(Blog title stolen from Jason Mraz)
Contrary to what I was expecting , I fell back into depression during my trip to Lincolnwood, Illinois.
I hadn’t been to Illinois since my grandfather’s funeral in 2007, and I hadn’t seen my grandmother since my brother’s bar mitzvah that summer. Since then, my grandmother sold her beautiful house that she raised three daughters in, including my mother. An apartment in a Jewish retirement community replaced that beautiful house in Evanston. That fact alone was saddening. The apartment felt and smelled like the house, but it wasn’t. I desperately miss that silly house. Never have I been so attached to a building. Being in that apartment was like being home but knowing it really wasn’t; it was a mirage.
Since I hadn’t seen my grandmother in two years, seeing her getting older was depressing in itself. I fought back silent tears for the first day that I arrived at her apartment. She’s unable to do every-day things that most people take for granted. She struggles to walk around and stand up, and she gets confused and disoriented easily. She even tried to knit with one needle and couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t working until I told her she had forgotten the second needle. We both laughed about it, and she’s been a great sport, but I think that her struggle with old age is taking a toll on her, as it is with me. Just watching her struggle is difficult.
I’ve never had to see this before, which is probably why it’s so difficult now. My paternal grandfather died when I was young and I never knew him much. I only have one memory of him and it’s just a fleeting glimpse of his figure standing in his living room saying “Hi, Timmy!” when my dad walked in the door. My paternal grandmother died when I was a senior in high school but no tears were shed because she is the exception to my claim that all people are truly good. My half-grandfather, my mom’s stepdad, was unable to get around by himself for almost as long as I knew him. I have very vague memories of him coming home from work in a suit and tie, but soon after, he had surgery on his knees and wasn’t able to walk well since. Old age had already taken a toll on him, and I simply grew up knowing that my grandfather was old and unable to do basic things like everybody else. But now I’m seeing this once fully-functioning person, my grandmother, deteriorate before my eyes. As harsh as it seems, I couldn't wait to get away from Lincolnwood and Illinois because it’s so difficult and frustrating to watch this, not only because I love my grandma but because I know this will happen to me. I, too, will grow old and become unable to walk and think. It’s even scarier because I have a hard time walking and sitting because of my bad back, and I’m not even 20.
A less drastic contributor to my depression has been watching my family moving further and further apart. My mom’s two older sisters are being less than kind to my mom, and I’m quickly growing apart from my older cousin with whom I used to be fairly close. We used to be friends, and I looked up to her. Now, we talk to each other because it’s the right thing to do and because we’re related, not because we have things to say to one another. Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to have a supportive family with aunts and cousins and uncles and the like. My only uncles I know fairly well haven’t spoken to me in nearly a decade. One of them hasn’t spoken a word to me since I was five or six. I guess I grew up not expecting to have a supportive extended family, and that’s just what I got. I never really understood how friends talk about spending time with their cousins or visiting their aunt and uncle, or visiting their grandparents that live just down the road. It doesn’t necessarily upset me that I’m lacking this sort of family, but it’s difficult to see that small extended family that consists of my mom, her sisters, and my grandmother and half grandfather deteriorate. When my grandma passes away, there will be absolutely no reason for my mom or myself to correspond with any part of my family. Once the will is dealt with, communication will essentially cease just like what happened to my dad’s family. Déjà vu?
The main contributor to my depression and what pushed me over the edge in the end was stress and anxiety brought on by school, my future teaching career, and all the stress and anxiety I know I’ll face in the process of getting to where I want to end up. It’s hard to explain. All of a sudden I became sick and tired of being so stressed about every little part of my life. I know it’s a problem and probably some sort of mental illness, but I can’t help it. I want to be happy but I can’t be. I worry about getting my apartment furnishings to Bellingham and I worry about where to park and when. I worry about ordering clarinet reeds and what kind to order, and I get a sinking feeling in my stomach every time I think about picking up the clarinet even though I can’t stop playing it. I’m more than anxious to meet and hang out with a boy who has more feelings for me than I have for him (not Jon!), and I worry about how, when, and where I’ll meet up with my roommate to buy stuff for our apartment. I worry about getting lost on my way to my dermatologist appointment and I stress about what I’ll say to him and what he’ll say to me. I’m terrified of being a bad teacher and deciding that I spent 5 or 6 years preparing for a career that isn’t right for me. This isn’t the life I want to live, and sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it. What keeps me going is the hope that I can change the lives of children and help them have better lives than what I’m having.
-Elie
No comments:
Post a Comment