"If you never read another story about depression - THIS SHOULD BE THE ONE…"

Zero "Mustell"

"I LAUGHED…I WEPT…I LOST MY PLACE"

Harvey Walbanger

Another Expert on Depression
By Dennis Hagler

So why should I presume to be an expert on Manic Depression (currently euphemized as Bipolar Disorder)?

If you're looking for a Psychiatrist, Psychologist or an M.D., Ph.D., MSW, after my name, you'll be disappointed. At 58 'Mr.' seems a bit pretentious.

I'm neither erudite, famous or unique. I am one of a growing population of 11 million who suffer an affective illness - manic depression.

So you may ask what is Depression or Manic Depression

Some people believe this is a spiritual disease - a flight, then loss of spirit.
Some think it must come from the past - something that was done to them, or something they did to themselves.
Some see it as a chemical imbalance, a genetic roll of the dice, the snake eyes of fate ... craps.
Others see it as the gift of the prophets, the visions of mystics, or the tools of Satan. Most people, however, think of it as something they don't think about at all.
It's O.K. on Dr Phil, but not next door, not in my department at work, and certainly not in my family.

Some think it comes out of weakness of will -

Sometimes people need people to feel better than, so they can feel better about themselves.
The mentally ill fit this role nicely....
"The mentally ill did it to themselves. Let them undo it themselves."
But ... as one third of the homeless population, when you see one coming your way with
Hefty-Bag suit and shopping cart have you ever thought..."What loss, what misfortune, what change of luck,
twist of fate, turn of health could make me one of them?"

I certainly thought that it could never happen to me. It was thirty-four years ago, 1970. I was a graduate engineer in the Peace Corps ready to change the world. Life was a joy, a challenge, an adventure

Then it happened.

It felt like someone stuck a straw in my head and sucked my spirit out. My soul evaporated. What was left?
A vacuum, drawing me inward ... deeper and deeper.
Breathing became shallow and strained... Fear ... indecision ... regret ... self-loathing ...all turning inward.
Self absorbed pain ... Disconnected. My voice became shallow and shaky. I hated to hear myself talk.
I had nothing to say.

I was obsessed with suicide. Life became impossible, and death too difficult to accomplish. Stuck like a clichéd deer in the headlights of a truck...I was frozen ... Waiting for the impact ... Hoping for the impact ... Then finally, causing the impact. Other than a successful one, there is nothing worse than a botched suicide. If I thought things were bad before, it was nothing compared to now. What was once silent, private and brooding now becomes a raging, screaming, public display.

For starters I lost my job; I was in the hospital, and the kicker was... I WAS STILL DEPRESSED!
A suicide attempt is not a cure for depression ...
I was still depressed.

Suicide has nothing to do with anger or pain. It's about depression.
I just wanted relief. That's all it is ... Relief. I couldn't go on.
It seemed such a simple solution. You just lie down and give it up.
No more depression ... Relief.

So does this story make me an expert?
Well ... not if I haven't learned from it. And one story would make me an expert only if I had many to compare it to.

Which brings me to the first night I attended the Manic-Depressive and Depressive Association of Boston - (MDDA-Boston).

When I stepped into McLean Hospital that hot August night of 1989 I was stunned by 150 voices and a blur of 150 faces. I could see I wasn't going to fit. I knew I wasn't coming back. Everyone was so different. Yet they looked like any group of people. They came in every conceivable age, shape, and attire. There were housewives and househusbands, successes and failures, reluctant heroes and ignored heroines.

I found myself putting on the blue name tag of a Newcomer And going to a room with other Newcomers. It wasn't till we started talking that I noticed these people were like me. They were more like me than anyone I knew. That in here, it's all right to let your guard down, to let the secret out.

For the first time, when I talked about depression, I was understood, completely, without judgment. For all our differences, the people in this room connected in a way I had not experienced before. Strangers shared their deepest fears, and greatest triumphs... Even if their greatest triumph was getting up, taking a shower and coming here. We all knew the heroic nature of that act.

The most difficult cross to bear with this disease is the inability to be understood by others who don't suffer from it. The horror of depression, the way we feel it, is beyond description.

There is a comfort, however, in being understood and accepted. In MDDA, I found that understanding and acceptance.

It's been over fifteen years since I first walked into the deMarneffe Cafeteria at McLean Hospital. I have been getting better, and stronger by the month. After waiting twenty years - new medications have stabilized my extremes. I pray that this continues.

I am currently on the Board of Directors of MDDA-Boston. I had been its president for two years, am now treasurer and have facilitated close to a thousand groups. I've seen thousands of people with this disease and heard thousands of their stories. I see people come every week, who are in the depths of depression. Sometimes I see them laugh. In that brief fleeting second, the miracle of MDDA becomes apparent - through helping others, we may save ourselves.

So does this make me an expert on Manic Depression?

Yes, I believe it does - another one.

Dennis Hagler has been a member of MDDA since 1989 and is the current treasurer.