Day 208: And Now...More Depression!

I've had a request for an update on The Depression Project. After the Parisian Panic Attack followed by the Great Boundary Setting of 2009, I haven't said boo. Inquiring minds want to know. So. Here's the scoop:

Two days before I returned from Paris, a meeting was scheduled for five minutes after my plane touched down at home. POUNCE. I, Grade-A Sucker, agreed to it largely because I want this godforsaken project out of my life as quickly as possible and if that means hauling my haggard, jet-lagged ass into a meeting the day after I get home, so freaking be it.

On my way home, I turned my cell phone on for a period of fourteen seconds in the Toronto airport. Just long enough to inform Boyfriend that my plane didn't go Oceanic Flight 815* over the Atlantic. During that microscopic window of time, who should call but...The Depression People.

EEEEEK!

It was good news though: "We've worked ahead on the scripts. All you have to do is tweak them." This means less work and gutwrenching hell for me. This makes me happy.

We get into the meeting and talk timelines and moving forward.

Then, Dr. Guru shows up. The man whose work in spirituality and depression forms the bedrock of this project. The man who cuts right to the effing chase: "Last week in Halifax, nine teenagers were rushed into the emergency room because of a suicide pact. One was dead by the time they arrived. Four are in ICU. The rest were treated and released. This is why we're here."

Oh.

Right.

For the next hour, Dr. Guru spins a mesmerizing web of personal stories, no-BS project management and super-clear communication about what HE needs to get his part of the project done. He, like me, is sick and tired of the zig-zagging, where's-my-mommy progression of this thing and he wants it the eff DONE.

"Tell me what you want," he says to the two ladies in charge of executing this thing.

My thoughts. His mouth.

Dr. Guru turns to me and asks how I'm feeling. I give a bullshit answer like, "Fine thanks, how are you?" But perhaps he sensed from the emanating waves of murderous rage that simply wasn't true.

And so, I started talking (God help us all):

"For two months, I've been shooting in the dark because all I hear is: 'We don't know what we want.' Well, you sure know what you don't want: EVERYTHING I GIVE YOU.

You want my voice and style, but not when it actually comes out in the writing. You want my sense of humour – which was what hauled me OUT of depression in the first place – but not around people who are depressed(?!). You want authentic, personal stories (VERY, VERY PERSONAL STORIES), but then rewrite them as though I am a MAN.

I am frustrated, isolated and defensive. The closer we get to being done, the farther I feel from the truth. If I'm not true and real, the kids are going to see right through me and I AM GOING TO LOSE THEM. In every sense of the word."

There was some silence in the room.

"But...we think you're the right person for the project," Lady #2 said, patting my arm.

As though I needed validation of my existence and not a CLEAR SOLUTION TO THIS PROBLEM. Teenagers are killing themselves...but you're a good person, Melanie. Thanks.

Other Film Guy, in charge of schedules, offered: "I think we had to go through all THAT to get where we are NOW."

YOU didn't go through anything, Mister. I did. Next?

Matt, the Original Film Guy, says it's a Test From The Universe. Personal growth in the form of the writing contract from hell.

Bizarrely, this made me feel better.

Somehow, there's a POINT to this gong show cluster f*ck and somehow I will benefit from it...eventually. I drove home, nursed a massive, full-body tension headache and went to bed early. Then, when I woke up the next morning? BOOM. Clarity.

I wrote an email:

Laughter was my way out of depression, but it's also a defense mechanism for me. It's coming out in my writing because I'm shooting in the dark. I'm GUESSING what you wanted the kids to get out of every section and it's making me (and my writing) tentative and nervous. Now I'm frustrated...so the stabs I take will likely get more wild and off the mark.

It's time to get grounded in the point of all this. On a segment by segment basis.

If I know what you want, I have the confidence to explore a range of emotional voices in order to communicate with the kids. But if I'm on my heels all you'll get is defensive jokes and people-pleasing B.S. Not authentic content written for the people we are trying to help.

It's not often I use the words "people-pleasing B.S." with my clients. There's a first time for everything.

Since then, I've been talking on the phone with The Ladies for an hour every day, going through each segment with a fine tooth comb and rewriting everything for the THIRD (and in the case of Module 1...SEVENTH) time.

(Can you say Contract Renegotiation?)

It's a grind and it's hellacious, but it's happening and we're moving. There's a point to every sentence and every story. And for the first time since the beginning, I feel like I'm not only speaking to depressed kids but actually helping them, too. Yesssss.




*A reference to the TV show Lost for those who don't watch it. Short form for 'Catastrophic Plane Crash Involving Lots Of Blood And Death And A Magic Island With Mysterious Hatches And The Occasional Touch Of Time Travel.'