DEPRESSION IN DAUGHTER OF ODYSSEUS PART ONE

DEPRESSION IN DAUGHTER OF ODYSSEUS
PART ONE
 
1. Introduction
Have you or do you suffer from depression?
I have suffered from severe depression, otherwise known as Major Depressive Disorder.  This is a type of depression that lasts for more than two weeks consistently, with thoughts of emptiness, worthlessness and suicide.
It simply overwhelms you. It is akin to being in a deep pit with no way out.  The sense of hopelessness, hollowness and desperation shatters you, smashes you into a million fragile pieces. It blinds you to your sense of worth, of dignity and beauty.
You are nothing. You have been betrayed by those you thought loved you. You have been abused. You are ugly and worthless.  You have an ugly face or body or big nose or dark skin or frizzy hair or acne or whatever. After all, isn’t that what you’ve been told? They must be right--right? Why else would they declare this with upmost assurance and smugness?
Anxiety drowns you; you want to hide from your tormentors, those who will once again make you feel as if you were rubbish. You panic and the sense of vulnerability strips you of your strength and independence.  
You are like a frightened child seeking security and comfort within the loving arms of a parent. But there are no loving arms; only a haunting past, cruel words, physical pain, streams of tears and the sweet longing for death. . .  
 
When did this all happen – this depression – this psychological disease that consumed me – that threw me into some deep black hole – into a pit of despair? It seemed to happen so suddenly – so mysteriously – so unexpectedly.  Where kin fled from me as if from leprosy; where the breath I breathed repulsed all around me; where my own bones clung to my flesh.
Yet I feel a need to write it down – inscribe the words – engrave them on a rock so that they could live forever…
(Daughter of Odysseus: Ithaka Calling)
 
Depression plays a crucial role in shaping my character Christine, in Daughter of Odysseus. For her experience is mine. Her pain and suffering are a reflection of my pain and suffering. Her attempts to understand this demon of death are my attempts to understand from whence came this disease of mind and soul.

2. A Creeping Monster
I have had a couple of readers mention that the depression experienced by Christine ‘hit home.’  That it was hard to read. . .  

Overall: I very much enjoyed the book. The author's writing is almost like singing at times, with complex and beautiful language transforming the most mundane things into poetry. Reading the depression was hard for me -- there was a lot of misery in the book -- but the glimpses of hope and light mostly made up for it.

When we first meet Christine, in a bar in Melbourne, we are under the impression that Christine is living the high life. There is an international star, there are the socialites of Melbournian society dressed to perfection and partying without a care in the world.
But this is a deception.  We begin to get hints that Christine is different. By the way she dresses, to the way people treat her at the bar, to her feelings of self-doubt and shockingly low self-esteem.
Then comes the revelation: that our heroine is a troubled young woman plagued by a disease metaphorically known as ‘The Black Dog’:
 
Perhaps her attempts at starting again, of triumphing over the depression that had tried to devour her—perhaps all of this was in vain.
‘Go home Christine,’ a voice whispered. Icy, malicious and cruel, the voice often tormented her. ‘Go home,’ it continued as Michael introduced her to his friend Bill, as she agreed to another drink and sculled it, hoping it would drown out the voice. As she agreed to dance and pretend to enjoy herself; as she smiled and laughed and did everything that she was meant to do.
(Daughter of Odysseus: Ithaka Calling)
 
But how did this start for Christine? What was the catalyst, the ‘event’ that saw her plunge into depression?
Betrayal. Betrayal of those closest to her at a time when she was ready to start the next phase of her life; that phase known as adulthood.
What a terrible time to be betrayed. I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemies. For you hope to start your new life with the people you have journeyed with so far; or at least rely on them for support and strength.
When Christine, some three years before that night in Melbourne, is getting ready for a night out on Christmas Eve, little does she know of the pain that lies ahead for her:
 
That image, the hairspray that saturated the room, the smell of Chanel No. 5 and her sister’s nail polish, Madonna’s smooth white arms and smooth white laced gloves, her sensuous lips, a longing for something . . . Christine was drowning in images and smells and sounds…
This night was symbolic, almost: the threshold to a new life. Although Christine felt a hint of apprehension about her future, she was full of hopeful expectations.
(Daughter of Odysseus: Ithaka Calling)

