Having a really bad day again.  Woke up to a freezing house, was immediately reminded that we haven't been able to get winter clothes out of storage because we're two months behind on payments.

We're also so broke I still can't afford to get a winter coat for my son.

Left to drive to work and not far from home the temperature gauge in my car went from damn cold to past the hottest it could register.

I would have broken some stuff but I didn't want to upset my son.

Oh, and when my husband dropped me off at work, I slipped on the marble steps leading to the building landed mid-calf on the edge of one of the steps. Fortunately didn't rip my pants or do much damage but to my pride, but still...

I have no idea how I'm going to get through the holidays.  Again my son is going to suffer when none of this is his fault.  But at least he's too little to really understand.

Hanging on by a thread today.

Just tossing out there for the universe.  Screaming into the storm, of course.

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Early in my career I got fired from not one but two jobs within the space of 18 months after my employer became aware of my illness.  The first was the day I returned to work after being placed on  two weeks medical leave and in outpatient therapy after my brother's death six weeks before and mother's suicide attempt the week before.  It was too small to be covered by the ADA so there wasn't anything I could do.

The next time, I had inquired about FMLA leave from our HR department.  The HR director responded, copying the managing partner.  Shortly after, the managing partner called me into his office and demanded to know why I was asking.  I was in a fragile place still (what with the death, suicide attempt, being fired from one job for depression, getting divorced in the meantime...I know, I'm a weenie) and just balls it and told him the truth.  That afternoon, hand to heaven, I get an email telling me I was on probation for unsatisfactory job performance.  When I asked what improvements they expected to see and what time frame they were looking at, I got the response, again, hand to heaven, "You're a lawyer, figure it out for yourself.  I'm trying to save your job."

I was determined to make them fire me, even though being there was making me even crazier and depressed.  I ended up in a psych unit for a few days rght before Christmas when I couldn't lift my arms to pack to go out of town.  Oh, and I was inconsolably crying and stuff, too.  (Gotta say though, wasn't a fan of the plastic covered mattresses, but the food was *fabulous*).

Not surprisingly, I got fired six weeks after my double-secret probation started.  This time I could, and did, filed an ADA discrimination claim with the EEOC.  I ended up settling it because I was unemployed, had no propects for work, and was, frankly, broke as hell.  I wish to God I could have fought that one publicly.

What followed was a series of jobs taken to survive.  I got fired from another one -- I swear on my son's life -- because I asked to be paid after not getting paid for four weeks.  I got paid, then got fired over the phone Labor Day weekend.

I was out of work AGAIN.  It was about three months before I landed a new job, and this one was actually great.  I was happy in my employment and with my co-workers.  And got laid off about 18 months later when the cases we were working on were all settled by the national counsel.

Two months later I got a job with a three-man shop doing mostly construction law.  Again, I dug it, it was laid back, folks had a clue, they even made me take a vacation when I told them I hadn't been on one....ever.  Then....the partners all decided to go their separate ways and the firm was dissolved.

About that time the state was looking for an assistant attorney general in the civil rights division of the AG's office.  It hadn't come across in this blog, but that was my favorite area of law (go figure), one I'd practiced up through the second firing (again, irony to be fired illegally by firms specializing in employment and civil rights law), and wanted to make my career in.  I was fortunate enough to get hired and served in that job for three years.  It was awesome.  I felt like I was doing the Lord's work (a complete euphamism in my case since I'm an atheist), practicng the real meat and potatoes of the law, and was working with the smartest people I'd ever worked with.

The only reason I left was so selfish of me....I wanted to be a mommy for a while.  I was a month shy of 39 when he was born and never thought I'd have kids.  Frankly, I wasn't really motivated to have kids, given my dysfunctional family background and concern that the crazy genes would be passed on.  But mommy I was, and I discovered I liked the kid a lot more than I thought I would.

All kidding aside, I feel in love with that little boy.  He is, really and truly, the only blood family I have.  And I wanted to be there to watch him as he learned to walk, talk, all that stuff.

