally, we found the right person.
His name was Dr. Brooks. He walked into my room, listened to what I was feeling and said the magic words, “I know what you have and we can treat it”.
To be believed, to be helped, to be understood was a godsend.
It took about 2 1/2 months, but I recovered. I never thought it would happen again.
A truly happy birthday for Ben and I.
Years later, holding my niece and son Ben. Happy times.
Thankfully, people are talking about this now. They weren’t in what I refer as the dark ages of mental health awareness almost 40 years ago.
2017, Ben and I at his wedding.
It took 27 years for the next episode to show up. It caught me by surprise and as bad as it was, it did change my life, and for the better.
“He who learns must suffer. And even in our sleep pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart, and in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom to us by the awful grace of God.” Aeschylus
Note from Cindy
Eric has filled me in on what he remembers from 1972. Some are horrific and too painful for him to write, even today. Memories can be triggering for me, and for him.
His are particularly frightening, and I can only imagine him being in a place filled with inmates, a place perhaps similar to the atrocities that Ken Kesey wrote so brilliantly about in what I consider his finest work. It might have been a nice place. He doesn’t remember.
Depression ran in Eric’s family, and he’d had problems with hyperactivity as a child, but like many of us in the 70’s, we tried drugs. In college, he tried them too often. Perhaps it was self medication. Most of us do it in some form.
Triggers aside, we proceed in documenting them, perhaps to exorcise the horror of the dark times and be grateful for the times we can again see the light, and we are well.
Below is what he was able to write and remember.
Class of 1969…McBurney School, New York City
Jump cut now to 1972, my 20th year…
My look has changed a bit …
I was attending Beloit, when perhaps too much LSD with my fraternity friends landed me in two psychiatric hospitals, one in Illinois, and one in New York
I spent two years medicated by Thorazine and Prolixin while receiving weekly doses of electric convulsive treatments (shock therapy) all with the aim of arresting the illness, then diagnosed as major depressive disorder.
But when I say, “thanks for no memories”, I really mean that, due to the way ECT was done then, huge parts of my childhood and younger years are blocked out. Gone.
But, through someone’s grace, it worked.
A wave of good things followed, as they sometimes do after living through years that were so dark.
A note from Cindy. A poem he wrote later speaks to the darkness he felt... The darkness we all feel when we are deep in the rabbit hole
I was then able to recoup my sanity, work six years in a neighborhood butcher shop and then resume my college career, which included a 3.87 undergraduate grade point at Hunter College and acceptance into the graduate school of journalism at the University of Texas.
I also was married and had a daughter Niki, born in 1986.
Note from Cindy…..He was on his way, but with these illnesses, they can rear their ugly head at any time. But it must have taken tremendous courage to recover slowly, painfully, and then fully re engage in life.
But for Eric, as for many of this in this hideous club of mood disorders, all good things must pass.
Students at an anti bullying rally in Sioux City, Iowa
“You’ve got to be taught to hate and fear You’ve got to be taught from year to year It’s got to be drummed in your dear little ear You’ve got to be carefully taught” Richard Rodgers from “South Pacific”
Update February 2nd, 2021- I wrote this nearly two years ago. This was before the election of 2020, the violent insurrection at the United States Capitol, but in the middle of what I saw as a huge divide in this country, cyberbullying by adults on a level that was the worst I’d seen. I feared what came next. I wrote this for adults with kids, but it’s essentially it’s for all of us. My niece getting cyberbullied today triggered me to revisit this piece. I grow weary of the hate.
As school bullying became a hot button issue and one that was vital to address, Waitt Institute for Violence Prevention supported the 2012 documentary “Bully”, as well as ramping up our anti bullying and anti violence programs on the ground.
The adoption of many excellent programs across the country may well be working, as we’ve seen incidents of on site school bullying decrease. The percentage of 12- to 18-year-olds who reported bullying incidents in 2015 was 20.8 percent. That’s nearly 11 percent lower than the 31.7 percent of students who reported bullying incidents in 2007. https://www.k12insight.com/trusted/report-bullying-in-schools-on-the-decline/
But America, we’ve got a problem.
