Depression has a cloak of joylessness I remember in my Mother and Clomipramine, when she used it to attempt to manage bipolar. It was a mechanistic, automaton-like mother. 20 Years on she quit it, and it took another 10 years to feel stable enough to have joy as she began to recognize Alzheimer’s.
Likewise I had a good friend for years in Paris, when I was in my late 20’s, a woman with a British Title, a devoted husband, and a need for Lithium Carbonate. Without it she would aggressively give away her considerable money to anyone she met. She didn’t take it constantly because it was destroying her kidneys. When not on it we wrote complex movie farces together for pleasure (think “Carry On”) and roamed Paris (and once Amsterdam), eating and talking about everyone. When not on it I drove her insane from my politeness, but it was balanced with my complete lack of inhibition talking about sex. She was quite interested in my voracious appetite.
This writing is authentic. It translated to words exactly how these two quite different women operated and felt. I had to read the piece a few times, a novelty for me.
Depression is neither trivial, nor artistic. Subjecting children to this, separating them from the (almost quaint now) joy of sex is, as others have said, sexual lobotomy.
What a beautiful and nuanced piece. I have suffered depression and the worst part for me was feeling like I and my feelings weren't in tune - with reality or with each other.
I'd get invited out by friends, and I'd have to really convince myself to go. Cognitively, I knew I'd enjoy it and experience a temporary reprieve from sadness. I also knew that spending time with friends was a way to beat back the depression. But it took everything in me to get up the energy to go. I felt crazy and broken.
To know that some children are being prescribed something that gives them these symptoms is heart-rending.
Superb.
Depression has a cloak of joylessness I remember in my Mother and Clomipramine, when she used it to attempt to manage bipolar. It was a mechanistic, automaton-like mother. 20 Years on she quit it, and it took another 10 years to feel stable enough to have joy as she began to recognize Alzheimer’s.
Likewise I had a good friend for years in Paris, when I was in my late 20’s, a woman with a British Title, a devoted husband, and a need for Lithium Carbonate. Without it she would aggressively give away her considerable money to anyone she met. She didn’t take it constantly because it was destroying her kidneys. When not on it we wrote complex movie farces together for pleasure (think “Carry On”) and roamed Paris (and once Amsterdam), eating and talking about everyone. When not on it I drove her insane from my politeness, but it was balanced with my complete lack of inhibition talking about sex. She was quite interested in my voracious appetite.
This writing is authentic. It translated to words exactly how these two quite different women operated and felt. I had to read the piece a few times, a novelty for me.
Depression is neither trivial, nor artistic. Subjecting children to this, separating them from the (almost quaint now) joy of sex is, as others have said, sexual lobotomy.
I hope many people read this piece.
What a beautiful and nuanced piece. I have suffered depression and the worst part for me was feeling like I and my feelings weren't in tune - with reality or with each other.
I'd get invited out by friends, and I'd have to really convince myself to go. Cognitively, I knew I'd enjoy it and experience a temporary reprieve from sadness. I also knew that spending time with friends was a way to beat back the depression. But it took everything in me to get up the energy to go. I felt crazy and broken.
To know that some children are being prescribed something that gives them these symptoms is heart-rending.