But First...

I posted recently about a family member who has recently begun, outwardly at least, experiencing anxiety and depression.  


The update is thus:  said elderly member of the family has been to a Doctor and is receiving help.  Specifics I do not know, but I do know that it's being attended to.  I still feel deep and everlasting shame that I was not able to help.  That won't be muted.  


The story takes a sadder turn now.  The person in question has enjoyed better than average health for someone of that age.  Someone who has been spry, independent, and quite frankly...young.  This person now appears to be approaching a different phase in life.  Physical frailty is becoming more of an issue.  There was a fall.  Then there was another fall.  Then there was a worse one where muscles were pulled , but thankfully nothing was broken.  We all know that's now likely just a matter of time.


For someone who has reached the age this person has, and to have one's health and mind in good stead, we are all supposed, I think, to not be surprised when the downturn starts.  We are supposed to be wistful but accept the transition to the late stages of life as the natural order of things.


But you know what?  No matter how normal, natural, and expected this is... it's still heartbreaking.  Perhaps that too is natural.


What's unnatural is the amplification of the sadness caused by my affliction.

And Another Thing

Oh wait, there's more.  


The previously mentioned life crisis compounded by depression (and a full moon) is just one thing.  


Couple weeks ago I find that someone in my family is experiencing extreme episodes of anxiety and depression.  That person is elderly and unfortunately not able to take medication.  Of course, that person also comes from a generation where mental health problems were thought of very differently.  


"It's a weakness."  "Don't be silly."  "Just get over it."  "We don't talk about such things."  You know how it goes.


I want to be able to say, "Hey.  I know how you feel.  I feel the same way.  It's OK to talk about it with someone.  You aren't alone.  There is help available.  It's not like it used to be.  Me too."


But.


I cannot physically make myself do it. 


I have had an up and down life, thats for sure.  Nothing, however, has ever made me feel more failure than my inability to offer support to others who are saddled with this horrible affliction.  


No one knows the extent of my condition.  No one except me.  The fact that I can't share...quite frankly, hurts.  The fact that I can't share and help make a loved one feel maybe a bit better, devastates me.


Devastation at work, and devastation in the family.  This is not a good recipe.


There is a positive point, albeit not for me.  The elderly family member in question is now suffering in silence.  The immediate family has discovered something is wrong, and I know someone else is helping that person get help.  However I am sure that help would be enhanced by some understanding and support from me.  I have failed to be a good person. Dammit.


I'd say the question of whether mental health problems can be genetic has been answered for my family.