And it’s us. It’s not just in school. It’s not just kids. It’s everywhere and adults are joining in in full force, online and elsewhere. And for the first time in my 25 years of violence prevention work, it’s scaring the hell out of me.
What I wrote in Huffington Post in 2012 is this “That the Internet has come to represent our world, both at its best and at its worst, this isn’t surprising, but couldn’t we raise the level of the discourse beyond targeting each other? ”
For some, apparently not. We haven’t taken discourse up a notch, we’ve taken it down. Cyber bullying of youth, on the rise in the past 7 years, can and does harm and even kill children. No one wants their child harmed in this way, but while we want this to stop, we’ve ratcheted it up as adults and the targets are other adults.
It’s a mean, mean, mean world out there right now, and it doesn’t seem to be getting kinder any time soon. So, what can we do?
We can do this, for one. Ross Ellis states”Parents also play a role in preventing bullying behavior by modeling empathy, respect, and kindness toward others. Parents first model how to treat others by how they treat their own children. “When kids know they can count on their parents and caregivers for emotional and physical support, they are more likely to show empathy to others,” (Ellis, 2016). https://www.huffpost.com/entry/how-to-keep-children-from-modeling-aggressive-adult_b_58239031e4b044f827a7973d
And this.The same piece also states “In addition, children are more likely to mimic a behavior if they see the behavior positively reinforced (Rymanowicz, 2015). https://www.canr.msu.edu/news/monkey_see_monkey_do_model_behavior_in_early_childhood When a negative behavior is rewarded over a positive behavior, the negative behavior is reinforced. For instance if a child hears an adult making a racial slur, and another adult laughs, what has the child learned? In contrast, what if the child hears the second adult calmly respond that the slur was offensive and ask the person to not use that language?”
Parents and mentors can do much. But we can’t control how some of our leaders and some in the media name call, demonize, belittle, obstruct, and through psychological and emotional abuse, become cheerleaders for anger in America.
I’ve heard stories of families no longer speaking to each other because of political party and ideology. I’ve seen old friends who have protracted and disturbing battles with each other ad nauseam. Chances are, you’ve seen it too.
We can look away. We can refuse to join in. We can recognize that children follow our lead, and be more careful.
Or we can be left, as I am right now, in a place I’ve rarely found myself, wondering if it will ever get better before it gets worse.
Cindy Waitt, a former social worker, is the Executive Director of the Waitt Institute for Violence Prevention and the Executive Producer of the Emmy nominated “Bully”, HBO’s “Private Violence” , and the award winning “Audrie and Daisy’>
As far back as my memory will stretch, I can’t recall a day or time that I didn’t have a bit of fear riding alongside me. It seemed to always be with me, sometimes it was less, sometimes more. There wasn’t always an absolute reason for that fear. It was just there.
I didn’t have the language then to call it what it probably was- perhaps “free floating anxiety”. If I had, I wouldn’t have called it that. Free floating is something you did on a raft in a lake, or on a cloud. “Free floating” sounds like a good dream. Anxiety is like a waking nightmare.
It wasn’t always that way. From what I’ve been told, I was the first one up the high diving board, the risk taker, and someone who in 1958, at the age of two, tumbled off a dock only to be found paddling happily towards my frightened parents.
Not much fear indicated here by the lake in 1957. I must have been aiming for the dock.
Escaping my mother’s grasp as she must have known I was heading for something dangerous.
There are stories of my older brother Norm going into our house and telling my soon to be panicked mother, “Look how high Cindy climbed up that tree”.
When that fearsome bravado changed, I don’t recall.
Maybe it was when I became increasingly afraid of the dark. Apparently as a very young child, I insisted on being surrounded by a legion of my dolls, teddy bears, and other soft creatures before going to sleep.
Hugging tight to one of the legion of comforters, perhaps 1959?
Perhaps it was the first day of a new elementary school in 2nd grade, when I was taken out of the familiar surroundings my smaller and closer to home school. I wasn’t afraid of the children, I never have been afraid of meeting people, so that piece of social anxiety didn’t land on me. But most everything else did. Familiar surroundings increasing became important to me.
I think it happened slowly and didn’t completely start spiraling until my later teen years.
