Dealing with the depressed and radical acceptance.

I worked in mental health for 12 years.  Made the acquaintance of many people with depression and indeed, all types of mental disorders.  Its cliche, but we all have some sort of mental disorder, I'm speaking of those with whom its an issue. Today we are going to talk about "helping" someone with situational depression.  I'll try to keep this short. If you know someone with depression (and its going to happen to all of us, WE all will be depressed at some point), reach out and offer to listen or ask them if there is anything specific they would like us to do. Usually they will say no. Tell them the offer to listen always stands. The truth is the really horrible shit that happens, life threatening or fatal illness, loss of loved one or relationship, loss of a job, abilities..thats the stuff you have to walk through alone. No one can really help you in the way you want help because what you want is for a different, impossible scenario to occur (the loved one to come back to life, to be perfectly healthy without the diagnosed level 4 cancer, etc.) Really depressed people don't want to talk, they don't want to deal with anyone or anything. Your efforts to reach out will be rebuked. Depressed people no longer care. They don't give a shit about you, they are too stuck in their own shit. This dark night of the soul is when relationships of long standing are sometimes destroyed because the depressed person cannot be satisfied. Anything you may offer is not wanted. You will be accused of "not getting it", usually in a sarcastic, furious and frustrated manner. And you know? You DON'T get it. Unless you have been through exactly the same scenario as the depressed person, you have no idea what it feels like it. Scrutinizing honesty becomes all important to the depressed person and you will fall short,  your words ring hollow at every turn. You may hear things regarding yourself you know are not true due to the depressed person no longer having any filters and seeing everything "through a glass, darkly".  I have heard so many people cry and wring their hands because they "can't help" the depressed person. A depressed person is like a drug addict or alcoholic (almost all of whom are depressed, by the way). They don't want help. Or maybe they do, but refuse to believe its possible. Patience, patience, is what "counselors" advise those involved with the depressed person. But sooner than later, the patience turns into abusiveness by the depressed person, if they are, indeed, even having anything to do with you at this point. Continued offers of help will be met with "just fucking leave me alone".  Its up to you at this point. I guess some of us are in positions to physically haul these depressed people off to mental hospitals (if you can even find one that has an open bed), but most of the time the best we can do is what they want. Just fucking leave them alone. We can never really know what someone else is going through, how bad things may have become for them. I radically believe we have no right to tell them to keep plugging along if they really are hopeless. Hospital stays, medication, are of little use to those who truly are hopeless. Most really depressed people have tried it all. Tincture of time, we tell them. Just hang on. This too, shall pass. But will it? Everyone's mental constitution is different. Some do not have the ability to suffer endlessly and should they be forced to?  If someone has tried to seek help for their situational depression, or chosen not to, who are we to add to their misery by chirping platitudes at them? Maybe they've had enough and the Great Unknown is more alluring at this point to the daily misery they face each morning with sunrise. Its not up to us to play God. When your best efforts are met with refusal, silence or anger, do something radical. Leave them the fuck alone.

Too Much Stuff-or what you find out when you move

Moving...sheer hell. If you do it right, you will have a couple months to pack,so its not some overwhelming job where you have to be outta there by noon on Thursday. You will be able to afford to hire movers, and you will wish you were able to afford packers, also. You will throw out a ton of shit and donate to Goodwill many times before moving day. After moving, you start unpacking. This is where you start realizing what a total asshole you are. Ugly American! Let me give you a few examples of myself and see what you think...
Who the hell do I think I am?  I have 8 espresso cups. Eight fucking espresso cups, including two peppermint candy cane striped ones I thought too cute to pass up. Two from an ex boyfriend who turned out to be a miserable piece of shit, yet I keep them out of nostalgia. My partner and I drink espresso shots from time to time, but 8 fucking espresso cups? I mean really...not one god damn time have we had an espresso drinking party at our house, not once.
Barware, jesus, you'd think we were alcoholics too lazy to do dishes! 3 dozen wine glasses, maybe more, I got tired of unpacking them and sorting them. And those Riedel glasses, what pieces of worthless shit! Talk about bad feng shui! I have never once held a Riedel glass with anything but dread, fearing the delicate wafer thin glass would break in my fingers. We have a ton of 'em, and rarely use them. Bill once heard they were top notch, the "in" kind of glass for connoisseurs. He bought it, along with tons of the glasses. Pinot Noir glasses, what ostentatious shit! The very fucking notion that you should drink different wines out of anything other than a paper cup is pretentious, but these big honking stupid looking Pinot Noir glasses take the cake. Someone somewhere, whoever invented them, is laughing their asses off that some dumb sucker dropped a mint on those "specially designed" glasses! I don't even like Pinot Noir.
Moving on the actual booze in our house, I find it charmingly absurd that Bill loves Bushmill Whiskey so much he packed a bottle containing a single shot left it.
I guess its not so charming I actually packed two dozen leather belts. I haven't worn a belt in years and at my age and lifestyle, not a single one of them would make it halfway. What the hell am I thinking? I am going to lose 40 lbs. and be able to enjoy the skinny leather whips that went out of style in the 70s? I tell myself it was an accident, I really wanted the hanger I looped them on.
I go back to the kitchen to unpack the 20th box marked "Kitchen" and find metal bowls I haven't used in 10 years. Quite an assortment of sizes, the littlest one I have no idea what it was used for , or could be used for...was it ever used? To whip up some cocktail sauce maybe?  It might fit a squeeze of ketchup and a spoon of horseradish. Did I buy the set because of it?, because I took a fancy to the tiny metal bowl? I guess if I ever get a hamster, I could use it as a watering dish.
Stocking the pantry, I find a plethora of instant sauce mixes, hollandaise, bordelaise , I don't even know what some of this shit is...it all expired before my daughter graduated high school, but I guess I figure if its hermetically sealed in a little pouch it will last til the return of Christ, and He may want eggs benedict, I won't let Him down.
I am deeply ashamed of the stuff I've accumulated. At my age, the ultimate freedom would be to have a cozy little cottage, to live free of possessions, with 2 coffee cups (maybe 3 in case we break one), just enough food that we could eat in a week, and just enough clothes to fill one closet. Instead, I find myself perversely moving into a bigger house with more room to store my shit, most of which I won't ever use or probably even look it, may even forget I have. I am vowing now to pack a full bag of crap once a week and throw it out. The 4 compartment plastic dish I picked up 20 years ago and used once or twice. The 12 pack of disposable aluminum trays I bought thinking I would send leftovers home in. Leftovers for who?  I have people over probably half a dozen times a year and usually blow so much money cooking for them that I'll be damned if I let any leftovers leave the house. Maybe I will end up with a big ol' house with nothing in it.  Just a little ol' man and woman with 2 plates, 2 forks, 2 spoons, 4 towels and washcloths, half a dozen seasonal outfits. And 8 espresso cups.