Learning to Fly: A story about overcoming depression

by David E Forrester

  There were snickers across the trading floor and Pete saw the raised eyebrows on several colleagues sitting nearby. ‘Excuse me,’ he said, embarrassed.

  ‘Have some bad milk, Moggy?’ Johnno asked, chuckling.

  ‘Must be the bloody gluten-free muesli,’ Pete responded.

  Chen cried out, ‘Here we go,’ and then a few seconds later announced, ‘Weak China inflation.’

  Pete hurriedly tapped away on his dealer board and bought some Australian dollars. ‘Thanks Chen.’ He then sat back to watch the Aussie’s second-by-second progress. For a while it did nothing, but then China’s share market started to sell off and drag the Aussie lower. Pete became nervous. ‘Any reason for the Shang comp being lower?’

  ‘Market seems to be worrying that the weak inflation data show more signs of weakness in the economy,’ Chen called back.

  ‘Yeah, but we already know that from the data a few weeks back. You still think they could cut rates?’ Pete asked as his hand moved towards his dealer board preparing to cut his trade.

  ‘Yes, I just don’t know why the market isn’t seeing it that way yet,’ Chen answered.

  Pete thought for a few seconds and moved his hand back away from this dealer board. He then continued to watch the Shanghai composite and the Aussie drift lower until, after a few minutes, the latter hit his stoploss. ‘Bugger,’ Pete muttered as he tapped away on this dealer board and sold the Aussie at a loss to cut his position. ‘Seemed like such a good idea at the time.’ Pete sat back in his chair and looked at the ceiling. He felt his anger levels rise as he searched for a reason for his trade going wrong, but couldn’t find one, which made him even angrier. Pete knew he had to take a break or he would start snapping at people. ‘Hey Johnno. Could you look after the Desk? I need a bathroom break.’

  ‘Yeah, sure Pete,’ Johnno replied, smirking.

  ‘Thanks,’ Pete said as he got up. He walked into the bathroom, but then right out another door that led to the pantry.

  The area had a large oval-shaped table for preparing food, a fridge stocked with milk, fruit and sugary snacks as well as some shelves stacked with cups and bowls as well as bread and cereals. There were also some booths against a far wall that looked out over Marina Bay and to the Merlion.

  Pete started to pace around the pantry to empty his mind by counting steps. He tried several cycles of his now customary eight-step pattern, but could not calm his mind and regain control of his anger. He spied an empty booth in a secluded corner and headed over to sit down, switching to his breathing exercise, and again tried emptying his mind to calm himself. The thoughts about his losing trade continued to whirl around Pete’s mind and frustration started feeding his anger.

  It wasn’t your fault the trade went wrong, it was those stupid researchers. They should’ve known how the market would react. How hard is it to guess that bad data is bad news? They’re useless and you should go back and tell them that, the Monster urged.

  Pete fidgeted, his body reflexively wanting to follow the Monster’s urging, but his memory of the incident with Derek weighed on his mind and held him in his seat.

  Nothing’s working, may as well try bloody talking to myself, Pete thought, frustrated, and reluctantly decided to try Gabriel’s anger-management exercise. He took a breath and pictured himself, thinking, You deserve to find peace, love and happiness. He felt his anger cool slightly and the Monster fade as he let his breath out.

  Pete took another breath, picturing Liz and Bobby and saying the phrase to them. He felt further relief and smiled as he pictured Bobby’s face with a cheeky smile on it. As he let out the breath, Pete felt the Monster’s grip weaken.

  Next, he went to his neutral person, Matt in Commodity Sales, took another breath and pictured saying the sentence; the relief stayed with him. He let out the breath and the Monster failed to reassert itself.

  Pete waited a few seconds to steady himself before taking a deep breath and picturing Derek. You deserve to find peace— Pete stumbled, but saying the word ‘peace’ to the imaginary Derek had brought Pete a modicum of peace and weakened the Monster further. Before it could regain its strength, Pete quickly acted to calm himself further and focused on his breathing. After one cycle of breathing the Monster began to retreat, and after another it disappeared into the recesses of Pete’s mind.