Oddly, I performed in front of groups. How, I don’t remember. I began ballet lessons at 5, excelled, and continued until junior high school. I then performed as a flag twirler through middle school and part of high school.
I may have been petrified with fear but just got through it. I took risks, which became harder and harder as I grew into middle age.
High school graduation, “A” student, outgoing….still a risk taker, still not paralyzed by it all. But the anxiousness was increasing by that time
According to the Anxiety and Depression Association of America, GAD or Generalized Anxiety Disorder may indeed creep up on us. And there are a lot of us.
“GAD affects 6.8 million adults, or 3.1% of the U.S. population, in any given year. Women are twice as likely to be affected.
The disorder comes on gradually and can begin across the life cycle, though the risk is highest between childhood and middle age. Although the exact cause of GAD is unknown, there is evidence that biological factors,family background, and life experiences, particularly stressful ones, play a role.”
Biology?
It seems to be hard wired into me or became that way. I once had a neurologist in L.A., where I was being treated on an outpatient basis for depression and who had ordered the ketamine treatment for the same, tell me after a brain MRI, ” Good news, your MRI shows that you’re depressed and anxious.” No shit? Really, that’s the good news? More on that in later chapters.
Was it the family background?
My mother has experienced anxiety and has spoken about it to me. She calls it her nerves.
My father had mild depression at times, though no one knew it but me. He told me, he’d had it as had his mother. It was later in his life that he shared this with me, when we spoke of my depression, which my brother Ted astutely calls anxiety’s evil twin.
They were not only functional, they always seemed to do everything perfectly. They weren’t perfect, and I knew that, but they were damned good at holding it all together. And they looked good all the time too. 🙂
Anxiety and depression seem to go together for many. For me, anxiety is at the top, with depression being rare and usually with episodes that are years apart, but when it hits, can be severe.
Stressful life events? I’ve had my share, some would say more than my share, but there have been many good life events.
But over time, over the years, the anxiety didn’t let up. It didn’t get better. It increasingly got worse. And then, in my early twenties, the evil twin showed up just in time for the birth of of my only child.
One aspect of the human condition is the ability to remember. Most people can regale others with poignant stories of their childhood. Unfortunately, I am not one of them.
Chapter Two and the treatments I was given after my college years at Beloit will explain why.
Above….sometime before the fall.
Sure, there are glimpses, which adhere to my mind. For example, I remember growing up on the Upper West Side in New York, playing stickball, stoop ball, and Chinese handball.
However, if you ask me about anything specific, I turn into a witness who can only say “I don’t recall”.
I remember going to P.S. 75, the Emily Dickinson School, and on to McBurney private school, however, ask me to tell recite many of the names of teachers or pupils (with the possible exception of my classmate Richard “John Boy” Thomas and singing in the all boys choir, all you’ll get is a shrug.
I do, of course, remember my parents and siblings, but ask me to talk about particular incidents or interactions, which are so often on most people’s top of mind, all you will get is a blank stare.
I do remember that these two, who met as agent and actress, were my parents. 🙂 She saw a psychiatrist for many years. He suffered from depression.
There is one part of my young childhood which has stayed with me even today. There was something wrong with me beginning at approximately age seven. What is was precisely, I can’t tell you. Regardless this was my time in life where I was in need of some medical assistance.
It wasn’t a deadly illness although I was nearly killed when I ran out in the middle of the street and was hit by a taxicab.
No, the illness wasn’t life threatening, at least for me, wasn’t caused by the accident, but it was chronic.
For some for far too many in this country and around the world, the mood disorders that I was later diagnosed with can be and are life threatening.
My parents, who were both in show business, and therefore familiar with the world of psychiatrists, came to the conclusion that I was slightly different from the norm, and sent me to see a child psychiatrist named Dr. Friend (seriously). He, in turn, prescribed a popular tranquilizer called Miltown.
Not yet on Miltown above, perhaps needed to be.
Miltown. Not sure, but I looked happy
I’m on the left with my brother Robert, early 60’s. I looked calmer then. Perhaps the Miltown was to blame for the blank look.