Every major event or accomplishment in my life has been destroyed by someone. High school and college graduation, even law school graduation, my first wedding, innumerable brithdays -- and don't get me started on the Semi Annual Discus throw, when my father would have his inevitable psychic break on Thanksgiving and Christmas and throw his plates across the room (my mom finally stopped using the fine china and we ate our holiday dinners on paper plates).

This time, being with my baby, was something I could not put off and do later.  I did not want to miss it, and I don't think I've ever wanted anything as badly as to be with him. I'd returned to work when he was three months old, but didn't really get back into the groove because I knew I was missing out.  I nearly cried when the sweet grandma who ran his daycare told me he'd stood up or done something for the first time that I wasn't there to see.  It was literally crushing my soul to be denied THIS, too.

Things started to fall into place that would make it possible for me to leave my job.  My husband's company was about to close a deal that would bring in enough money that we wouldn't need my income anymore. That was set to happen the second week of November and, with my husband's blessing and encouragement, I resigned on the last business day of October.

On November 2, we learned that the deal was a fraud, and the guy behind it was being arrested by the U.S. government.  See "Fort Lauderdale Attorney Charged in Billion Dollar Ponzi Scheme", http://www.justice.gov/usao/fls/PressReleases/091201-02.html.  That's the guy.

Anyway, we were ruined.  My depression had worsened over the past few month anyway, and now this.  That combined with the financial devastation and other things going on at the same time culminated in me trying to kill myself the Sunday before Thanksgiving. 

I cannot tell you how ashamed I am for that.  My mother suicided when I was 33 and that sucked.  Here I almost did the same thing to my baby.  I forgive myself for my illness, but I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for, even for a moment and in an emotional breakdown, abandoning my son.

Anyway, I went back to what work I could get in December, believe it or not.  So did my husband.  But the periods of unemployment and the serious cut in our income (which honestly was not all that to begin with) forced us into bankruptcy this year.  Even after that was discharged, we still don't have enough to pay our bills each month. 

The market sucks enough, but I can't even get an interview because potential employers look at my resume and think I'm either a job hopper or (not incorrectly) I get fired a lot.  And I haven't been honest about why my resume looks like it does.  When you've already lost two jobs for having depression, you figure it can't help you *get* one.

And as I expressed in an earlier blog, I can't get any help.  I'm at an utter loss as to what to do now.  Yes, I'm going to lose this time with my son, but I'm already doing that, and necessity is a bitch.

I am literally crying out for help, something I've never done until this year, and I might as well be screaming in a storm.

I even wrote to a website called "Lawyers with Depression" and asked for direction, help or at least a referral to some resources and never got a response.  I mean....wow.

I write all of this today, twenty days before Christmas, because yesterday afternoon the project team I'm working with right now was told that we might be laid off for "several weeks" due to problems with the document review platform program.  I had been out of work for six weeks before starting this job, and now, it looks like I'm gonna be out of work again.

I wrote a letter to Santa last Christmas and simply asked that things would get better or at least easier.  They've gotten easier, I suppose, but I guess I should have been clearer.  But seeing as writing to Santa didn't work, I'm gonna try again screaming into the storm of the internet, and just hope that someone offers to lend a hand - it's supposed to be the time for miracles, isn't it?

Tags: Employment Discrimination Depression

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I tried to get into a clinical study locally for a new treatment for depression.  Believe it or not, I was told I was too depressed for the study.  Although they offered to give me information on cut-rate counseling, when I wrote to ask for it, no one ever got back to me.

You've probably already seen my post about writing to the local bar association.

I recently wrote to a website dedicated to lawyers with depression.  And no, I've not heard back.

I rarely ask for help. Now that I have, I've been rejected from every source.  I have no idea where to go next.

My husband pointed out I shouldn't take it personally, since none of these organizations know me from Eve, but when an organization states its purpose as helping those with depression and then doesn't even respond to a desperate plea for help, it's a little hard *not* to take it personally.

And so, I muddle through.