  Pete slowly opened his eyes. He felt better than he had before the exercise, but miles away from happy. While the thought of his losing trade no longer dominated his mood, it still lingered. And then there was something else that Pete could not quite put his finger on. He got up from the booth to head back to his desk, and as he did, he felt another rumble, this time higher up his abdomen. Pete rubbed his stomach. ‘That’s weird, normally breakfast fills me up a lot longer than…,’ he looked at his watch, ‘ten o’clock,’ he observed with surprise.

  He walked over to the fridge and peered through its glass doors, trying to find something appealing to snack on. He sighed – only fruit and sugary snacks. Pete opened the door and reached for an apple and bit into it greedily. It was deeply unsatisfying, and his tummy rumbled further in complaint. Then he realised, ‘Shit, side effects.’

  Pete started his walk up Emerald Hill. The Friday night bar crowd was already starting to gather and there were some smokers milling about polluting the air, which added to his already miserable mood. He had spent the afternoon watching the Australian dollar bounce from just below his stoploss and continue to grind higher. The rumour of a potential China rate cut had started doing the rounds in the market just after lunch. To make matters worse, Pete had found his lunch of a sourdough sandwich deeply unsatisfying. He had to stand up repeatedly to relieve cramps or break wind quietly, and had even developed a headache, which had thankfully passed after a short time. The side effects of the antidepressants were a real trial.

  Pete tried to catch the rhythm of his steps with his mind as he plodded up Emerald Hill, but instead he kept cycling through the post-mortem of his good trade gone bad. The Monster re-emerged, and Pete focused on his breathing and tried to push it away, but it continued to lurk. See, it wasn’t the researchers’ fault. They got it right and you got it wrong. You’re the trader and you traded their idea badly. You just jumped right in instead of waiting to watch the price action. You should’ve known better, it berated Pete.

  Pete’s mind hung on the word should’ve and he paused at the top of Emerald Hill. ‘Cognitive distortion,’ he said quietly, then took a deep breath and began walking and counting his steps again. And, after a few cycles, the Monster retreated, unsatiated.

  18

  Side effects

  Pete walked in the front door to see a white and grey box near the couch. He took off his shoes, emptied his pockets and walked over to take a closer look.

  There was a hollow vent in the shape of a plus-sign in the box’s upper left corner. The vent had a trim of coloured lights lining one end. The lights were green, but suddenly turned orange and Pete heard a fan start to whir. He turned towards the corridor as he heard Liz come into the living room.

  ‘What’s this?’ Pete asked.

  Liz came over and gave Pete a peck on the cheek. ‘It’s an air purifier,’ she said.

  ‘Why do we need one of those?’

  ‘It was on special and I thought I’d get one ahead of the haze season. I want to be prepared,’ Liz explained.

  ‘The haze is around for only a few weeks a year. Can’t we just close the windows?’ Pete suggested.

  ‘Nope, it still leaks in,’ Liz replied.

  Pete looked down at the device again. Then, like much of his day at work, he suddenly felt a stomach cramp followed by an urge to break wind. ‘Well, when life gives you lemons…’ Pete thought and smiled as he turned his buttocks towards the device and acted on his urge.

  The lights on the device turned red and the fan whirred furiously.

  ‘Seems to be working,’ Pete said with a grin.

  Liz rolled her eyes. ‘You’re disgusting.�
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  ‘I’ll apologise for that one and all the future ones. Because there’s going to be a lot more of where that came from,’ Pete informed Liz.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Doctor Ong said there could be some side effects from the antidepressants and they’ve started to kick in. On top of being gassy, crampy and bloated, I’ve got a severe case of the munchies and the occasional headache,’ Pete complained.

  Liz snickered.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Pete asked, annoyed.

  ‘I’m sorry Pete, it’s just that you sound…premenstrual,’ Liz said and started to laugh.

  Despite Liz’s lack of sympathy, Pete had to stifle a laugh. ‘Yeah, it’s as if a female pharmacologist designed antidepressants to say, “Man, I’ll give you something to feel depressed about!”’

  They both burst out laughing and Pete was surprised how much better it made him feel.

