Each January, I seek to share a ‘gift.’The past two years, I shared ‘about’ sign interpreters; now I share ‘about’ reporters. Some messages, life-lessons, are not comforting. But the strength needed to move forward, in small steps, is the most challenging.

Last year, my world quickly shifted. My youngest brother, with advanced Hepatitis C from military vaccinations, descended into depression. He researched the origins of Hep C, helped veterans, doctors, families, reporters, deaf consumers, until the last two hours. We did not know depression is part of HCV, affecting 5 million. We did not know how quickly “it” appears. In the final stages of Hep C, the night he was court evicted by his wife, my brother – with depression – the signs were clearly all there; he did the unthinkable.  Kevin looked to the skies, left us forever.  

The kindness of friends, strangers, helped me to stand tall. I’m still surprised that as I struggled to share ‘vaguely,’ not knowing how, almost everyone shared they know someone with depression or they ‘deal’ with it. (They also know someone with Hep C.)  My quiet honesty has saved lives. I’m told, I read about it; it hurts each time. I continue to softly share. I’m amazed how many reporters have dealt with this, alone, often uninformed, as I was prior to my brother’s death … stunned, not numb, listening to the call no one ever wants to receive.

Steve Edmondson’s been my hero for years.  To share now, hurt us both, but we know others will benefit. The message here, my ‘gift’ (I never thought I’d use the word ‘gift’ with this topic), is beyond any comfort that Steven and I experience (present tense) professionally, personally.  And when you write Steve, oh, he’ll make you laugh!  He’s changed my life again, for the better, again.  Happy New Year, Comrades.

From Behind The Dark Door: One Person's Journey Through Depression
By:  Stephen Edmondson

      It was the hardest call I had ever gone on.  I was scared,
alone, and didn't know what the outcome would be.  The night
before, I had laid on the floor of my bedroom, and cried, knowing
what I should do, fearing I had not the courage to do it.  The
stark lines in our NCRA Code of Ethics about refraining from taking
assignments beyond our ability  -- so long ignored, now fit so
well.  Fit me, of all people.  Attorney Carl Joseph had been a
friend for 15 years, and I owed him, I owed him the truth.  And
his younger associate, Steve Wade, as good a person and friend as
I had ever had, I owed him the truth also.

      See, there was no deposition today.  We met in their
library, "Carl, Steve, I need to tell you something."  My mouth
dry, voice cracking, I continued,  "I am not the hotshot reporter
I've led you to believe.  I am being treated for serious
depression, and I am having a hard time holding on.  I don't
trust myself to do the job you are due."  And I had to stop at
that.  One facet of depression makes you want to withdraw from
those you love, your friends, your familiar associates as Carl
and Steve.  And I wanted to hide, rather than face the truth and
tell these good folks.  And another facet of depression removes
that burning desire I have always had to be the best that I
could.  Now I feared -- I knew  -- I was faking, and only enough
to survive.  And I was ashamed.

      I look back now over my writings of the past ten years, and
I can see deepening depression.  My psychiatrist and my
psychologist counselor both identify my situation as half genetic
and half situational, and I agree, remembering back to my sad
mother.  And over the past ten years, I had slipped deeper and
deeper, withdrawing from all but the necessary.  I kept working,
but my management slipped, and my desire to build business was
so hard to keep alive.  I worked harder and harder, hiding in my
work to keep from facing my family that I was slipping away from,
losing contact, not being able to reach out to them.   And the
continuous work, I thought to survive, was building new fences
between me and everyone else.  I worked to exhaustion every day,
and then fell asleep, uncaring of those about me.

      My marriage of 30 years was crumbling, what little support
it had I was clawing away, as one might dig moldy dirt from under
a supporting brick.  My sons, two of the most admirable persons I
have ever known, were sliding away from me, being pushed by me
and my bitterness.  Another face of depression is a deep feeling
of sadness, or melancholy, and a feeling of worthlessness.  And
feeling as that, I had no inborn way to reach out to others,
feeling I had no value.  And also, this countenance keeps others
away, safely, so you don't have to deal with them.  Sometimes it
is called SAD, Social Anxiety Disorder.   A friend calls, says he
is coming to town, and we agree to meet and talk old times.  I
hide out the day of his arrival, so as not to have to face him.
I don't know why; he is a friend, and I trust him, and I know he
will understand.  But -- but, I just can't.

      While I draw my caricature of depression, let's put on the
face of tiredness, exhaustion, lack of energy, lack of will to
try, of easy giving up.  Always ready to fall into a tired nap,
to rest, to hide, to avoid.   Don't confuse this with stress.
They are different.

      Another layer of the picture of depression is having
suicidal thoughts, either passive or active.  You can figure that
one out.  I have been down both paths, and sometimes it can even
feel comforting, and sometimes it is terrifying.  My counselor
watched this very closely, as she should.  I hid my pistol, sort
of.  But I didn't ask anyone to keep it for me.

      I lost my appetite, and lost 35 pounds, without trying.
Some people in depression may gain the same.   The awful, tearing
thoughts in your mind either stop your interest in food, or use
food to cover up.  Neither is good.  And about this time, you
begin to lose all interest in sex.  No sensual contact makes
sense.  I wanted to sleep, not be bothered by my wife.  And this
was knocking more of the crumbling foundation from our three-
decade marriage.  It didn't have much life left.

