She was convinced she was a failure

I spent an entire morning crying over this ESPN story of Madison Holleran, a freshman at the University of Pennsylvania who killed herself last year, leaping off the ninth level of a parking garage in downtown Philadelphia.

She was convinced she was a failure. And if you have never experienced depression, you will probably be incredibly confused when you read the article, because you will think, "But she's so loved, so talented, so beautiful - how can that be?" But do read it. Please read it.

There was no widespread Internet connectivity back in the 1980s, but back then, high school yearbooks and morning school announcement and even the local newspaper did what Facebook and Instagram do now: present an upbeat image of the lives of teenagers, where everyone is happy and successful and talented and beautiful. And if you aren't, you aren't pictured at all.

It's only been now, in my late 40s, that I've learned just how unhappy so many beautiful people around me were in high school, how much they were struggling. And it's only now that some of my closest friends have learned just how unhappy I was in my first two years at university, how much I struggled, how much I felt like I was on the verge of a colossal failure. As I read this story, of how afraid Madison Holleran was of failure, of disappointing people, it brought back so many memories of my own struggles. It's mind-boggling that she could feel this way when it's obvious she is SO loved, that people around her would do ANYTHING for her - I didn't have nearly so much support. But, of course, that's what depression does, it twists your mind, it twists reality. You cannot be reasoned-with - your mind isn't working right.

And the most pressing thought of all: If she quit, wasn't she just a failure? Wouldn't that be the first in what would become a lifetime of letdowns?

Throughout my freshman and sophomore years, I felt like I was one failure away from being exposed as the total loser I believed I was, the utter fraud I believed myself to be. If I couldn't make it at a public state university that took anyone with a heartbeat and ability to pay, I had no backup for somewhere else - the university I was attending, the one I could afford, was my backup, when I realized I couldn't attend my first choice, in another state, nor my second choice, in California, because the person I was going to go there with backed out.

I could not grasp the idea that things would get better, that I could survive it, and that people around me probably were NOT judging me - and if they were, screw 'em.

But things did get better, I did survive it, and I gradually stopped constantly comparing myself to other people (though I do still compare sometimes). And it was time, more than anything, that got me through it. I still grapple with insecurity and fears of failure, but nothing - NOTHING - like I did in high school and at university. I so wish Madison Holleran could have held out - even for just one year, because I think she would have realized all this as well.

Some thoughts on Thanksgiving 2014

I have had so many memorable Thanksgiving Days. So many. 

Before I met Stefan, and since leaving Henderson, Kentucky, I’ve spent only one Thanksgiving by myself - otherwise, I’ve always gotten invitations. It’s hard to pick the most memorable Thanksgiving. There's the one with my colleague and her entire Mexican American Family in San Jose, California, where her girlfriend was welcomed, but her brother, and his boyfriend, were not. Or the horrible one with an ex-boyfriend’s friend’s racist family in Austin, Texas, just after I'd moved there. Or the one I prepared for my French colleagues in Germany, where I made homemade stuffing for the first and only time in my life (they loved it). Or the one with a co-worker, when her husband presented the turkey on the table, skinless, and she and I staged open rebellion, demanding said skin for immediate devouring, which we did, as he told us again and again how unhealthy it was. Or the one where a co-worker and her then-boyfriend (now husband) and I gorged ourselves while watching Prick Up Your Ears and The Lion in Winter, the latter of which should be shown every Thanksgiving on TCM, truly. Or the one with Sharron Rush’s delightful family in Texas. Or the one at Carrie’s. Or the one at Lis’s. I could go on and on…

I once spent Thanksgiving with Anne Marino, hosted at the house of her sister’s husband’s sister. Anne has been on my mind a lot lately. I miss her terribly. Even as she faced death, she remained graceful, Bohemian, sassy - ANNE. As I sat with her that last time, I was angry at myself for not making more of an effort to get to the San Francisco Bay area since I moved back to the USA - and I vowed I would stop hesitating about traveling in the USA. I don’t have a lot of money, but I have enough to make traveling to visit certain friends and family a priority. I said “yes” this year way more than I said “no” regarding travel this year, and I’m so glad I did. And every time, I think of Anne.  