This scene captures the joy Christine is feeling at that moment. But isn’t starting a new phase in life something to celebrate? After all, all cultures have initiation rites, something of a sacred or religious nature that initiates a person—often of a young age—into the community, a religious sect, or secret brotherhood—even a gang!
The purpose of initiation is to transform the person completely: spiritually, emotionally, psychologically, perhaps physically.  The ‘novice’ often must go through a series of ordeals that often take on a symbolic nature: of the novice’s ‘death’ as the old person and their ‘birth’ as a new person. Christian baptism itself is a ‘death-rebirth’ initiation rite.
Christine is about to be initiated into the world of adulthood, and for her it certainly takes on a form of spiritual death when, once she leaves that bar on that Christmas Eve—all alone—she comes to the realisation that the world of high school and teenage years has come to a dramatic and final end; that the ‘friends’ she cherished are hollow beings who have no hesitation in stabbing her in the back in the blink of an eye:
 
She sang that Genesis song under her breath as if she were an automatic tape player, barely giving any thought to the words coming out of her mouth. The wind picked up speed and swept up everything in its path. Christine found some shelter and waited for her mother.
‘What the fuck are they staring at . . . ?’ she fumed under her breath as a passing couple glared at her with hostile surprise. As if she were a rare species they stumbled upon, a freak, and they simply had to soak up the scene before them.
The woman laughed and remarked, ‘Yeah, I agree . . .’ as they sauntered off to wherever it was they were sauntering off to.
Christine looked at her watch. It was just after 11:00. Why was she alone on Christmas Eve, soaked with rain, muttering a Genesis song, a freak show for complete strangers?
Where is she?
Christine longed for her mother despite the tirade she would get, the look that her mother would throw at her. Better her mother’s company than the anguish and confusion turning her world upside down, swirling within her. She clutched at her stomach, wanting to throw up the pain eating away at her.
Such isolation, such loneliness! She felt like a prisoner confined to a solitary cell, a hapless stranger exiled on an island, estranged from the world of man.
The isolation that had started in the bar continued here, on this icy Christmas Eve.
(Daughter of Odysseus: Ithaka Calling)

Depression would creep up on her unawares. Much to her dismay and horror. This is Christine’s initiation rite into adulthood.

3. The Initiation Rite 

In the beginning, wasn’t there light? There used to be. Now it is extinguished, replaced with chaos, confusion, black night—where one finds oneself drifting in a sea of air.
Winter has come early; a wasted summer lies behind me. Washed out, drowning in tears.
As I write this here, here in my room—my prison, my sanctity—I imagine myself exiled on an island, weeping for something. But what? Captured by some mysterious being I know not the name of.
My mum calls me. ‘Christine, your dad and I are going out for a while’—and I am glad.
But as I hear their footsteps down the hall, as I hear the door slam and the car drive off, I am overcome with such loneliness it terrorises me. Deathly night surrounds me; its silent voice jarring in its cruelty, threatening to suck me into its dead soul.
I pray for sleep, so I can forget for a while. I pray—to whom? To what?—for sweet sleep to descend upon me and for divine guidance to lead me.
But to where?
(Daughter of Odysseus: Ithaka Calling)
 
Christine finds herself drifting here and there and nowhere. Her 18th birthday comes along; she spends it alone, for she has become so utterly and wretchedly alienated from the world outside her bedroom door.  It is as if she is experiencing a death; the old Christine has died, the new Christine has yet to merge. The current Christine is in a state of limbo, of purgatory, of cleansing and purification and struggle for survival.  
 
Perhaps I deserve it. Perhaps I am unworthy of anything else. Perhaps I should just end it all.
And I descend back into my pit, surrounded by glacial eyes and slanderous mouths. I am confronted by visions of death and despair. In these moments, I delve into the most profound questions that have plagued humanity. I feel a need for deep self-reflection and meaning that is so unfathomable it scares me—scares me because I should not be thinking of such things. I should be partying, going out with boyfriends, making out in bars.
What will emerge from this chaos? Earth, night, order, death?
(Daughter of Odysseus: Ithaka Calling)
 
Depression becomes Christine’s ‘initiatory death’ into, perhaps, a better and stronger person? Initiatory deaths have come to symbolise the death of the old person, only to pave the way to a new person who is at a higher mode of being.
For Christ was in the tomb for three days, after excruciating torture, humiliation and death, only to emerge as the Resurrected Lord according to Christians, having destroyed death by death. . .  
 
But now Christ is risen from the dead, and has become the firstfruits of those who have fallen asleep.

Dying and Rising god stories abound in human history. I think of the story of the ancient Greek goddess Demeter who herself experiences a metaphoric death (depression) over the disappearance of her daughter Persephone; when Persephone once more appears from her ‘home’ (Hades), Demeter rejoices and brings with her the joys of spring and new beginnings.
Christine doesn’t see it, but her depression transforms her for the better; it isolates her from the trivial world of partying and socialising and frivolity and forces her to ask deep existential questions: about herself, about her existence, about the true meaning in life, about faith and spirituality, about Wisdom and beauty, about her identity, about her roots and essentially—forces her to hear the voice of her ancestors and make her way home.
 
…we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope.