Just Talk to Someone

     Forty years ago Gordon began to have a feeling of self-doubt, cried in his cereal and asked if this was all he had to look forward to in life.  When he began to argue with his superiors, I asked him to seek help for his depression as I did believe DEA had a counselor that he could have seen.  

     At the time, I was taking Social Work courses at Armstrong State College and learned of the therapy Masters Degree Social Workers provided.  I wanted him to talk to someone to get to the bottom of what was bothering him.  Was this a real case of depression or just a mid-life crisis?  He would say, “I can just talk to you.  I don’t need to talk to anyone else.”  I tried to tell him I was not the one he should talk to, as I was too close to the situation.  

     For the next several years he talked, and I listened. He talked about his work at the time and how he felt about it, but he never shared past activities.  I would occasionally ask a penetrating question. He would easily avoid it, and I did not want to raise his anger by continuing to probe.

     While we lived in Washington, DC, he required surgery and his depression was becoming worse.  I talked to his doctor and suggested he make a referral for Gordon to see a psychiatrist before he operated.  Because Gordon was very good at covering, the doctor did not feel the referral was needed.  My statement was, “I live with him, and I know he needs it.  If you make no referral, you deal with him after surgery.”

     He saw the psychiatrist and was promptly started on antidepressants.  Seeing psychiatrists and taking varied kinds of medication for depression was part of his life for the next twenty-five years.  During this time the doctor would see Gordon every three months for about fifteen minutes, ask him how he was doing and refill the prescription or try a new drug.  They never were interested in what caused this depression.

     The last psychiatrist he saw in New Bern was someone I worked with, and I got to know well.  I asked him to refer Gordon to a Social Worker to help him to deal with the cause of this long-time depression.

     The social worker was a male, forty-five years old and a veteran.  I believed Gordon would respect this person and perhaps finally open up about what was bothering him.  The first visit went well, and I thought we were finally going to get to the bottom of things.  During the second visit, however, he said he had found another job and was moving on.  Gordon would see his replacement.  What a bummer!!!

     The replacement was a young woman somewhat new to the profession.  Well, that didn’t go well.  He just danced that chick around, and by the end of the session, she discharged him as she did not understand why he was there.

     For the next eight years, he talked, I listened, and the depression only became deeper after our move.