Checking Out - Parte Dos

Working in the advertising business has its perks, like having folks on the media side hook me up with a really cool program that tracks how many hits my blog gets each day. I can track how many views each individual post receives, what country those views come from, all the referring URLs ... lots of totally fascinating stats for sure. Now lest you worry that I'm spying on you electronically, all of the info I get is completely anonymous ... I never see any email addresses or know specific people who are reading my blog (unless of course you choose to email me or tell me you're reading). In fact, all bloggers have access to a certain amount of those same stats through their blog. I mention the tracking thing because of an email I received regarding my post last week about depression and suicide ... an email that has made me think deeply for the last couple of days about some things.

I was pretty amazed when I first started tracking page views on my blog ... I had no idea how many, if indeed any, people were reading my rambling words. With my newfound knowledge as to the size and scope of my readership came a certain sense of responsibility. It's one thing to pen words you think may be read by only your family or closest friends, but it's another thing altogether to write those words when you suddenly know that your blog is being read by way more people than you ever imagined. But as I've written before, I made a promise to be open, honest, real and transparent in this blog ... and that means sometimes I write things that not only tear at my own heart and soul but that tear at the hearts and souls of others as well. I find it quite interesting that I have only a small number of listed "followers" on my blog, though I know from the tracking tool that my readership grows each day. I also find it interesting that I receive many private emails or Facebook messages concerning my posts, but only occasionally do people post their comments publicly on the blog itself. I guess maybe there are a lot of folks who don't want the world to be able to read what they have to say, and I get that ... I totally get that.

Needless to say, my post about depression and suicide generated a ton of emails and messages, and there were four comments on the blog from people I know. But get this ... all but two of the emails and Facebook messages were from people I've never met. People I've never met telling me of their own battles with depression or of those in their lives that had been affected by suicide, that they were praying for me, that I need to keep fighting, that they need me to keep writing, that reading this blog helps them to get through another day, asking me to promise to hold on and not give up. Of course, not all of the messages were positive ones ... some criticized my lack of faith, some said it was unconfessed sin in my life that was causing both my diabetes and depression, and several went so far as to tell me that I should put myself and everyone else out of my misery (one even offered up a list entitled "The 5 Least Painful Methods for Suicide"). But it was an email from a gentleman in Spain named Guillermo that caused me to write today's entry.

I've never heard from Guillermo before, but I must say that I was quickly drawn in by his story and his gift for writing. I asked his permission to share some of the things he wrote with my readers and he readily agreed, saying that if one person is helped, it is worth it. He was born into a wealthy family, studied at Oxford and speaks five languages. He is married with two children and is so wealthy that he doesn't have to work; in fact, he spends a great deal of time traveling with his wife now that their children are in college. He has a personal relationship with Christ and has done extensive missions work in Russia. And, he has struggled with depression for the last two years ... no signs or symptoms of it before, in his words, "it came upon me as a rogue wave in the ocean, massive, relentless, threatening to swallow me up and destroy me." He has attempted suicide twice in the last six months, his latest attempt being a short four weeks ago. As to those attempts he wrote, "On my first go, I failed to obtain the correct calculation for the dosage I would need to consume and awoke the next morn, rather infirm but still alive. My most recent go was with a weapon. My hand faltered at the last moment and the bullet passed through my chin and lip and remains lodged in the wall of my library. I am a failure even in dying."

At the close of his message, Guillermo talked about my Checking Out post and he mentioned my "I understand" list from that entry. He then wrote the following words ... "While I can most abundantly agree with your recounting of the things you understand about depression, I would be most pleased for you to relate your 'I don't understand' recounting as well. Allow me to aid your beginning by saying I don't understand why people who once respected me and loved me and enjoyed my company now treat me as though I have the dreaded plague of olden days. Being the wordsmith you are and possessing the deep ability to think as you do, I beg that you would consider my request. Your wording of depression being a 'nasty beast' is an honest and real assessment, and the turning of heads by those without it only serves to give more power to the animal. I feel that your words are helping many to give one more try to sever the nasty beast's hold over them." As I said, I've thought a lot about Guillermo's words and his request for the last couple of days ... so ... Guillermo, my friend, these words are for you.

I don't understand why I am where I am. I don't understand how I could go from being a happy and upbeat person to one with such a deep and permeating sadness. I don't understand why the medicine doesn't work. I don't understand why others blame me for being depressed. I don't understand why I can't fix what's wrong with me. I don't understand why it feels as though God is punishing me. I don't understand the tears that refuse to stop or go away. I don't understand why decisions that once came so easily are now laborious and painful. I don't understand how I can feel more comfortable in a room filled with strangers than with those I've known for years. I don't understand the thoughts that come crashing into my mind and threaten to destroy me. I don't understand how my concentration can fly away like a bird on the wind. I don't understand why it is overwhelmingly impossible to ask for help. I don't understand why I can't sleep. I don't understand how others cannot see the tight, tight rope I'm walking upon. And yes, Guillermo, I, too, do not understand how those who once loved and respected me and sought after my company can now act as though I have the dreaded plague of olden days.

I want you to know, Guillermo, how very much your words mean to me ... that you took the time to write to me ... that you read my small and unimportant posts each day ... that you care enough to ask me to stay. I read a quote today that seems to me to be a proper and fitting ending for this entry. Hang in there, Guillermo, hang in there, brother ... if you didn't do one other thing last week that mattered to anyone else on this earth, you touched my weary heart. Please know that I've lifted you in prayer over and over again since I read your note, and I give you my word that I will continue to do so as long as I have breath within me.

"The moment we cease to hold each other, the moment we break faith with one another, the sea engulfs us, and the light goes out." James Baldwin