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I'm an attorney, as noted in my profile.  I sent a letter to the magazine published by the state bar association about my experiences as a lawyer with depression.  (I'm copying the letter after this blog, it's kinda long).  I had to ask that it be published anonymously, not only for my own professional protection but because I'm restrained by a settlement agreement from disclosing certain facts. 

This is part of the response I got:

"IThanks for your interest in submitting your story to the Georgia Bar Journal. At this time, we do not print “anonymous” letters. Also, we aren’t comfortable with any references to your previous employer, even though they were never named.
 
If you would like to submit another article about depression and how you’ve dealt with it without going into the issues you’ve had with your previous employer, I think it would be great. I am all for getting more information out to our members. I see that you noted our Lawyers Assistance Program in your letter, and that program does help members who are dealing with mental issues. I see that we need to promote those services more!
 
If you want to talk more about a general article on depression, I’d be happy to.
 
Thanks for sharing your story with us."

The main point of the letter I submitted was that I'd been fired *twice* for depression, and that our profession needs to treat its members with mental illness with greater compassion and understanding, but apparently I'm not allowed to go into that.

Sigh.  Seems like every time I try to get a little understanding, I get slapped back.  It's getting a bit exhausting.

Anyway, here's the original letter I sent in for publication:

******

The email did not come as a complete shock.  I’d actually told my therapist it was a probable outcome.  Nevertheless, I had to try very hard to keep from hyperventilating when I approached the managing partner’s office.

Once I was seated, he wasted no time.  “You’ve been asking questions about your insurance coverage.  I want to know why.”

Part of me could not believe he was asking me this.  The firm did employment law, and what he was asking was blatantly unlawful.  The rest of me saw it coming and had debated how to handle it.  I could lie and just avoid the situation, but that wouldn’t help me get better.  I could tell the truth, and potentially lose my job.  I decided I couldn’t be indicted for honesty and just laid it out for him.

I told him I was suffering from depression, stemming partly from my brother’s death from cancer the year before, my mother’s suicide attempt barely two moths after that, and my divorce six months later.  I told him my therapist thought I might need more intensive therapy and was asking questions to find out what was covered. 

I was sent back to my office, and less than twenty minutes later I received an email advising me that I was on probation for “unsatisfactory job performance.” Before this email, I’d received nothing but positive reviews, and even got a raise less than three months before.  The email was, to say the least, vague about the terms of my probation, so I sent a response, asking what the timeframe was, what specific improvements the firm expected from me, and how I could best meet those expectations.

The response:  “You’re a lawyer, figure it out.  We’re trying to save your job.”

After two months of putting me through hell, the firm finally manufactured an excuse to fire me.

Sadly, this is how much of our profession treats mental illness.

The [bar association's intervention program], while a worthy and necessary program, focuses primarily upon substance abuse.  Substance abusers receive counseling and are often forgiven.  There is no program, though, that addresses other forms of mental illness such as depression, which requires no external ingredient to render its victims equally helpless.  Ironically, depression is a leading cause of substance abuse, yet we focus only on a subset of effects and not the cause.  I write to raise awareness and begin to change that inconsistency.

I’ve never been apologetic or secretive about my mental illness.  I confronted my own issues years before and had been actively working on them and treating them with therapy and medication.  All the while, I’d managed to continue a successful career as a litigator, a career irrevocably damaged simply because I’d admitted I suffered from an illness.  I must publish this letter anonymously because my settlement with my former employer demands I do so.  Ever since, when I’ve interviewed for a job, I’ve had to come up with a good excuse for leaving that firm, one less than honest, because the truth would not only subject me to the potential liability for violating the terms of that agreement, but might cost me the job I was seeking.

Depression, anxiety, panic disorder, social anxiety disorder, OCD….let’s face it, we can all point to someone in our office, even possibly ourselves, suffering from one or more of these illnesses.  Despite the prevalence, our profession would like to pretend these illnesses do not exist because there are no obvious physical effects.  Illnesses that obviously physically debilitate the sufferer engender immediate sympathy, yet mental illness, because of its hidden effects, seems to garner only fear.  The deeper reason, one that has sadly prevailed in society as a whole for centuries, is fear bred from ignorance.  In the case of our profession, though, the fear is deeper:  lawyers live by their wits and intelligence, and are understandably frightened by the prospect of losing control over their most important asset. 