Consider this foray into the realm of brain science as as a foreshadowing of the pain and suffering both my parents and I would have to overcome before I could set out on my own life’s evolution.
It started early for me and took several mind bending twists and turns until the solution or at least the right treatment, could be found.
The mind bending part reared its ugly head as I approached adulthood as ventured off to Beloit, Wisconsin.
As I emerged from a severe depression in 2017, I asked myself what the lesson was for me in that particular mind bending, long, and horrific episode. Perhaps there was no lesson, or perhaps we are given challenges to make us more aware, more awake, and more compassionate.
Usually, when I come out of a terrible experience, the lesson involves doing something positive for myself and for others. I hope this is a piece of that.
I asked my husband Eric to join me in this. We are both writers, and we both have much to say.
So many of us in America with a mental illness live in a great big closet, a large walk in closet probably about the size of Texas.
Eric and I lived there too….for many years.
He came out very publicly around 2005 in Austin, where he was well known from his 20 year career in broadcast journalism, including a long stint as a radio talk show host. A feature story was done in the Austin American Statesmen about well known Austinites who suffered from mental illness including singer Shawn Colvin, retired football player Hollywood Henderson, former Lieutenant Governor Bob Bullock, and Eric Blumberg.
Eric in the 90’s on the radio, Austin Texas
It took me longer. People knew but I didn’t write about it until 2013. It’s more comfortable in that big closet, but I gave myself a push and haven’t looked back since.
We are many things. Our illnesses don’t define us. Between us we have a son and a daughter from previous marriages. Both in their 30’s are kind, intelligent, and creative people. We have a few college degrees between us as well which led to my career in social work and philanthropy, and his in teaching and journalism. We’ve had some awards for work well done. We have friends and family who care for us, as we care for them.
The two of us, Sundance Film Festival, 2014
I remember coming out of the brilliant film “Silver Linings Playbook” about two people with mental illnesses who became a couple. As we walked out of the theater, a dear friend of mine said she was worried about them. How would they cope? She had a point.
We do cope. Sometimes exceedingly well, sometimes not well at all, but on balance, it works.
These little pieces start in Manhattan in the late 1950’s, and end in Los Angeles in 2017, with some stops in Iowa, Wisconsin, Texas and Arizona.
We hope this helps someone. Or lots of someones. We hope, also, that it can help us untangle the web of two lives, both separate and together, that have been sometimes magical and sometimes a horror show.
We also hope to show that there is a brilliant light and much, much joy at the end of a long dark tunnel. That is our greatest hope.
I have had three major depressive episodes in my life, and several mild to moderate episodes. Perhaps I’m writing this for me, but I hope that now, while I’m in remission, I’m writing this for you or someone you love.
First, the darker side. When many hear the term depression, they may think about a person who is in grief, who suffers a chronic illness, someone who may be sad over a loss. And indeed, some of those people will, under those circumstances, understandably, be depressed or enter into an episode of major depression.
But what I have is different. It’s an illness. This is a depression not only in the mind, but a depression that lives in the delicate chemistry that makes up our complicated human bodies. It’s real, it’s not imagined, and it’s serious.
It can recede and remit, but there is no cure, only treatment. When treatment works, I’ve been able to go years between episodes. But it must be treated.
This is a depression not only in the mind, but a depression that lives in the delicate chemistry that makes up our complicated human bodies. It’s real, it’s not imagined, and it’s serious. It kills approximately 45,000 per year, and I think that figure is low.
There are many theories as to how depression occurs. One interpretation is that neurotransmitters in the brain are out of balance, and this results in feelings of worthlessness and despair. Magnetic resonance imaging shows that brains of people who have depression look different than the brains of people not exhibiting signs of depression.
First, here’s just a wiki version of what this is:
A major depressive episodeis a period characterized by the symptoms of Major Depressive Disorder: primarily depressed mood for 2 weeks or more, and a loss of interest or pleasure in everyday activities, accompanied by other symptoms such as feelings of emptiness, hopelessness, anxiety, worthlessness, guilt and/or irritability, changes in appetite, problems concentrating, remembering details or making decisions, and thoughts of or attempts at suicide. Insomnia or hypersomnia, aches, pains, or digestive problems that are resistant to treatment may also be present.
