Walk on by

If you see me walking down the street 
And I start to cry each time we meet 
Walk on by, walk on by 

Make believe 
That you don't see the tears 
Just let me grieve 
In private 'cause each time I see you 
I break down and cry 

And walk on by (don't stop) 
And walk on by (don't stop) 
And walk on by 

                    -- "Walk On By," Dionne Warwick

Walk on by.  One of the distinguishing characteristics of major depression, in my opinion, is the ability or choice to not SEE certain things in your surroundings.   Not because it affects our real vision, but because seeing them requires more energy or emotion than we have to give at that moment.  It might be something small, like a pile of dirty dishes or a load of laundry on the floor, or something larger like a mortgage payment or a problem with your spouse or child.  Definitely selective vision.  

My daughter's room is a perfect example.  Her room is separated from ours by a large game room.  Well, it's supposed to be for games and "family bonding", but now it's home to a large denim chair-and-a-half relocated from my classroom when my students couldn't stop graffiting it and an outdated game station.  Even the walls say depression-- I started painting them and left one wall half done a year ago.  So to avoid seeing the depressing room, I turn left at the top of the stairs, focused on getting to my master bedroom, my retreat.  I only cross over to her side to drop off some laundry in the linen closet or to take a shower (our master bedroom shower has a leak, also left unfixed, but that's another story).  Every time I go in, I stare at the closed door, closed by a teen girl's need for privacy and also to keep me from seeing the growing mess in her room.  I know if I walk in, I won't like what I see.  

But today, I went in.  I had just gotten a haircut and needed some root lifter.  I knew I had some but it wasn't on my bathroom counter, so I went on a search for it.  Found it on her side table, amidst several half empty soda cups from her part time fast-food job, an empty bowl that looked like it might have been chocolate ice cream, and various pieces of costume jewelry.  To get to it, I had to cross over a sea of clothes leading across the room.  Dirty or clean?  Who knows-- I think I saw a swimsuit I saw her wear two weeks ago and could that be winter sweaters (It's July)?  

I know I could have "not seen it" and just gone straight for the root lifter, but honestly I would have tripped.  Seeing it would force me to react to it.  Force me to confront my teen and chew her out about her room and throw around ultimatums and threats of forcing her to donate all her clothes to charity.  Pretend to ignore the rolling of the eyes and sighs and stomping, and follow through on making sure it was cleaned.  

I've always been the "mean parent."  Growing up in a home with a strong college graduate mother and a passive hardworking but uneducated father, I had learned to be the disciplinarian.  Oh, my dad could wield a belt if he needed to (usually if that was the punishment doled out by my mom), but it was my mom who gave us the stern looks, the lectures, and the sighs of disappointment.  So while I respect my husband's calm, quiet nature, it is usually me who does the ordering and reprimanding.  And thus me, again, who usually gets the cold shoulder after having to discipline.  

So I try not to see things.  I try to avoid the confrontations and effort that would result.  I focus on seeing the one or two things I have accomplished and the areas of my home that I have domain in and patting myself on the back.  Little by little, I'm facing things.  I actually downloaded an app called iDoneThis to keep a running log of the things I've done so I can have a visual encouragement as the list gets longer.  Even one line longer.  One line is one step closer to getting better.  

By the way, I didn't close my eyes to the room.  Guess what my kid is doing today... 

I'll leave you with a wonderful rendition of Seal covering Dionne....