My notebook pages are blank again tonight, as they have been for the past 30 nights. I know what I am supposed to write, but I cannot bring myself to do it. The pen takes on an immense weight as I force it towards the college-ruled lines I prefer. When I pass from external reality to those internal landscapes where my inspiration dwells, my inner vision blurs. I cannot – or, will not – say what needs to be said.
The voices in my mind argue. One voice says, “What’s the point? It’s never going to help.” Another adds, “They’ll just think you’re whining.” A third screeches, “Hide it! You mustn’t tell anyone.” A fourth reminds me, “You’re not supposed to ruminate, you know.”
A lone voice holds out, and asks, “Yeah, but what about them?”
She’s asking about the ever-growing list of people I personally know whose lives have been affected by major depressive disorder (depression) and suicide. She’s asking about the 40,000 Americans who take their lives every year. She’s asking about losing one person to suicide every 40 seconds around the world. [Read more…]