Treatments for a major depressive episode include
Psychotherapy. It helps along with other treatments. For me, it’s an add on.
Some nutritional supplements can help. Talk to your doctor.
Anti depressants, although this can take time and many get trapped into what we call “Medication roulette”
In more serious cases, hospitalization or intensive outpatient treatment may be required.
There are new treatments that I have tried, with some success. I elaborate below.
First and foremost, treat the depression with the help of a professional. This is imperative. Your doctor, a psychiatrist, or therapist can help. If necessary, and it usually is, try an anti depressant. It can be maddening to find the right one, but eventually some can land on relief. If not, do the research. There are new methods available where a doctor can match your body chemistry to a drug that show which drugs you may metabolize better than others. My first two major episodes were assisted by the right medication. My third required another method.
Read up on everything, when you can concentrate, and that may be hard. If not, have family members or friends research anything that may be of benefit.
If you are feeling suicidal, you need immediate help. Don’t keep that to yourself. Reach out.
While you are in the difficult process of waiting for the fog to lift, you may choose a number of options to get through it. Some people literally try to sleep through it. I get that. I walk through it the best I can, while knowing that life as usual has altered.
If you can, move your body. I swim twice a week, and walk three times a week. There are days when I force myself, but research shows that exercise can alter your brain chemistry and in a good way.
Spend time in nature and get natural sunlight every day, when and where possible.
Talk to friends, family, and a therapist. It can help to just express yourself and have someone telling you they love you and know you’ll get well. For those friends who feel a party or social event might help, set them straight. At least for me, my time is best spent one on one. Large groups can make it worse for me. Even three to four people together can be stressful because maybe for the first time in your life, you don’t care what they are saying. When you find family or friends who don’t understand what you are feeling, perhaps share the opening quote above. It’s the darkest, toughest, but best quote I’ve ever read on depression by acclaimed author William Styron.You won’t always feel this way, the pain will end, but until you dig out, that’s how it can look.
Try to do the smallest things that seem normal. Just a trip to the grocery store, doing a few simple emails, cleaning the house. For some, it’s impossible or seems impossible. But give something a try daily.
Don’t drink. I enjoy a glass of wine or so while I’m cooking or when out to dinner. When this episode hit, I do what I’ve done the other two times I’ve experienced this. I just don’t do it. If you choose, and things are stable, and you do it very moderately, there could be time for that when recovery happens and when stability comes back into your life. That depends on each person,their illness, and their history.
Try something creative. You may enjoy a bit of art, making a new garden space, re arranging a room. I try to keep busy. It makes the days go by quicker, and believe me, when you are in this, you want the day to fly by. If you can’t though, don’t beat yourself up. You didn’t create this illness.
As I’ve experienced before and many do, the appetite can be gone. I stopped cooking. I love to cook normally and I’m a “live to eat” kind of person. First, eat what you can get down, even if it’s forcing yourself. Later, do some reading on foods that can help lift the mood.
Know that your gut bacteria can be related to mood. In this case, in this episode, I was given a strong antibiotic for a condition it turns out I don’t have. It was a guess on the doctors part. But in the best scenarios, anti biotics can destroy not only the bad stuff, but the good as well. You might need a strong prescription strength probiotic if you have to go on antibiotics for any reason. Know that there’s a link with these.
I went a bit beyond my medical community here in Iowa. If you can’t find the right treatment close by, go elsewhere if at all possible.
Remember, it’s hard to describe this to someone who has never had it. The strongest quote I ever found on the depths of this is above, from author William Styron. It’s dark but brilliant. Have others read that so they just might get a glimpse of how the darkest parts can look to the person suffering.
Know that it WILL lift. There are treatment resistant depressions, but there are other methods that can be used that go beyond traditional antidepressants. Look into Ketamine and TMS treatment. Though not without some complications, both Ketamine and TMS (Transcranial Magnetic Stimulation) for me have helped tremendously.
You may notice that after a period of terrible psychic pain, you may awaken to more clarity, a better day. Take that as a sign that you are getting better, even if the days go a bit up and down.
