UNIT 20 Disability

美国学生习作

 "She Came Undone"

An authority figure ?a teacher, a counselor ?joins us, nodding slightly to my companion. At that she wanders off toward her class but not before embracing me a final time and reminding me to call her the moment I get home. I am left with the counselor who begins to question me as to why I am sobbing. Am I having problems at home? Am I doing well at school? Am I in a fight with one of my friends? The answers role off my tongue ?no, no, no. A pause followed the most difficult question. 揥hy then are you crying??揑 have depression,?comes my shaky reply. Now the interrogation begins. Am I taking drugs? Have I thought about death? Am I planning suicide? It抯 my turn to answer again 杗o, yes, no. They speak with me about the situation at length, swearing that it won抰 always be this way. Despite the nausea that accompanies these incidents, I plaster a smile on my face. The remaining tears are swept away with the back of my hand. I drift to my classroom, berating myself for being weak. I do not want to cry anymore, not around those who cannot or will not try to understand what I am experiencing. Why can抰 they see how much this hurts, how it won抰 simply disappear?

In a society where one in four women and one in ten men will suffer at least one major depressive episode in their lifetime, why is the public so ignorant regarding depression? Perhaps it is the unwarranted stigmas and myths attached to this disease. Clinical depression is not merely a 揷ase of the blues,?it is a ceaseless feeling of sadness without cause, of hopelessness, of unfounded guilt. Though these are the telltale aspects of the illness, there are a variety of symptoms to be aware of. One of the most obvious signs is constant thoughts of death and suicide. Many people think that people who frequently speak of taking their own life will not do so; this, in fact, is one of the most tragic misconceptions. Usually someone whose conversations revolve around killing himself or herself is trying to ask for help. If left untreated, it is quite probable that this victim will attempt suicide, thinking that no one cares whether or not they continue to live. As suicide is the eighth highest cause of death in the United States, it is imperative that we recognize those who have suicidal tendencies. Merely having thoughts of death does not constitute being suicidal, though once one considers ways to do harm to themselves, or to actually plan out a suicide, is the time for their loved ones to be incredibly concerned. Other less apparent symptoms include either an overwhelming feeling of drowsiness or insomnia, a lack of interest in pleasurable activities, an increase in drug use, a decreased sex drive, and a withdrawal from society. If two or more of these signs persist for more than half a month, one should seek the assistance of a guidance counselor, psychologist, psychiatrist, social worker or simply a trusted friend.

It is the last day of seventh grade final examinations, during which I am required to write a personal narrative describing a life altering event. The erasable pen rests lightly between my thumb and forefinger as I place its tip against the blue lined paper. Saints, what has significantly changed my life? The one thing that comes to mind is the passing of my maternal grandmother. With a sigh of resignation, my hand begins to move the pen across the loose leaf, leaving a trail of hastily scrawled words behind. I pass my paper in to the proctor, averting my eyes as I can feel the onset of tears. It starts as a mere tingling in my eyes, then moves to my nose, producing a sensation not unlike that which is experienced prior to a sneeze. A slight ache finds its way to the back of my throat; soon it overcomes all of the passageway. I can almost feel invisible hands tightening around my neck. My eyes which had been brimming with the salty solution overflow causing a cascade of moist misery. The proctor instructs me to go to the restroom; I nod, not knowing what else to do. I find myself sitting on the tiled floor next to the sink alone for a moment before my English teacher enters. Like all the others, she asked me what the cause of my tears was. I manage to explain between gulps for breath that I wrote a personal narrative on my deceased grandmother. A sympathetic smile formed on her lips as she handed me a tissue, beginning to speak of her own grandmother. Blink, I am not crying simply for the loss of my grandmother. Of course, I miss her dearly ?she had such a major influence on my life ?but there is something else, something unidentifiable. Although I did not realize it then, it was an episode of unipolar depression, an episode that would be repeated a myriad of times in the next year, all of which I would say was naught more than bereavement. I was too afraid to call it anything different.

In my school district, all students in grades eight and eleven are required to participate in a health class, during which sexually transmitted diseases, drug abuse, and first aid, among a variety of other subjects, are studied. Time is found to learn the correct procedure for taking someone抯 blood pressure, yet not even a single period is spent discussing clinical depression. By adding the study of depression to the health class curriculum, we will promote awareness and understanding of the devastating disease. Even if it is only one class period or one assembly is spent discussing MDD, it would still educate students, making them more likely to seek help. Through psychotherapy, as well as the prescription of antidepressants such as Prozac, Effexor, and Zoloft, people living with depression may be able to become relatively happier, or at least able to cope with their illness in a healthy manner.

In addition to informing students about major depressive disorders, I propose that the school sponsor a support group during activity period. In doing so, students will be given the chance to speak with peers who are in similar situations; without such support groups, many students would have no one to turn to, as it can be incredibly uncomfortable speaking with friends or parents about this issue.

I do not want to be in emotional agony for the rest of my life, though it is a possibility. I do not want to seem weak in front of those who will not try to relate. I do not want to be afraid to tell people that I have depression, that I am on tricyclics, that I visit a psychologist regularly. More than anything else, I do not want to lose any of my friends who may have depression, but are undiagnosed, to suicide. What I ask for is not unreasonable; what I wish is merely a haven where I may weep without fear of ridicule, a sanctuary where I may help others who must face the same horrid despondency that I have felt.