  Liz asked with genuine concern, ‘So, other than the side effects, you feel OK, right?’

  ‘Well I may feel like crap, but at least I don’t feel like killing myself,’ Pete said sarcastically.

  Bobby ran into the living room and lifted the mood.

  ‘Daddy, you’re home!’ he said and wrapped his arms around Pete’s legs, looking up at him with a big smile. ‘It’s time for dinner.’

  ‘Great buddy. Daddy’s starving. What’re we having?’ Pete asked.

  ‘Aunty cooked lady’s fingers and ayam penyet,’ Bobby said with a smile. ‘I’m going to help her bring it out now,’ he said and then raced off towards the kitchen to help Wati.

  Pete beamed and his mouthed watered as he imagined tearing into the spicy Indonesian fried chicken.

  Later that night, while he and Liz were sleeping, Pete was woken by a sudden movement in his bowels. He got up and ran to the en suite to relieve himself, but where Pete expected his bottom to meet the toilet seat, he slipped through into the bowl. He cursed and reached up to the cistern to pull himself out and accidentally depressed the flush lever. His bum was suddenly doused in water.

  Pete looked skyward and hissed, ‘You’ve got to be kidding me!’

  He extracted himself from the toilet bowl and started dabbing himself with toilet paper. When he had finished, Pete consciously put the toilet seat down and finished relieving himself. ‘Damn antidepressants!’ he murmured.

  When Pete had finished, he gently slipped back into bed next to Liz, who was lying quietly on her side. As she felt Pete’s feet press up against hers, she smirked and said, ‘At least now you know why I nag you about putting the toilet seat down.’

  Obedience training, Pete thought ruefully.

  19

  Speaking of seduction

  ‘So, Pete, we’ve been at this for a few months now. I think it’s time we checked in on your progress. So, how do you think you’re doing?’ Gabriel asked.

  Pete was taken aback. By now, he was used to Gabriel starting their sessions with some small talk about the past week and then being quizzed about his homework. Easy things to answer. But this time Gabriel was looking for something that required significantly more thought.

  Pete sat pondering his reply for a few moments before answering. ‘I’m still battling down periods from time to time, but I’m able to handle them better than I used to.’

  ‘That’s good to hear. How does that make you feel?’ Gabriel asked.

  Pete looked at Gabriel incredulously, unsure if he were joking or being serious. ‘Gabriel, why did you ask that question? In fact, why do shrinks ask that question?’

  ‘Because saying something aloud helps you process it. And I want you to process and acknowledge your progress.’

  Pete closed his eyes and shook his head. ‘I feel sorry that I asked that question,’ he replied sarcastically.

  ‘OK, let me ask you another question,’ Gabriel said in a conciliatory tone. ‘Where do you think you’ve made the most progress?’

  ‘Thanks. Something more specific that I can actually wrap my psyche around,’ Pete said with only a touch of sarcasm. ‘The most progress has definitely been with Liz, which I’m very grateful for,’ Pete said, embracing his cognitive therapy. ‘I guess second is work, but I’m not quite sure on that front. And my relationship with Bobby is better, but still needs work,’ he said with a sigh.

  ‘What makes you unsure about your progress at work? From what you’ve been telling me, your trading’s going well, as is your mentoring of the young traders, and your relationship with Sales seems to have improved.’ Gabriel paused and then gently asked, ‘Have there been any more incidents?’

  ‘No, I haven’t had an incident at work or anywhere else in one hundred and thirteen days.’

  Gabriel raised his eyebrows. ‘So precise a number?’

  ‘I’ve been counting them,’ Pete replied a little defensively.

  Gabriel moved to ease the tension and quipped, ‘Did you give yourself a chip on day one hundred?’

  Pete chuckled. ‘No, but maybe I should’ve.’

  ‘So, what makes you unsure about work then?’ Gabriel probed.

  ‘It’s just a gut feeling I have, as if some people are just waiting for me to slip up again.’ Pete held up his hands and went on, ‘Yes, I know it’s mind reading or fortune telling, but I forecast the market and try to read its mind for a living and so it seems logical and real to me. Work’s just a near-constant source of anxiety lately, which brings out…’ Pete paused as he realised that he had not told Gabriel about the Monster and he was not sure if he wanted to.

