Third Thread

I have lived and taught in Jakarta for eighteen years. In that time I have been startled at how many of my students have a problem with depression. I have come to know the symptoms, as well as how insidious a disease it is. What most fascinated me was that a person in a depressed or, what I call, lucid state is rational in neither. When she is depressed she does not listen to reason or rational thought; and when she feels fine, she does not acknowledge the depressed state.

This is all a long way around to the point, four or so years ago, when I found myself skirting the edge of the pit. Of the two types of depression, chronic and situational [there may be more but for a layperson like myself, that's how it falls], I had worked myself into situational depression. I knew the symptoms well and skirted the edge for long enough to recognise them in myself: crying at random moments, unable to see beyond myself, a grey outlook, exhaustion, and, for mr, no more poetry in my life.

The length of time for situational depression is six to eight months and I was in the pit for about that long when I made a decision. I had not, while working had the time or energy to be rational or think forward, but during the summer vacation, while at my mother's, I came to the conclusion that I had to change, for my sake, for my poor husband who had spent those months seeing me in the pit, unable to do anything for me, and for us.

I made the decision I would be happy. It seems, even now, to have been that simple, but I realise that there had been a confluence of events: One of my students for the last unit of the year studied the science of happiness [the subject is even taught in colleges]; she kept, for her project, a happiness journal. All her responses, which I read, told me, or reminded me of the importance of happiness in our lives. My mother had been going through situational depression because of an operation and an adverse reaction to the painkiller she was given, so I learned about situational depression. Vacation happened and I rested and had the time to gain perspective.

I returned to the new school year with a determination to be happy. I kept my own happiness journal and spent last year putting in it anything that made me laugh or smile: cartoons, photographs, notes, pictures, quotes, mementos. I crafted each page like a mini-scrapbook, for the book was small and portable. It became my lifeline.

This year, within the last few weeks, I realised that poetry had reentered my life and I wrote the first poems, in three years. A couple of weeks ago I became aware that I was noticing the small and wonderful things around me that used to fill me with joy everyday. They again fill me with joy. Things as simple as a clear blue sky. And a few days ago I caught myself singing, something I do when I am happy.

I am happy. I see the pit edge still, but in the distance, and I know what to do should it loom.