      My lack of concentration cost me late charges when I had
adequate money in the bank.  My irritability caused shouting
matches with clerks over probably minimal stupidities, maybe of
my own making.  And loss of interest or pleasure sneaks in, and
one day I found myself staring at my collection of 100 plus CDs,
and could not find a one I wanted to hear.  Looking at my library
shelves, and seeing a dozen recent books I had bought, intending
to read, and opening not a page.  Thinking about 100 more of my
stories I have been writing, and not putting a word to page for
seven years now.  Not having seen a movie short of TV for years.
And not visiting close family, unless forced to.  And I have a
sister that is a good, caring, loving and understanding person,
yet I couldn't go there, all of 50 miles.

      All of this, and no reason as some physiological cause, a
disease, substance abuse, diabetes.  No excuse here.  And no
sadness caused by normal bereavement, as in loss of someone
close.  I'm healthy, physically healthy, and outwardly active and
in pretty good shape.   The devil of depression resides in and
comes from inside.  And he haunts the hungry soul.   He whispers,
"Keep this to yourself.  No need to seek help.  No one cares."

      One of my sons, 16 at the time, sat me down one day, rather
strongly.  "You are self-destructing.  You are destroying
yourself, and us too {the family}.  You have got to get help, and
I mean it."  And then the kicker,  "Or I am leaving, and not
coming back."  It was the biggest wakeup call I'd ever had, and
it shot daggers of steel cold fear through me.  And I believed
him, because he loved me.

      Depression does strange things to the subconscious.  The
constant worrying about all sorts of things that will never
happen but feel so real to the depressed person, seems to be
boiling in the back of my mind all the time.  And the result is
the common marker of depression of waking up early, real early,
as in 3:30 a.m., worrying about a host of things so much that you
can't get back to sleep.  And that makes the day longer, more
stressful, more tiresome, and the cycle begins to feed itself.

      Early in my treatment I was given sleeping pills, so that I
could get rested up enough for the psychiatrist and counselor to
be able to determine what my problem was.  I was so exhausted,
physically, mentally, and emotionally that I was a riddle at the
moment.  One layer of problem had to be wiped away from my gaunt
psyche to see what remained underneath.

      Technically speaking, if you have five of the about 10
symptoms I have mentioned, {it also must include one of these
two symptoms, either depressed mood or loss of interest or
pleasure}, then you should be thinking about where you really
are.  Don't listen to your own excuses.  Be honest, and look back
through these symptoms.  If you had five of ten symptoms of
cancer, wouldn't you be in the doctor's office now?  Depression
is a treatable disorder, and you don't have to understand what
serotonin reuptake is, or why you have short-term memory
problems.  A first step is to just level with your family doctor.
And he'll tell you a lot of us are in the same boat.

      And I am not a doctor or psychologist, but a recovering
court reporter with a treatable mental disease.  But I fear we
court reporters rush to blame everything on stress.   In my 18
years as a reporter, I have probably seen 40 seminars on coping
with stress, and not a one on recognizing depression.  Now I know
that lurking behind stress oftentimes is depression, unrecognized
and untreated.  Counselors are great.  I am a believer now.
Psychiatrists are good at prescribing their medications.  There
are now over 30 drugs specifically for depression.  I had to go
through about four before finding an effective on.  They work
slowly and quietly, and one day you notice you feel almost
normal.  And it is a really fine feeling.

      I know I have a mental disease.  I know I brought on about
half of it, and I inherited the other part probably.  I'll
probably have to take some sort of medication for it for the rest
of my life.  My dosage is a lot lower now than four years ago,
but I have no illusions about dropping off.  Diabetics keep
taking their medicine, I will mine.

      I live alone now, and am trying to reestablish
relationships.  I can't tell you why I have dodged a lot of you
the past five years, or have been distant, or ugly.  I don't
really understand why I am divorced.  Love of family and friends
supports me.  Counseling and medication brought me back from the
edge.  And I have hope now, for the first time in so long.
Still, sometimes I lay on the floor in the dark and cry,
hopelessly, for what I lost.  Maybe it is therapeutic.  I
recognize my bitterness now, and stay away from it if I can.

      And back to Carol and Steve and the NCRA Code of Ethics, I didn't lose their
friendship, or their business.  "Come on, Steve.  We always did
think you were crazy.  Let's go get a beer."  And I knew they
would be the pillars of my recovery.  I owe them, and Monette,
and Judy, and Maria, Deborah and Mike, and my sons and ex-wife,
and all the others that believed in me, having no discernable
reason to do so.  The poignant lines from "A Streetcar Named
Desire," by Tennessee Williams, feel so close to me at times,
when Blanche DuBois, being led away to the insane asylum, explains to her
handlers, "In times of need, I've often been at the mercy of
strangers."  My merciful strangers have led me back, rather than
away.  And if you're out there, I love you, and I understand and
I will help.  My email is: rudyedmondson@hotmail.com.
I owe it to you.   You did it for me.  

About the Author:
Monette Benoit, B.B.A., CCR, CRI, CPE, is a JCR Contributing Editor for the National Court Reporters Association, NCRA, author of multiple books to include the state and national CSR, RPR, RMR ‘Written Knowledge Exam’ textbook, workbook, study guide, ‘CRRT WKT’ CD and the ‘CATapult Your Dictionary’ CD series. Books, CDs and articles may be referenced www.CRRbooks.com.

Monette is a consultant, realtime court reporter and CART provider. She teaches, tutors and coaches home-study students and professionals. Monette speaks to groups at state, national and international conventions about motivation, technology, expanding skills and Deaf, Oral Deaf, Hard of Hearing.

Monette may be reached at: www.CATapultdix.com, www.CRRbooks.com and www.ARTCS.com