Depression: Who Really Cares Outside a Small Circle of Friends?

Decades ago, in the late 60s and early 70s, there was a coffee house (not to be confused with all the coffee shops that litter our streets in our current culture where people buy lattes and work on their laptops) in Dayton, Ohio called the Lemon Tree.  Next to an small theatre which showed arty films.  Both places attracted the arty people, hippies, folk music buffs.

It was there that I heard Phil Ochs perform - a folk singer/songwriter well known for his protest sons - back in the 60s.  I've forgotten everything he sang EXCEPT one sone which rang so true with me called "Outside A Small Circle of Friends" which was based on the murder of a woman in New York City named Kitty Genovese in 1964.  Over more than a half hour period of time, this poor woman was stabbed repeatedly while those in the area who heard who screams did nothing.  Thirty-seven people in all have been identified who heard the screams - and did nothing.  No phone calls to the police or emergency personnel.  No attempts to stop the attack.  Nothing.  Kitty's attacker even left her for a bit and then returned to finish her off in the hallway of her apartment building.  Yet people, the bystanders - did nothing.

Phil Ochs' song starts and ends with these words: 

Oh, look outside the window/There's a wlman being grabbed/They've dragged her to the bushes/And now she's being stabbed.

Maybe we should call the cops/And try to stop the pain/But Monopoly is so much fun/I'd hate to blow the game

And I'm sure/It wouldn't interest anybody/Outside a small circle of friends. (refrain)

With the words:  And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody outside of a small circle of friends.

I read in the paper in the mid-70s that Phil Ochs had committed suicide by jumping out of a window. 

It was a different world back then.  No 911 - at least when Kitty Genovese was murdered. No PCs - or Apple.  No internet.  No laptops or wifi.   Computers were so big that they took up entire buildings and you had to have a degree to run them.  No social media. I think his tragic death went back largely unnoticed except for small articles in the paper and a small circle of friends.

These 13 words "And I'm sure it wouldn't interest anybody outside a small circle of friends" have stayed with me all these years, and I've often felt their impact in my struggles with depression, my experience up close and personal with workplace bullying and my subsequent journey towards recovery.

*******

The news this week has been full of the suicide of well known comedian Robin Williams who suffered from depression.  Instantly, articles started cropping up on social media. Twitter and Facebook started to be full of links not only to Robin Williams, the person and actor, but also about depression.  What it is. What it isn't.  How it affects people.  What to say. What not to say.  Etc.

Robin Williams was a great comedian whose humour affected many, many people.  Yet, he apparently he lived a life of quiet desperation.  A life where he was so tormented and so bereft of hope for a better, more hopeful tomorrow that he committed what I deem the ultimate act of despair:  suicide.  Just like Phil Ochs did all those years ago.

Same phenomenon.  Same conclusion that life was not worth living.  Same outcome - the death of a very talented performer.

There are many of us on this planet who live lives of quiet desperation.  Unnoticed except outside a small circle of friends.

There are many of us who yearn for more, who struggle with depression and hopelessness, who just want to know that someone cares.  Who just want an outstretched hand to reach out to keep us from drowning in the waves of despair which keep washing over us.

The point I want to make here is that many of us - and be us I don't mean just people like me who have been traumatized by workplace abuse but also the population at large - live lives of quiet desperation.  Lives filled with acquaintances perhaps but no real friends.  Busy lives.  Even productive lives.  But at the core of our very being something seems to be missing.

That connection where we feel that we are really valued not for what we do, but for who we are.  Even when we are down for the count.

Often during this lonely sojourn on the way back from workplace abuse, I've felt lost and alone. (My struggles against the temptation of suicide are written in a previous post:  "The Danger of Suicide".)

Those words "outside a small circle of friends" seems to fit my life so much.

But yet, I remind myself time and again that I. Have. That. Small. Circle. Of. Friends. and that they are valuable, very valuable.  They alone are the reason I'm still here.  They alone are the reason that I haven't joined the ranks of those who have given up, thrown in the towel and committed the ultimate act of despair:  suicide.

They may be a small circle but they are a circle, and they are friends.  I value them.

Thank you for being there with me on the journey.  I'd rather have a small circle of committed people covering my back and cheering me on the journey than a larger group of less committed people.

Until tomorrow....

Invisible Victims of Workplace Abuse - Our Loved Ones

When I first started this blog - and this particular posting which has been on the back burner for quite a while - I used the moniker Mama Bear.  As I learned about how to blog, I realized that Mama Bear was no longer the best moniker to use.  However, I still felt the need for invisibility - at least from those who abused me in the workplace, so I changed my moniker to a nom de plume:  Cassie Stratford.