At some point in my 20s or so - I'm not sure when - Thanksgiving in my family started being hosted at my Aunt Charla's house. I didn't spend many Thanksgivings there, as I moved away from Kentucky when I was 22, but I so appreciated that my paternal grandmother was always invited - my Aunt is my mom's sister, but like me, she has big ideas about what "family" is. Either that, or they really did invite Mamaw only because of her awesome creamed corn. 

Thanksgiving is a difficult holiday for me now, because in 1995, my Dad called me and suggested he fly out to California and spend it with me. And though I would have really liked that, and said so, over and over again, I’d already made plans to be in So Cal for Thanksgiving. It was the last time I talked to him. What I didn’t know was that it was a part of his goodbye tour - he’d wanted to come to say goodbye before he killed himself the following February. Thanksgiving has never been quite the same for me since then. It’s still my favorite holiday, but I always remember that phone call, a mix of love and manipulation. 

There’s so much I’m grateful for this year, but I’ll save that for my blog just before New Year’s Eve. I will say that I’m grateful for my friends and family - clichéd as it sounds, they are awesome and I celebrate them all in my life, more than they know. I'm particularly grateful for the relationship I have with my sister - I was afraid, after Mamaw died, I'd feel less a part of the family. She's ensured that never happens. 

Thanksgiving is about food and being together - no presents, no shopping, just being together, with people, whether family, close friends, or just people you think need somewhere to go today. And that's why I love it. It's the ultimate Humanist Holiday. Have a happy day.

In mourning

O Captain! My Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;
For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

So, my worst day in Kyiv so far: waking up to the news that Robin Williams committed suicide.

As many of you know, my Dad killed himself in 1996. In the two years after that, weeks of one-on-one therapy for myself and group therapy with other people who'd lost someone to suicide, I learned a lot of things: that suicide is rarely spontaneous - it's been thought about and planned for often, even if the date keeps changing - and that the overwhelming majority of people who commit it suffer from real, physical pain brought on by a chronic illness: everything from chronic pain from a car wreck years ago to addiction to migraines to chronic indigestion. I just want to throw that out there, for those of you who are struggling with the "why" and wondering why someone with so many friends and resources didn't get "help" - I'm sure he tried.

Depression is cancer. It's just as real. It's not just a feeling. It's not just a phase. It's a tumor in your soul. It needs just as much time and intensive treatment to address. And you may not be able to cure it - you may have to get treated for it for the rest of your life. And even then, you still might not win the battle.

My heart hurts so much right now. I feel like won't ever stop crying.

Stephen Fry, don't you DARE.

Say anything

And following up to my blog yesterday about supposedly "annoying" questions...

As many of you know, in 1996, my father died. In fact, he killed himself. It remains the deepest, darkest chasm in the landscape of my family's life, amid a lot of other vast, dark spaces.

A lot of friends and colleagues said a lot of things to me during that experience. And I don't consider any of the comments wrong or inappropriate, even the ones that made me uncomfortable. And there were a LOT that made me uncomfortable. But I also know that every one of those comments came from a place of love or caring, or the speakers' own fears and insecurity. To reach out to someone that's going through a traumatic time can be a very scary thing, and I would never punish anyone who put his or her own fears or sadness or discomfort aside in order to saying something - anything - to me in such a time. I cherish anyone who cares, even if they don't show it in a way I would like.

The next time you cringe at someone who asks you a question or makes a comment about something happening in your life, particularly something very personal and/or traumatic, try to think about where the person is coming from. Is it truly from a place of criticism or mockery? Then, by all means, speak out. But if it's from a place of caring, of love, or even of fear or ignorance, consider not lashing out or cringing - consider appreciating it as a gift.