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Blog > Thoughts > Other's Thoughts > Chloe's Thoughts > A Different Kind of Devotee

A Different Kind of Devotee

Written by Chloe on Monday, February 9, 2009

I am a devotee. In fact many (most?) of you would qualify to be someone of whom I am a devotee. No, it’s not the wheelchairs or the leg braces. No, it’s not the paraplegia or the need for paraplegia. No, it’s not the amputation or the need for amputation. Nothing at all like these things. Something quite different.

I am a devotee of people with depression… I should clarify what I mean by "devotee". I don’t mean that it’s a sexual turn on; it’s not. But it is very definitely a big emotional turn on. You don’t need to be currently depressed, as long as you have been depressed in the past. You don’t need to have taken antidepressants, although that’s fine. There are bonus points for suicide attempts. It probably sounds like I am being callously flippant about something very serious. I wouldn’t wish depression on anybody. I know all too well how much it sucks. But the reality is that there are people who live with depression. And the reality is that I like being around them. It has been this way since I started dating thirty years ago. Oh, bipolar disorder works for me too.

A pretty good majority of my friends live with depression. A very high percentage of all the people I have ever dated live with depression. I don’t have the slightest clue how common depression devotees are. I’ve not searched the internet. I’m not particularly interested.

I need physical stuff going on too, but I am extraordinarily easy to please. I am so not picky about it that probably everyone on the planet would qualify. Quadriplegia is fine, but so are a few superficial scars. Paralysis or amputations don’t put me off in the slightest, but nor are they specific turn ons. To give an idea of what I’m talking about I’ll mention the four people I’ve started a relationship with in the last twenty years. I’ll call them A, B, C and D.

A takes antidepressants. The first time we got naked together I was delighted to see that she had many big scars on her thighs. She is also a survivor of childhood cancer. I liked that too. As a teenager she acquired a minor C5-C7 injury from accidentally stepping off a twelve foot drop in darkness onto concrete. She has been told that, unless she gets a metal rod put in, a reinjury from a minor fall could lead to quadriplegia.

B was qualified physically: a number of scars, a pronounced limp, a detached bicep, and no teeth. Unfortunately I had to terminate the relationship after four months due to her lack of depression. Without depression in a partner I am not getting what I need emotionally, and that also means no sex.

C has Reiter’s syndrome, a disabling arthritis which particularly affects the knees and required a cane for walking. She is also congenitally missing a few teeth. She started suicide attempts in early childhood (bonus points). I had to terminate this one too because she had another psychological disorder which I couldn’t handle.

D, as you might guess, is my partner. She said it’s okay to tell you this. My partner has depression. She takes Prozac. She has a long history of suicide attempts (YAY, bonus points!) starting at age thirteen. I have already talked about her speech impediment elsewhere. There’s other physical stuff too, but I’m going to leave it at that.

In writing this I contemplated how I might relate to people with BIID. I realised that a wheelchair or leg braces easily qualifies one for the physical component. It doesn’t matter to me whether you are or are not actually paralysed (except in so far as I would wish for you whatever you wish for yourselves). Besides, a good many of you have disclosed that you have physical stuff going on in any case.

I have discussed at length with my psychotherapist why I am a depression devotee. We came up with a several factors, all of which sound plausible: Firstly I believe that someone with depression is more likely to be understanding and empathetic towards me. Also, if I am around someone who is as screwed up as I am, it makes me feel more normal. In addition, I am hugely motivated to rescue, and help people deal with their depression. (A couple of years ago my partner told me that I had saved her from a lifetime of misery and emotional torment. This means a lot to me). All of these factors ring true for me.

I’m not quite sure how this all got started. I had a cousin who committed suicide. My father’s diaries are full of such things as "Thoughts of suicide constantly recur". I have a friend whose sister committed suicide. I have many friends who talk about suicide, many who have made suicide attempts. One friend did commit suicide. I have been around this for a long time.

As a teenager I didn’t talk to many people, but there were a few other social misfits around. One boy came to my house quite a bit to tell me about how his scrotum was gradually getting thinner, and eventually it was going to break apart and his testicles would fall out on the ground. He was planning to commit suicide before that happened. Yeah, I wasn’t the only weird kid on the block. I tried to reassure him and suggested he try physicians, psychotherapists, etc. I don’t know what became of him. I feel guilty for not doing more.

My next suicide encounter was when I was seventeen. I didn’t really have much in the way of friends at that age, but there was a boy who I suppose could be called my best friend. The relationship must have been mutual because I was the one to whom the suicide note was addressed. The note was delivered to me by a third party, and the envelope said "Do not open until 4 p.m." It seemed suspicious so I opened it right away, at 2 p.m. Inside were instructions as to where to find his dead body. There were people within earshot when I found him so I called for help and stayed with him. He was not dead, but he was incoherent and barely conscious. He would have been dead by 4 p.m. I knew exactly how he had attempted suicide. It was my fault.

People knew I had a chemistry laboratory in the garage. That’s where I spent my time at home if my parents were around. (If they were out I’d be bandaging my legs or something). People knew I could make stuff; all sorts of dangerous stuff. My friend asked me for a particular poison. It’s deadly, and not something you can just go out and buy. But I knew how to make it. He had a good excuse for wanting the stuff, for some scientific experiments. He drank it right after writing the suicide note.

A couple of months later he tried again, by jumping off a building. He broke his back and a leg. He was okay after that except for needing an AFO. Subsequently I developed a passion for scaling the outside of buildings, but I never fell off.

So maybe there’s a fourth reason for my devoteeism. Am I trying to absolve myself of the guilt of unwittingly assisting someone in their suicide attempt? Perhaps.

Tags: AFO, Amputation, BIID, Depression, Devotee, Leg Braces, Limp, Paralysis, Paraplegia, Quadriplegia, Suicide, Wheelchair

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