As a clinical social worker, I cannot prescribe antidepressants, so I talk to people about other types of antidepressants, which I like to call “personal medicine.”
Do you see any antidepressants here?
For me, all those images are antidepressants, including that homemade, well-worn window sign that says “THANK YOU HEALTH CARE WORKERS.”
What are your antidepressants, these days?
Music is an antidepressant for many. Here are Blood, Sweat & Tears performing “Manic Depression” in 1980:
Comments are also antidepressants for me, so I look forward to taking that personal medicine later today.
As always, gratitude is an antidepressant, so thanks to all (including YOU) who help me combat depression with this daily blog!
In November 2016, I wrote another Post Titled Similarly, Definitely. Something else happened that month which continues to give People Translating Signs Desperately another kind of PTSD.
Do you have PTSD? People Talking Stress Decidedly in my therapy groups have it.
Prioritizing Therapeutic Stress Diversions can Perhaps Take Stress Down.
An antidote for President Trump Stress Disorder might be meditating on “the opposite of Trump,” as a Person in Therapy Suggested Delicately, yesterday in group.
Here’s a Published, Thorough, Single, Delineated list of other antidotes:
I’m getting PTSD looking at the results on YouTube for “President Trump Stress Disorder,” so here’s one of my current Personal Therapeutic Stress Dispellers:
Last night, in a therapy group, when I went up to the whiteboard to write down the important themes in the room, I noticed a lot of them had to do with ups and downs. The ups and downs included people’s moods, the U.S. stock market, and perceived successes and failures.
Are you up for or down for my photos from yesterday?
Somebody recently gave me a dreamcatcher. I’ll be hanging that up soon.
When I die, I won’t be checking the news any more. Because I’m still alive, I recently read this news story stating “Some studies suggest our minds still work after we die. Meaning, when we die…we know we are dead.”
I know that’s a coincidence, because I recently had a we-died-laughing conversation about when we die. I said:
My body could be stuffed and placed in my usual chair in the group room and
The groups would probably still do great work with a facilitator who doesn’t say anything.
… who wrote “And When I Die,” when she was in her mid-teens.
Here are the lyrics:
And when I die and when I’m dead, dead and gone,
there’ll be one child born and a world to carry on, to carry on.
I’m not scared of dying and I don’t really care.
If it’s peace you find in dying, well, then let the time be near.
If it’s peace you find in dying, and if dying time is here,
just bundle up my coffin cause it’s cold way down there,
I hear that’s it’s cold way down there, yeah, crazy cold way down there.
And when I die and when I’m gone,
there’ll be one child born and a world to carry on, to carry on.
My troubles are many, they’re as deep as a well.
I can swear there ain’t no heaven but I pray there ain’t no hell.
Swear there ain’t no heaven and pray there ain’t no hell,
but I’ll never know by living, only my dying will tell,
only my dying will tell, yeah, only my dying will tell.
And when I die and when I’m gone,
there’ll be one child born and a world to carry on, to carry on.
Give me my freedom for as long as I be.
All I ask of living is to have no chains on me.
All I ask of living is to have no chains on me,
And all I ask of dying is to go naturally.
Oh I want to go naturally.
And when I die and when I’m gone,
there’ll be one child born and a world to carry on, to carry on.
And when that song is on my mind — like, now — what might that mean?
Lots of people, including those in my therapy groups, have been talking about death and dying this week (perhaps because of Robin Williams).
I am flying on a plane, tomorrow, to Edinburgh, Scotland, with my one child born.
I’ve thought a lot about death, since before I first heard that song (probably because of medical challenges I’ve faced my whole life).
A few days ago, my son said to me, “I’ll probably read your blog after you die” (which I found comforting).
These are all just guesses.
Guesses are going to have to be good enough today, people, because I have to go to work!
And when I end — and before I’m gone — there’ll be one photo shown:
Thanks to my son; to Laura Nyro; to Blood, Sweat & Tears; to Peter, Paul and Mary; to people who work in groups; to those who deal with death and dying; and to you — of course! — for being here, now.
The Year(s) of Living Non-Judgmentally 