I am in my final year of law school, which by itself is enough to make anyone stressed beyond all means. Everything right now is overwhelming. My classes are overwhelming. The third year of law school is supposed to be a breeze. There is a common saying around law schools: the first year they work you to death, the second year they scare you to death, the third year they bore you to death. I think this saying comes from a time when more third year students already had job offers and were just waiting out the final year. This has not been my experience. My first year was a lot of work, and my second year was somewhat scary in that I had my professional responsibility class, which impressed on me how much of my client's life I would be responsible for, and the disciplinary measures that would ensue if i didn't properly care for that life. However, third year isn't boring. I have five very hard classes, all with ridiculous writing assignments. I am taking my professional responsibility exam soon, and although I know I will pass, it is just one more thing to deal with. I have a lot of moot court responsibilities, and when my competition problem comes out, my schedule will get even more cramped. I am very nervous about keeping my grades up, about taking the bar, about passing my character and fitness exam for bar admission, and about eventually paying back the tens of thousands of dollars I owe the federal government for the privilege of going to law school.
And it is a privilege. In the list of the things I am grateful for, law school is on that list. I have, finally, felt really challenged intellectually, like I was striving, like I was working up to my potential. I didn't feel that way in college, I was bored shitless in high school, and I have had no professional experiences that used my mind much at all. Law school gave me an intellectual life.
The question is, how will I pay for that gift? I have no idea how to get a job. Honestly, I've never had a real job. A real job meaning one I interviewed for and was chosen out of a pool of similarly trained competitors. I have always been terrified of failure, and because of that, terrified of competing. Well, now I have no choice.
Two weeks ago was on-campus interviews. I got one interview offer (I am right on the cusp of having grades good enough for OCI, so I was surprised I got even one interview). It was for an awesome job in the judicial branch. One of my great fears is getting a firm job and not being able to meet billable hour reqs. As a parent, with a spouse who works an average of 65 hours/week,I simply cannot work more than 50 or so hours a week. So, this job seemed perfect: great hours, great environment, great work product. I did a ton of research on the interviewers and attempted to give a great interview. I thought it went well, in that I engaged with the interviewers the entire time, I had good questions, I felt like we connected, etc. At the end of the interview session they asked for a writing sample. I have two writing samples I have polished. One is a criminal law brief section, the other is a trusts and estates memo. Since the work I would be doing would be objective in nature, I gave them the memo. This, I think, was a mistake. Overall, the brief is slightly better written. I got perfect scores on both of assignments, and have polished them since I got them back, but the brief is better.
After the interview I talked with two friends who also interviewed. They both said the interviews were uncomfortable with long silences. This made me feel very good, as I had no such sensation. I didn't exactly expect a follow-up interview, but I was hopeful.
The form rejection letter came yesterday. I felt really disappointed. I didn't cry, but I felt like it. I felt numb inside. What this job meant to me wasn't just employment. It meant not having to worry about whether law school was the right choice. It meant not fretting. It meant knowing I had a future as a professional. Simply going to law school doesn't mean that. I know people who simply never find legal jobs after school. I am so scared to be one of those people.
My a.m. class was canceled this morning and DH (dear husband) took the Kid to daycare. I stayed in bed until noon. Then I emailed my profs and moot ct team that I wasn't coming in. I cleaned up the house, ate lunch, and posted on Craigslist for someone to go to movies with. Only one person answered, and s/he didn't use complete sentences, so I didn't respond. I skipped my night class and went to see Eastern Promises, which I have been trying to get a sitter and get DH to go see for the month or so it has been out. It was wonderful, every bit as good I had hoped. I felt a little guilty about missing class, accumulating absences (my school has a very strict absence policy which I have gotten bitten by in the past), and having DH watch the Kid thinking I was in class. But afterward, I felt better. Distraction helps.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
What is it? It is.
I have been struggling with depression well over twenty-five years now with only very brief periods of relief. This is my documentation of a mostly silent struggle. (Clearly not that silent if I'm blogging it. I'm hoping the blogging will help me feel less isolated.)
Why silent? Because is isn't appropriate for me to be depressed. Depression is for teenagers, or a certain type of dramatic young adult (Suicide Girls or goths), or for very old men who can't get it up. It isn't for middle-aged wives and mothers. If someone like me is depressed, they are expected to take a pill and cheer up.
