Depression Marathon Blog

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Diagnosed with depression 19 years ago, I lost the life I once knew, but in the process re-created a better me. I am alive and functional today because of my dog, my treatment team, my sobriety, and my willingness to re-create myself within the confines of this illness. I hate the illness, but I'm grateful for the person I've become and the opportunities I've seized because of it. I hope writing a depression blog will reduce stigma and improve the understanding and treatment of people with mental illness. All original content copyright to me: etta. Enjoy your visit!

Saturday, March 29, 2008


It has been on my mind. Earlier this week there was the JK Rowling article and hate-filled responses that set me off. Disturbing and cold. Tonight, I am going to a documentary movie entitled, For the Bible Tells Me So, about parents in 5 "faith-based" families and their responses after learning one of their children is gay. Gay and lesbian teens are at extremely high risk of suicide. They are 3 to 7 times more likely to complete suicide, and for every completed suicide there are 20 gay and lesbian teens who make an attempt!

Finally, I just came from reading Untreatable's blog. His two most recent posts are about suicide. I am going to attempt to include the same video clip he had in one of his posts because it was so powerful. It is the trailer from a 2006 documentary called, The Bridge, which documents jumpers from the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco and includes interviews with families and friends in an attempt to understand their suicides. I have not seen it, but I will.

WHY? That's what you're asking, right? Why would you want to watch that?

Because I've been there. Except instead of a bridge, I was on a cliff; my toes hanging over the edge stirred loose pebbles and sent them tumbling straight down. I was 15, I think. I don't know how long I stood there. It felt like forever. The wind whipped against my face. The waves crashed against the rocks below, but I don't remember any sound. I was frightened. I was relieved. Sitting here today, I can feel my body standing there, two or three times leaning forward--ready, going...closing my eyes, opening them again. There was no sound.

It was time, although this wasn't what I had planned. And that, perhaps, is one of the only reasons I didn't go. This wasn't the plan. The plan's final was still a couple weeks away, and I hadn't finished everything yet. But the opportunity was here, now. I loved this place, and it felt so right, so okay.
Leaned forward once again. Cold, carrying wind. Warm, penetrating sun. Silence. Peace. Closed my eyes. Pebbles tumbled anew.


Kids. Kids below. Boys on the rocks. Where the hell did they come from? Can't jump now, I might hit one of them. Damn. Did they see me?
Sit down. Hug my knees. Cry. The wind is cold. The waves are loud. Cry, cry, least two more weeks of pain.

It was years later, maybe 20 years later, when I learned one of those kids was my youngest brother. He and his friends thought I was going to jump, he said. It wasn't until adult depression wrapped me in its suicidal grasp that he told me this. My brother...was one of those kids.
Thank God I didn't jump.
Related Post: a birthday of sorts

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

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