Last week, during a regular Zoom meeting with some women writer friends, three of us had been talking about animals and the fourth, who thinks animal-lovers are crazy, said, “You know, I always try to share my friends’ interests, so we can be closer. But sometimes there are costs.” And I laughed, one of those wonderful surprise laughs, deep and, I have to say, “hearty.” I remember it because this friend was especially funny, but it also sticks in my head because I was a bit embarrassed about this “hearty” laugh. It felt a little too deep, a little too enthusiastic. It did not feel like me.
But it was me, having an unguarded, uncontrolled response. And it was odd enough to stick in my head because over the many years I have suffered from depression, those unguarded responses of enjoyment had become more and more rare. In the past ten years or so, the only person who could elicit that kind of response from me was my sister. And when she died in December 2019, one of the most frightening monsters of my loss was the thought that I would never experience that free, unguarded laughter again.
Then last summer, I heard about a book called The Angel and the Assassin. A podcast I was listening to might have mentioned it, or an article I happened across online. In this book, science journalist Donna Jackson Nakazawa explains how brain cells called “microglia” have recently been linked to a variety of health conditions, including intractable depression. She also describes several (relatively) new treatments for depression and why they might work, in light of what microglial cells do. The treatment I felt I was most likely to 1) actually do and 2) get my insurance to pay for was TMS, or transcranial magnetic stimulation. Miraculously, I actually made an appointment with a local mental health clinic—they made it easy by providing an online form to fill out so the burden was on them to call me—and even more miraculously, I followed through.
I had TMS therapy for just over two months, starting out three times a week and eventually changing to one per week. The improvement was so gradual that it was difficult to see, but I kept going. When the treatments were finished, I felt better but wary, weak and fragile like someone first getting out of bed after a long illness. But over the past 8 months, I’ve enrolled in a class on supporting people in grief; gained a weekly writing practice & Zoom workshop group; finished the book I’ve been writing about my sister’s life & death & my grief, sent out that book to publishers (and garnered a finalist spot in a competition that will be decided in the next few weeks!); unpacked, photographed, and listed for sale some of my grandfather’s antique music boxes (something I’ve been meaning to do for years); started the AIP diet with my husband; applied for a job that I really want and probably won’t get, but would regret if I didn’t at least try for it; and experienced uncontrolled laughter, more than once.
I feel like I’m re-learning how to be a human again. The constant sense that I’m unlikeable, worthless, a failure, a burden, etc is gone. I’m angry about all the things that the disease of depression prevented me from doing or at least trying for, and I still have not mere constellations but whole night skies of emotions. Occasionally I experience conflict (my Achilles heel) and sink for a couple of days, and then I worry deeply that my depression is returning; but miraculously, I bob back up again.
Do I still miss my sister, grieve the loss of her, wish I’d done better in her last years, wish for her advice and comprehensive listening and hysterical, contagious giggles? Yes, of course. In my experience, grief doesn’t just go away. It doesn’t have an expiration date, and it doesn’t erode like a sandcastle. But now I know that even though I will never have that particular joy again, I will have other joys. I can learn to be comfortable with my own weird, overly hearty laugh. Maybe there are even varieties of my laugh that I have yet to experience.
Great post though I want to know which of my enthusiasms you have feigned interest for--Ted Lasso? Abbott Elementary? My kids? City life? 😍
I'm glad TMS was so helpful for you! & congrats on the nomination! That's a great book title.