Depression is Real
Published on October 28, 2024 at 11:32am CDT
View From a Prairie Home
by Hege Hernfindahl, Columnist
Every week, I think of something to write the paper. I try starting with a title and an idea and I also like to ponder what I am going to say before I sit down to the computer. Sometimes I am lucky and the article writes itself. I always edit as I write with spellcheck helping me. Despite being a former English teacher for a short time, spelling was never my strong suit. I always let myself think this was the result of me being a Norwegian where spelling is largely phonetic.
When I write, I also try to connect to you who like to read my articles. But to reach you, I must be open. And being open is also being vulnerable, which is not always easy. If I write too much about my grief, for instance, is that repetitive and tiresome for you? Should I write more about what is going on in the world? But then, I think, you can read that every day in the newspaper and any other news sources you like. And my column is called “View from a Prairie Home,” which can be read to mean that it is about my life on the prairie and I can write whatever comes into my head, and someone out there might actually read it! Which never ceases to amaze me.
This time I was going to write about mental illness, but I somehow got side tracked like I often do. There are, of course, many types of mental illnesses and I am no expert. My sister, who is handicapped, was severely bullied as a child, as I have written about many times. She ended up with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which manifested itself in her waking up screaming. She also would talk to herself and imagine realities that wasn’t real. But she was treated by a psychiatrist and given medications, both for sleep and also for grounding herself to reality. She now lives in an assisted living facility near my brother in a suburb of Oslo and is happy and content.
Depression, of course, can also be classified as some sort of mental illness. And severe depression can lead to suicide.
My dear husband, who cares deeply for his fellow human beings, mentioned to me one morning that this time of year can be dangerous for farmers. They work and work really hard for get the crops in before winter sets in and then, it’s suddenly over. And they have all this time to think. About life. About how to pay all their outstanding debts. About how their yields were not as plentiful as their neighbor’s. And they are lonely. Farming can be a very lonely profession. This is the time of year when some farmers might consider suicide. It’s important for all of us living in a farming community to know this. To be aware. To seek help if we see signs of depression going untreated. There is nothing wrong in asking for help. In seeking treatment. There are both medications and therapy that do help.
Grant and I have nine grandchildren, five of whom have lost a father at the vulnerable age of teenage hood. In addition, COVID was also happening at the time with shutdown of schools and all other activities that would have brought the teens out of their rooms and into the world. Most of our grandchildren were depressed. Some severely. But their surviving parent provided them with therapy and, yes, anti-depression medication. I wouldn’t be so bold as to say, they are all fine now. But some of them are. 100% back to normal and even more than that. They have learned through their struggles and helpless grief to become mature and compassionate people. Helping others. One grandson, now a junior in college, tutors Somali refugees in English besides majoring in Chemistry and Biology and minoring in Engineering. Another grandchild reached out to a classmate who was abused and offered her refuge and comfort.
Again, I am just an old prairie woman writing in some local newspapers. I am no expert. But I do think that people, who have any kind of mental illness, can be helped. Maybe we all know someone who needs help. And we can and should reach out.