#nonsufferance

[39adamstrand]

Since the publication of Darkness Visible in October 1990 -- in which William Styron described his own battle with depression and suicidal impulses -- its author had become “the guru of depression;” he listened to and counseled others who shared his illness and tried to help them stave off suicide the way he had (his widow, Rose Styron, said that people would call the house at all hours when they felt suicidal, and Mr. Styron would talk with them). Styron knew he was a role model, and in a 1999 NPR interview, he declared, “I’m in very good shape, if I may be so bold as to say that. It’s as if I had purged myself of this pack of demons.”

Then in 2000, the depression took hold again. “When he crashed again the worst thing for him was that he felt guilty for having assured everyone at the end of Darkness Visible that life would be good forever,” Rose said. “He felt terrible that he had misled people. He was so sad.”

On 5 June 2000, the 74-year-old Styron composed a suicide note, directly addressing the readers who had found comfort and courage in his writing, “I hope that readers of Darkness Visible — past, present and future — will not be discouraged by the manner of my dying,” the note began. It ended with encouragement: “Everyone must keep up the struggle, for it is always likely that you will win the battle and nearly a certainty you will win the war. To all of you, sufferers and nonsufferers alike, I send my abiding love.”

Styron won that battle. He would live another 6 years, dying from pneumonia on 1 November 2006.

[eyedoteye-blog]

So, Let’s Talk About Mental Health

For those that know me more personally, they know I’ve struggled with some pretty bad juju when it comes to mental health. And it wasn’t without a strong will, extensive therapy, medicine, and the support of some really great people that I’ve been able to recover and transform my life into a positive direction. With that said, I still do not understand mental health. I do not understand my condition; I do not understand the symptoms; I do not understand my treatment. What I do understand, is that I was given a choice. I was given the choice to let my deteriorated mind be something that consumes me, something that degrades me, something that takes away my autonomy and controls me; or, I could let it be something I lean against, and push off. I could establish a relationship with this entity. I could soar. Because like it or not, I am entwined. And I can choose, to push that aside, ignore it as a part of me that isn’t me; I can say that it’s not so real, and that one day it will dissapear and bother me no more --but-- but to say that is to deny myself in the moment. Because that’s what you have when you have an unfamiliar mind. You have methods of molding the moment. Of molding your perception. Of dealing. And that doesn’t mean I’m advocating leaping off reality to soar in the otherworld. In fact, I’m advocating the opposite. I’m advocating the reflection with your illness, that brings you forth to grounded feet. So rooted more in what it means to be human, that the supposed nonsufferers look to you in awe, in how a tree that extends so far above the clouds can remain so stable. And as they reach to enjoy the passions in your fruit, you unfurl your branch, and you whisper to them your secret: “When I fell, I grew twice as hard.”