I started this post during the Mama Bear phase and now I am finding it too difficult to rework this post to reflect the change from Mama Bear to Cassie.  From Papa Bear to ????  So, for today, I will revert back to the bear image and analogy and write about Papa Bear:  a hidden victim of workplace abuse.

Papa Bear, wanders around the den.  Lost without his companion, his mate.  Concerned.  Blaming himself for his mate's condition.  Thinking that there is something he could have done - nay should have done - to protect his lifelong mate from the stressful situation which caused the damage, the weakness, the extreme fatigue, etc.  The list goes on - and on - and on.  Und so weiter.

Mixing my metaphors, Papa Bear is very much like a male goose whose mate has been killed.  Sitting beside his lost mate.  Grieving his loss.  Not moving.  Bereft.

He feels adrift in a restless sea without oars, paddles or rudders.  Certainly, no instructions on how to help his mate.  He shoulders the burden alone.  He is caregiver and babysitter (or rather bear sitter) all wrapped into one.

In a physical illness, the knowledge of what to do comes naturally.  If a person has the flu, it's pretty obvious.  Bed rest.  Fluids.  Acetaminophen (or Tylenol), chicken soup, etc.  These are all givens.


If a leg - or other body part - is broken, a visit to the local emergency room is necessary and a cast or splint is applied.

Bandaids for cuts and scratches.  Antibiotic salve to prevent infection from developing.  Antibiotics for bacterial infections.

But there are no casts, bandaids, salves or antibiotics for wounds caused by emotional trauma.  There are no magic wands.  (If there were, someone out there would make a fortune.)  All Papa Bear can do is sit with his injured mate and pray for recovery.  All the while struggling with his own bewilderment, his own sense of loss.  Feeling helpless.  Useless.  A failure because he could not prevent it from happening.

He is as much a victim as his mate.

Although, my Papa Bear feels helpless much of the time, he has shown strength and courage in the face of adversity.

He has stayed with me through it all.  Walked with me every step of the way.

And he has learned about trauma - and what it does to the victim/survivor - the hard way.  Up close and personal.

He has had his own unique way of dealing with it.

When things got really bad.  And I mean really bad.  Like I was suicidal and ready to give up.  He simply put a camera in my hand and we went away for the weekend.  He let me call the shots.  Where we went.  Where we stayed.  What we did.

He gave me back a sense of dignity and, more importantly, control over my life.

He affirmed me when my sense of value and self esteem were so badly attacked that I had nothing left internally.

He gave me hugs - even when I was unwilling and stiff as a board.  ("Which begs the question:  How do you hug a porcupine?"  The answer:  "Very carefully.")

No, he's not perfect.  He's been just as bewildered as I've been.

But he's been there.  He's told me stories of his work place and affirmed many times over, until I finally started to get the hint, that mine was not "normal".  That there was something drastically wrong with the situation I was working in.

He would call me at a set time every work day while I was still in the abusive work situation (#2) to give me a break from the overwhelming exclusion and isolation.

He kept telling me that the reason I didn't fit in was because I was an eagle and they were turkeys.  The two don't mix.

He fed the eagle analogy with words and pictures.  Telling me what an eagle is.  Why they're different.  And that they're solitary.  Majestic too.

When my work mates were having a supper which included everyone but myself (directly in front of my work station), he would go out to a fast food restaurant and bring me my own treat to enjoy.  Solitary, but good.  Even better because he was going out of his way to do something nice for me and to make a bad situation a little better.  He didn't have to.  He did it because he loved me.

After a long, hard week of exclusion and isolation, he would sometimes meet me after work with a special treat - a Tim Horton's coffee made especially the way I liked it.  Just for me.  To make up for all the times, the rest of the small office had enjoyed coffee as a group in my presence without me.  (Ever been a coffee addict watching everyone else drink a Tim Horton's coffee?  Smelling the aroma?  But not allowed to taste the goodie?  Try it.  You won't like it.)  Once he even brought the cat because he knew she would comfort me.

Small things?  Maybe.  Maybe not.  They let me know that I was not alone in the battle.  That I was not as bad as I was purported to be in the office.  That outside the workplace I had value.  I was loved.  I was cared for.

After the work situation ended.  After I'd had two back-to-back stress breakdowns with resultant damages, he watched me go from a person who could do things, to one who had trouble even putting on a simple meal, stringing words together to make a sentence....

From a person who had a lot of outside interests, to one who prefers to stay inside, sit at the computer, write and knit.

From someone who was outgoing and gregarious to someone who is afraid of people.  Who thinks the stranger behind her in the grocery store is scary and someone to be afraid of.

He's been there when I've felt so overwhelmed that the irritability has come up and spilled over.

He's been hurt too.

Yet, he's been there.  Every step of the way.  To the best of his ability - and personality.

He may have felt like it, but he's never given up.

