Mother Theresa, I Ain't
Let me start with a small confession.
I have mild clinical depression, so I take meds for it. When the symptoms return I see my doctor and change things up. Usually I stay Steady Freddy, but I do tend to isolate a bit. No big deal; I am one of millions.
Knowing that, BigSis called me in as a ringer to accompany her partner and her to a cheer-up dinner for her depressed friend Bunco.
Get this. Bunco is 40-years-old, with a master's degree, 15 years experience in legal affairs, and a very pretty face with a great smile. I used to call her Tiny Elvis (the young healthy Elvis) because she's got deep blue eyes and used to have dark, minky hair.
But she's so depressed right now, she's kinda toxic.
She got laid off.
The sneaky, three-month relationship she was having with a woman with a partner was discovered and came to an end. Mutual friends took sides and black-balled her.
Now she's here visiting her parents and stays in bed all day.
She looks like a three week old, yellow alstromeria wilting in a waterless vase.
While getting laid off was not her fault, her naughty relationship was a choice, with predictable consequences. You play, you pay.
Anyway, I trotted out my best comedy shtick and managed to get a few tiny smiles out of her, otherwise she sat there, hunched over and miserable.
After dinner, I just laid it on her. "Girl, you have serious depression. See a doctor and get a prescription for something that'll pull you out of this."
There's a time for sympathetic commiseration and a time to lay it on the line.
Bunco has a lot going for her. She's smart enough to get some help and do something about her own condition.
If someone is terribly depressed, there are tons of ways to treat it.
There's no need to expect friends to pull one out of it.
Saturday night spent with loved ones at a delicious Italian restaurant should be fun. It should not be an episode of the Dr. Phil Show.