But what if the pills don't work? I've been on every class of anti-depressant/anti-anxiety med available at this time. Some have had no noticeable effect, but most have had serious side effects, including nausea, headaches, and acute suicidality
I used to be very open about my depression. But people around me never understood why the pills didn't work. Clearly, I just needed a different psychiatrist, a different med, and another six weeks to six months spent vomiting, being unable to get out of bed before ten a.m., feeling like there was a rusty hamster wheel in my head, or waking up at 3 a.m. certain that I must slit my wrists immediately while I try out the new med. No thanks. Depression sucks. It is exhausting to live without hope. But I am not acutely suicidal. I can get up by 8 a.m. at the latest. I only have headaches when I am very stressed or sleep deprived. And, I occasionally even have a sex drive, which is more than I had on any drug except Wellbutrin, the wonder drug that had no effect at all on me: mood-wise or otherwise.
Finally, I am silent because those around me don't want or don't need to experience my depression any more than they do while I am silently struggling. Depression is exhausting not only for the depressive, but for everyone around him. When Kurt Cobain was left alone in a house full of guns, everyone in his life knew he was suicidal. It wasn't that his community didn't care, it was that they were exhausted from dealing with his depression on a daily basis. They couldn't fix the problem. Not being able to fix the problem is frustrating, and sometimes anger-inducing. So, while every else was taking a break from dealing with his pain, he ended his pain.
I know that my depression is exhausting to my family also. Whenever the depression comes out of me verbally, different family members have different coping mechanisms, none of which are helpful to either of us. My mother-in-law tries to talk me into seeing yet another shrink. As a medical professional, she is certain I just don't have the right drug yet. My close friend tries to talk me into to finding God, and is left frustrated by both my mood and my atheism. Other friends just sit silently and feel pity for me. Most painful of all, my husband shuts me out emotionally. He is the one who has had to deal with the depression most directly, and is, like the people around Cobain at the end, through with dealing with it. He simply shuts me out, ignores me, or occasionally will react sarcastically, suggesting I kill myself. My pain is his pain, and my pain is too much for him. It is clear to me that if I want my marriage to last, and I do, I need to keep this to myself. So I'm blogging. So I don't have to keep it so much to myself that I feel like I am going to explode.
Why silent? Because is isn't appropriate for me to be depressed. Depression is for teenagers, or a certain type of dramatic young adult (Suicide Girls or goths), or for very old men who can't get it up. It isn't for middle-aged wives and mothers. If someone like me is depressed, they are expected to take a pill and cheer up.
But what if the pills don't work? I've been on every class of anti-depressant/anti-anxiety med available at this time. Some have had no noticeable effect, but most have had serious side effects, including nausea, headaches, and acute suicidality
I used to be very open about my depression. But people around me never understood why the pills didn't work. Clearly, I just needed a different psychiatrist, a different med, and another six weeks to six months spent vomiting, being unable to get out of bed before ten a.m., feeling like there was a rusty hamster wheel in my head, or waking up at 3 a.m. certain that I must slit my wrists immediately while I try out the new med. No thanks. Depression sucks. It is exhausting to live without hope. But I am not acutely suicidal. I can get up by 8 a.m. at the latest. I only have headaches when I am very stressed or sleep deprived. And, I occasionally even have a sex drive, which is more than I had on any drug except Wellbutrin, the wonder drug that had no effect at all on me: mood-wise or otherwise.
Finally, I am silent because those around me don't want or don't need to experience my depression any more than they do while I am silently struggling. Depression is exhausting not only for the depressive, but for everyone around him. When Kurt Cobain was left alone in a house full of guns, everyone in his life knew he was suicidal. It wasn't that his community didn't care, it was that they were exhausted from dealing with his depression on a daily basis. They couldn't fix the problem. Not being able to fix the problem is frustrating, and sometimes anger-inducing. So, while every else was taking a break from dealing with his pain, he ended his pain.
I know that my depression is exhausting to my family also. Whenever the depression comes out of me verbally, different family members have different coping mechanisms, none of which are helpful to either of us. My mother-in-law tries to talk me into seeing yet another shrink. As a medical professional, she is certain I just don't have the right drug yet. My close friend tries to talk me into to finding God, and is left frustrated by both my mood and my atheism. Other friends just sit silently and feel pity for me. Most painful of all, my husband shuts me out emotionally. He is the one who has had to deal with the depression most directly, and is, like the people around Cobain at the end, through with dealing with it. He simply shuts me out, ignores me, or occasionally will react sarcastically, suggesting I kill myself. My pain is his pain, and my pain is too much for him. It is clear to me that if I want my marriage to last, and I do, I need to keep this to myself. So I'm blogging. So I don't have to keep it so much to myself that I feel like I am going to explode.
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