This blog posting is dedicated not just to my ever lovin', long sufferin' spouse, but to all the family members who are walking with their own survivors of abuse - whether it be workplace, marital, church, neighbourhood, etc.  You rock, guys!  Don't ever give up.  You are the world - and probably the only note of sanity in an insane world - to your loved one.

My rock

The Reality of Psychological Trauma and Complex PTSD

Trauma is hard for me to write about.  Why?  I'm not really sure.  (For an excellent read on psychological trauma, please click on the link.)

Trauma appears to be a term that is widely used, but just as widely misunderstood.

Rather than being a diagnosed illness, it is more of a concept for most people.  Even, and perhaps especially, those of us caught in its throes - and the people closest to us who are walking - and hurting - alongside us.

Even among professionals, there are differences of opinion.  For some professionals, a person can only be suffering from PTSD if they've had a life-threatening experience.  Which would mean that the young child who at five had a six year old try to strangle her is definitely a potential candidate for PTSD.  But would also mean that the adult who has been continually isolated and excluded in the workplace is not.

By the same token, the person who was consistently emotionally and psychologically battered by verbal abuse in the home, the workplace, the church, the neighbourhood, wherever, is not a candidate for PTSD according to those who define psychiatric disorders in the DSM: Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders.

However, there is an increasing amount of literature on the net about psychological trauma.  About something calledcomplex PTSD which is not in the psychiatric bible, the DSM.

Yet, whether it is recognized by professionals or not, psychological trauma and complex PTSD caused by repeated non-life threatening occurrences such as repeated molestation, angry outbursts by parents or significant others, bullying at school or at work, etc. is real.  At least to people like me.  People who have gone life a lifetime of these experiences.

Even with those traumas which are recognized as such, i.e. death in the family, car wreck, fire, etc., I've heard people after after a few weeks use those infamous words:  "Let it go."

Many people incorrectly assume that there is a time limit to grieving or to healing after a traumatic event.

Many people also, just as incorrectly, assume that all the victim (or survivor) needs to do is "just let it go."

I heard that phrase so many times, times too numerous to count, in the initial days, weeks and months post the first abusive workplace situation.

In those days, I felt a compulsion to talk about what had happened.  Probably ad nauseum.  It was so fresh in my mind.  Even months later, it was continually before me.  When I went to bed at night, on waking in the middle of the night, first thing in the morning.  It was continually there.  Always there.  Never taking a break or a holiday.  More importantly, never letting me take a break or a holiday from the psychological ravages of workplace bullying.  Six weeks after the contract ended (or was I fired?), it still felt as fresh as if it had just happened the day before.

I felt compelled to talk about what had happened, but so often did not get the chance.  When I did, the person might listen for a short while and then, predictably, as I went on, their face would change.  I could see that they had had enough.  And then inevitably, I would hear the words:  "Just let it go."  And they would turn - and walk out of my life leaving me emotionally bleeding all over the floor.

It is hard to describe the impact those four words, spoken over and over again, by a variety of people, over an eighteen month period of time, had on me. 

But I will try.

First, I felt judged by these people.

I felt they were telling me that I had failed.  That there was something I could do, but was willfully refusing to.  That I was the author of my own confusion and tremendous hurt.

I felt alone.

After the pronouncement, these people would inevitably go back to their own worlds - and leave me along, hurting, in mine.  I realize now that I was trying to get people to recognize the deep hurt and walk with me on my journey.  But none of us realized it at that time.  I could not tell them in so many words that I needed someone - or ones - to walk with me through something none of us could understand.

I felt confused.

Not only did I have no understanding at that time of what had happened to me in the workplace and it's long-term affects on me, I had absolutely no clue as to how to heal.

I felt lost.

No one who said those four words, "just let it go", gave me a blueprint from point A to point B on how to accomplish that.  I had no clue how to just let it go.  However, I assumed that they did and that there was something obvious that I was missing.

And I tried.

You don't know how hard I tried.

During those eighteen months, and especially in that initial period post workplace abuse, I did everything I knew to do.  Everything that had worked in the past.

I prayed.

I tried to forgive the people involved.

I tried to move on with my life.

I even got a new job rather quickly.

I kept on with my life as I knew it.  Inviting people over for barbecues and bonfires.

I even went back to a counsellor that I had seen off and on for many years.

But nothing worked.

Nothing offered long-term relief from the pain.

The pain accumulated over time.  Never going away.  Multiplying as the days, weeks, months went on.  Never taking a holiday, a break.

If I only knew then what I know now.

I know I'm leaving you at the top of a cliff today, but I see no way around it.  It's time to close for now.  Tomorrow is another day on this journey of healing. 

Rest assured, tomorrow will come.  We will get through this.  We will survive.