The inevitable happened. The thing that for decades had threatened me like rain, that would shadow and pass, but in a particular moment in late July, it didn’t pass. Instead, it took me to the threshold and very nearly saw me to the other side–nearly. I regrouped enough to call a friend who took me to that place, with the walls, and the locked doors, where I rested, revived, and found the comradery of others, each with their own uniquely chipped, bruised souls. A few of us walked the halls together. We ate together. We lied out on the courtyard grass and watched the clouds; we were at ease, supportive, and laughed about how hard it is to talk to “normal” people. Here, I was not depressed; these were my people. This was my language. I listened. I was honoured to listen. I did not give advice. I did not try to “fix.” In the listening I acknowledged each one in their humanity and that is where we found each other. Who knew that all that study, all of those years of therapy would help me to serve others while finding myself on a mental health ward.
Apparently, I am to experience all of life including the darkest of the dark. The hardest part was walking back into the world, and it’s still hard. Seven days apart from the collective, and I am oddly grateful for the experience of all but the unsettling first few days. I am grateful for each person I met; the woman who recited Rumi poems by heart. The older woman with whom I played cards. My patient and delightful chess partner. All of the people who shared their stories with me, and the more serious patients who spoke little and looked away, but still taught me more about myself. There would have been no other way to experience this.
Part of me wishes that my life’s focus was something easier like creating a new ice cream flavour, or inventing a way to reuse the banana peel, but it seems that it is the human heart that draws me; a paradox in its’ power and fragility.
The point of all of this is that I am not special. There could be someone in your midst feeling tempted to that threshold with momentum dangerous enough to make it to the other side; in these difficult times it is more common than you think. If nothing else, I am compelled by this lived experience to remind you of your responsibility as a human to love fiercely and relentlessly, and to listen sincerely and without judgement.
I am grateful for the friends who offered words of support, for my siblings, and for my kids–there are no words.