  ‘Brings out what, Pete?’ Gabriel asked, leaning forward.

  Crap, he wants to know about it. I hope he doesn’t think I’m schizophrenic or something, Pete thought. He looked away, pondering how or whether he should answer. ‘It brings out what I call the Monster,’ he said finally, ‘but don’t make a big deal about it. It’s just a name I gave my depression when I was a kid.’

  ‘Pete, I know that you’re not paranoid or schizophrenic, so there’s no reason to be tense. Giving a psychological problem a form is an old technique for dealing with it,’ Gabriel said reassuringly. He then asked gently, ‘So what form does the Monster take? Do you actually picture it?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’ve never seen it. It just sort of hangs around like a shadow in my mind,’ Pete replied irritably.

  ‘I understand. And how long have you been feeling the Monster?’ Gabriel probed delicately.

  Pete let out a breath as he brought his temper back under control. ‘Since I was a kid. Probably around four years old.’

  ‘And how did you deal with it as a child? It must’ve been very difficult,’ Gabriel said sympathetically.

  ‘Whenever I felt the Monster lurking, I would go walking alone. One of my favourite things to do was wander among the wheat as it was hit by a breeze,’ Pete reminisced.

  ‘What was it that made you feel better, being alone or the surroundings?’ Gabriel inquired.

  Pete wriggled in his seat. He was starting to get into parts of his life that he had not discussed with anyone, not even Liz. He had never framed these parts of his life into thoughts for himself, let alone put them into words for someone else. ‘I liked both. I liked not having to deal with anyone else’s expectations or wants. And out in the fields, if I stood still quietly and let nature in, it was as if it would fill me up and float the sadness out.’

  Gabriel raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s a very eloquent description. Ever thought you missed your calling as a writer?’

  ‘Last I heard, most writers go hungry,’ Pete observed. There was a short pause in the conversation as if both men were briefly mourning a loss. Pete broke the silence. ‘Don’t go making a big deal of it, will you. I don’t talk like that to anyone and I feel embarrassed enough speaking like it to you.’

  ‘Why should you feel embarrassed? Because it shows that you’re sensitive?’ Gabriel observed.

  Pete felt his anger spike and leaned forward. ‘Please don’t call me that.’

 
‘I’m sorry. That seems an emotive word for you. Do you mind telling me why?’

  Pete paused to take in a breath and then let it out slowly as he recalled the first time his father had used the word ‘sensitive’ against him and how it had coincided with the very first time he heard the Monster. ‘Because it’s been used as a derogatory term since I was very young. When I was four, I painted this picture for my father and he made fun of it, which made me cry. Then he told me, “Stop being so sensitive and toughen up, princess.” I ran off into the wheat and didn’t come home till dark. It was the first time…’ Pete was surprised that he had to hold back tears. ‘The first time ever I really felt alone and helpless and…depressed,’ Pete added, glancing at Gabriel before turning away to wipe his eyes.

  Gabriel gave Pete some time to gather his composure. ‘That sounds pretty rough,’ Gabriel said sympathetically.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t physically or emotionally abused as a kid. My mum and dad were good parents to me and my brother. And good examples of hard workers with good ethics. There’s nothing in my childhood to blame or use as an excuse for my failures as an adult.’

  ‘You’ve never struck me as the sort of person who looks for excuses. But what makes you think you’re a failure?’ Gabriel asked.

  ‘I’m seeing you, aren’t I? It shows I can’t hack it,’ Pete observed.

  ‘Can’t hack what?’ Gabriel queried.

  ‘Being a trader,’ Pete replied.

  ‘That’s not true. If you couldn’t hack it, you would’ve given up without asking for help. Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is ask for help,’ Gabriel said encouragingly.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose you’re right.’

  There was another pause before Gabriel said, ‘So what did you do when you couldn’t wander off into the wheat fields?’

  ‘I would sometimes write stories or songs to get the feelings out of me and onto the paper,’ Pete said, feeling embarrassed.