You aren’t alone. At one time, in any day, in this country, approximately 20% of us can be experiencing a mental illness. The term brain illness is a better one.
You aren’t a bad person, you didn’t make this happen to you, and that fact that you’re alive and still moving forward is a testament to your strength.
For times of recovery, I choose to look at brighter themes, more clear cut, not perfect, but hopeful like an early spring. I return to Styron, who ended “Sophie’s Choice” this way. He said and I end with this, “This was not judgment day – only morning. Morning: excellent and fair.”
For you…to the morning and the light…you are a precious soul and you can survive.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”Charles Dickens, Tale of Two Cities
On September 28th, we’ll be attending the 36th Annual News and Documentary Emmy Awards in honor of two very different films that we supported from their inception, “Bully” and “Private Violence”.
“Bully” opened the PBS Independent Lens season and “Private Violence’ bowed on HBO, both in October of 2014. As early supporters of both, we at Waitt Institute for Violence Prevention couldn’t have been happier about that. But their road to the finish line couldn’t have been more different.
Lee Hirsch and Cynthia Lowen’s “Bully” had the “buzz’ from the beginning. It struck a powerful chord, in its riveting and authentic footage of children and families devastated by bullying. Kids tormenting kids hits us at a basic level, and it’s a powerful punch. It was a perfect meshing of the right time, right place, and right issue
“Private Violence” was a very different story. Cynthia Hill’s direction, Kit Gruelle’s voice and vision throughout, and Deanna Walters’ frightening and extraordinary journey weaves the experiences of domestic abuse survivors and advocates, as it challenges, and consequently explodes the myths behind domestic violence. It suggests some answers to the age old question, “Why doesn’t she just leave’?
While both documentaries were driven by the same hopes, concerns, and passions, the production and postproduction of “Bully” took about two years to fund. “Private Violence” was started more than eight years ago.
We think it’s time to move past the national disconnect and acknowledge how intertwined these two issues are. As early backers of both films, we believe that violence in the home and bullying in school must be treated as co-equals. They are inextricably linked, and the data backs it up. A 2011 CDC study told us that kids who witness violence in the home are more likely to be bullied, and more likely to become bullies themselves. http://www.cdc.gov/mmwr/preview/mmwrhtml/mm6015a1.htm
It’s time to see that the first time some children see or witness violence is not in the school yard. It’s where they live. Over 8 million children were exposed to family violence in the last year alone.
As we advocate that prevention should start with kids, let’s not forget that bullying prevention education can be paired with the critical piece of age appropriate relationship violence awareness programs and can change the attitudes and behavior of young people as they enter adulthood.
Research now looks at possible links between bullying and dating violence. Prevent
Connect cites the following, “Young adolescents who perpetrate bullying become involved in romantic relationships earlier than those who do not bully, and are more likely to report verbal and physical aggression in their earliest intimate relationships” (Josephson and Pepler, 2012)
Bullying is universal and non- gender specific. Who doesn’t relate to being bullied at some time in their life? Family First Aid reports that about 30 percent of teenagers in the U.S. have been involved in bullying, either as a bully or as a victim and we’ve all seen it, either as a victim, a perpetrator, or a witness. That’s a frightening number. Too many children are a part of this.
However, according to partners at Futures without Violence, “approximately one in three adolescent girls in the United States is a victim of physical, emotional or verbal abuse from a dating partner – a figure that mirrors victimization rates for other types of violence affecting youth.” http://www.futureswithoutviolence.org/resources-events/get-the-facts/
Gloria Steinem, an early supporter and Executive Producer of “Private Violence”, has suggested that the term “domestic violence” should be changed to “original violence. “It’s what makes people feel that it’s inevitable or that it’s normal or both”, she said. “If you have violence in the home then it normalizes it everywhere else.”
Dickens’ quote “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times” could describe what we, in the violence prevention movement, feel today. As many strides as we’ve made, we still have a long way to go. Linking violence in its many forms and helping kids, educators, and families connect those dots is vital. As a Futures Without Violence ad campaign suggested, “Teach them early, teach them often.” With dating violence and bullying prevention, teach them together.
