It has been almost 40 years since I discovered the magic that was Anne of Green Gables. There was such a sweetness to the tale and my imagination could take flight and take me to a time I never knew. It was as real to me as my own childhood was because I could take her place in the pages and become the person I wished I was. It was my escape from a childhood that was an unhappy one and for a few hours I could believe that life really WAS good and that my own story would unfold in layers of sweetness and love. To me, it was all about hope. It was a happy day for me when I discovered there were yet more books and I became obsessed with reading every word Lucy Maud Montgomery ever wrote.
I started waitressing in high school to make extra money and when our library was exhausted of it's limited collection of her works, I tracked down a drugstore in Red Deer, just an hour away. To my delight, they would order and send to me any of the books on my list. I DEVOURED her books and I remember being puzzled by the 'Emily of New Moon' series. They had a darker side to them which I could relate much better to but, it was 'The Blue Castle' that grabbed me in it's grip. The sheer unhappiness and pain squeezed my heart with every page turned. 'The Blue Castle" was her escape and it became mine as well. As I would stand at the kitchen window with soap suds up to my elbows washing the nightly dishes, I could see across the fields to a forest in the distance. Four trees raised themselves to tower above the rest and to me they were the castle towers of my own blue castle. It was there that I could dream and escape from the reality that was my life.
September 22, 2008- that was the date that Lucy's grandaughter revealed that Lucy Maud Montgomery had deliberately overdosed on drugs to escape the depression that had consumed her her whole life. It had been kept a family secret for so many years but they felt that the time had come to share that story with the world in an effort to combat the stigma that is depression. The timing has significant meaning to me.
Last year I was diagnosed as being hyperthyroid. I had become this person I did not recognize any longer as being 'me'. "I" was not a dripping puddle dissolved on the floor. "I" was not staring for hours at the wall in my room, too afraid to come out and take part in life. "I" was not this person who would change direction and start screaming in rage. The fear, the rage, the helplessness, and the willingness to lie down and die was strong inside of me and I was powerless to control it any longer. I was directed by a nurse friend of mine to take myself off to the doctor which I did with ill grace. "What can a doctor do?" I asked myself. Surely there was nothing they could do and I had scant faith in therapy which I convinced myself they were going to insist on. Imagine my surprise. My condition is controlled by replacement therapy which is NOT mood altering, instead, it allows the real me to shine through and I am happily becoming reaquainted with myself all over again. While I have to be monitored and take these pills for the rest of my life at least I HAVE a life to live. I realize now that I had been suffering needlessly for years but when you are in the grips of depression-you do not see it. The effects are so gradual that it is hard to believe there is a medical reason for it. You think it is simply a case of "snapping out of it" and your inability to do so means you are weak and worthless.
My heart goes out to Lucy Maud Montgomery and I wish that she had been able to get the help that I myself received. Her journal entries showed her to be living in the darkness and are tinged with the sadness that was her life. She cut the story short. . . . . . .
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