AmyKossBlogThang: Third Floor

AmyKossBlogThang: Third Floor: Dears,  My mom fell and broke her hip so while she's in rehab I've been staying in her apartment in assisted living. It has bee...

AmyKossBlogThang: Third Floor

AmyKossBlogThang: Third Floor: Dears,  My mom fell and broke her hip so while she's in rehab I've been staying in her apartment in assisted living. It has bee...

Third Floor

Dears, 

My mom fell and broke her hip so while she's in rehab I've been staying in her apartment in assisted living. It has been a few weeks now, and odd as this existence may be, I've gotten used to checking my e-mail on the public computer in the library, used to having no neighbors under the age of eighty, used to taking the elevator crammed with chairs and walkers, used to living in an apartment with a pa system, and no kitchen, one that workers can access with their own keys whenever they wish.

But I was not prepared to be awakened by a woman's voice calling "HELP ME! HELP ME!" last night.

My first thought was to go help as requested, But then I realized the calls were coming from the floor above me, the third floor, the memory unit. 

Then I knew it wasn't me she was calling, and knew that whatever help I could offer would be insufficient.

Right or wrong, I stayed where I was and listened as she called and called and called and called and called.

No one seemed to come. Or, if they came, the help they offered was not what she wanted, or she didn't know they'd come... Anything was possible on the third floor.

Remember he story of Kitty Genovese from the 70s? Screaming and screaming as she was being murdered and although many people heard her screams, no one did jack shit? No one came or responded.

Was I all those reprehensible people who didn't want to get involved?

Truth is, the relentless calls were getting really annoying. It was 3:something am when she woke me and she was still going strong at 4:45. Didn't that degree of untiring dedication speak of madness? I closed the balcony doors to dull the sound, but it came through the ceiling, or the sprinklers, or the hall.

I couldn't blame the third floor nurses for ignoring her, or giving up on her or wanting to smother her with her pillow. You could tell from her tone she was a pain-in-the ass, the kind of patient everyone loathed. The kind you could only pity AFTER she stopped screaming.

I never knew this about myself, and would've gotten really pissed at anyone who suggested I could be so callus, but

I covered my ears and eventually slept.

And ashamed or not, if she pulls that crap again tonight, I'm sure I'll have no more compassion than I did last night. Perhaps less.

File this under getting to know myself?

xo amy

AmyKossBlogThang: Looky-loo

AmyKossBlogThang: Looky-loo: W hen my plants put out new flowers I know it's not with me in mind.  It's like how scantily clad teenage girls are not scantil...

Looky-loo

When my plants put out new flowers I know it's not with me in mind. 

It's like how scantily clad teenage girls are not scantily clad for the rapey pleasure of the strangers and old-farts driving by.

But even though I'm not the species the plants are aiming to woo, I believe I'm entitled to enjoy their blooms -- as long as I don't interfere with them. 

No cutting their heads off, for instance. No dragging them inside to lie in-state in a vase. 

Surely it doesn't offend them if I just take note of their loveliness and admire their perseverance in the face of our awful drought. 

Their success all the more impressive considering my grand-dog's determined dedication to deforestation. 

So, whether or not it is my place to do so, I hereby share the current (quiet) botanical triumphs occurring in my back yard -- for your ogling enjoyment.

xo Amy

AmyKossBlogThang: My Two-Cent-Rant on Depression

AmyKossBlogThang: My Two-Cent-Rant on Depression: Dears, The web is oozing sweet, sad messages about listening to your depressed person, being there, sticking by them... But even though th...

My Two-Cent-Rant on Depression

Dears,

The web is oozing sweet, sad messages about listening to your depressed person, being there, sticking by them... But even though that all sounds good and true, it could make the self-hating depressed person feel even shittier. Now with you glued sympathetically to his side, he's not just a turd on toast, but a pitiful, unworthy, pain-in-the-ass, turd on toast, bringing you down with him.

When I cracked up several years ago, I remember the burden of sympathy made me feel even more guilty and worthless. And I really, really, really didn't want to be beholden on top of everything else. I wanted to be invisible.

Also, knowing how lucky I was made it all more humiliating. There were people out there who were making a brave go of it with a lot less than I had... and yet I was the wimpery, self-pitying asshole curled up in the dark...

Counting one's blessings and knowing people are worried about you can magnify the self loathing and just make you feel crappier.

I'm not saying we should all ignore depressed people, but just as sympathy would not cure a bladder infection, it won't cure mental illness/depression.

It may leave the survivor feeling less guilty, and in hind sight it may make the sufferer grateful that you stood by, and those are good things. Plus we've all got to do whatever makes it easier to live with ourselves and others.

But we can't assume that those who succumb to depression lacked for sympathetic comrades, or a clear accounting of their blessings.

It's not that simple. Depression is an illness and needs a cure.
Better living through better chemistry.

xo amy