I write this letter for two reasons:  First, to encourage my fellow Bar members to embrace their brothers and sisters who are suffering, or to seek out help if they themselves are in pain.  Depression is insidious, and usually cannot improve without help and support.  Conversely, and more importantly, depression can be managed with support and treatment.

Second, this letter is a plea to all the managing partners who may read this.  You can only improve your firm by improving your employees.  By assuring attorneys with mental health issues not only the help they need but the support they deserve, you engender loyalty.  I can tell you first hand the crushing disappointment one feels when they reach out for help, and instead get punishment. 

I have often joked that all lawyers have a screw loose somewhere: why else would we choose this profession?  There is a bit of truth to that, as well, for at one point or another in our careers, we all have felt or will feel the stress, hopelessness, or defeat that makes it difficult, if not nearly impossible, to continue.  Rather than acknowledge this, we are collectively afraid of it, as if acknowledging our own weaknesses makes us weak. 

The very opposite is true.  The fact is, we all preserve despite these weaknesses.  We are the ones people look to when they have no other choice.  Despite our own insecurities or fears, we go forth and battle for others.  That, in itself, is noble.  And we should honor it as such.

It is time to begin a meaningful discussion about all attorneys in crisis, not just those who turn to substances for relief.  Openness, not silence, will increase support and reduce fear of the unknown.  We are willing to do whatever it takes for our clients; it is my hope that a new compassion will result that will make us willing to do whatever it takes for our colleagues, as well.

Tags: Work

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HOW I KILLED MY PARENTS, PART ONE: MY DAD

Okay, I realize this title is startling (got your attention, didn't it?), but I've seriously believed I was responsible for my father's death since 1992.

See, my father had been a smoker since 1945, two to three packs a day when he was younger, and two packs a day from the time I could remember.  When I was in first grade, I remember waking up and playing "airplane," flying through the clouds of smoke hanging in the living room.

My father went to college on the GI bill after Korea.  He was the first person in our entire family to get a college degree, and he never let anyone forget it.  Even as he would ask me how a word was spelled when I was 10, he would end an argument by saying "Who has the college degree?"

I graduated from the same college as my dad in December 1991.  With higher grades.   And magna cum laude.  And after winning the highest academic distinction they give to one student out of the entire graduating class in a school with an enrollment of close to 25,000.

Suddenly, my father's favorite tag line did not work anymore -- because not only did I also have a college degree, mine was better than his.

My father was diagnosed with emphysema a couple years before I finished school.  Six weeks after I graduated, he was hospitalized with it for the first time.  Now, with emphysema, the course usually is several hospitalizations, oxygen dependence, and only after years of that, death.

My father was dead two weeks later.

Before you feel too sorry for me, trust me when I tell you that this might be sad, but this is not a tragedy.  As an untreated bipolar schizophrenic, he made my family's life a living hell.  To paraphrase Christopher Titus, we never knew who was coming to dinner or what mood they'd be in when they got there.

My father called me my senior year of college to tell me he didn't know why I was still there, I was wasting my time, and I should just stop wasting their money and come home (side note here: my parents didn't pay for college at all -- so the "wasting their money" part was a red flag even if nothing else was).  After I explained to him that I was on the dean's list again, just won sorority woman of the year, and just won the aforementioned award, he responded by saying "And for $50, you can get your name in 'Who's Who of American College Students'."

I said, "Really, Dad? Were you in that?" challenging him for the first time I could remember.  I ended that conversation by telling my father to f*ck off and hanging up....and lived in terror for the rest of the day, fully expecting him to drive up to the school and drag me home.  Instead, he just refused to talk to me for six months.

So, my father dying was sad, but not tragic, you see. 

Nevertheless, I still felt responsible.  After all, I took away his trump card. 

Tags: Schizophrenia Parents Death

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