Andrea Wilson Woods' Blog

Ever since I heard the expression “Depression is anger turned inward” I have wondered what actually causes depression because that statement seems not only simplistic to me, but it also does not apply to my situation. Finally, I asked my very experienced psychiatrist what he thought, and he listed three major causes of depression: Loss, Genes, and Anger.*

Loss
Look around you and think about how much you could lose and how you would feel if you did. You could lose your loved ones (e.g., death, divorce), your money, your house, your job, your self-esteem, your dreams, etc. You could lose your material items. My grandparents’ house burned to the ground when I was a child, and they lost almost everything—except their photo scrapbooks. When I touched the albums’ charred edges, I understood why my grandfather grabbed them at the last minute despite the smoke that must have been choking his lungs. In that moment, I fell in love with photography because even if you lose a loved one, the camera captures their images and preserves your memories. If our home suddenly went up in flames, I would save the three P’s—people, pets, and pictures—in that order.

Genes
Unfortunately, we have no control over our genes, and our genetic makeup can determine our predisposition to mental illnesses such as depression; schizophrenia; and bipolar, personality and anxiety disorders (to name a few). Sometimes, I feel like I could throw a dart at the DSM-IV, hit a diagnosis, and name someone in my mother’s family. However, many people never develop any mental issues despite their DNA. In some cases though, people who appear to have perfect lives (e.g., no losses) may still develop a mental disorder due to a chemical imbalance in their brains. I am not saying people are not responsible for their behavior, but understanding the cause is crucial to treating the problem especially since our society often self-medicates in order to feel better. (Hope you’re listening, Miss Lohan!)

Anger

Ahh … anger … the cause of depression that I don’t fully comprehend. Sure, I feel angry sometimes, but I don’t walk around hating myself. I may not be perfect, but neither is anyone else. I don’t always make the best decisions. I am often too blunt (you wouldn’t believe how much I really restrain myself), but overall, I possess a good heart. If I care about you, I love you with such depth that if I tried to explain it, I fear my emotion would scare you. However, that pendulum of intense passion swings both directions. Don’t piss me off because I don’t get mad at myself. I focus my anger on the person who upsets me so I didn’t get the whole “Depression is anger turned inward” concept until I witnessed it a few weeks ago.

In a support group that I occasionally attend, a man whom I’ll call Richard has to be the most self-loathing individual I have ever met in my entire life. On an intellectual level, Richard understands his depression, that anger causes it, and the source of his anger. However, he still believes the cure to his self-hatred is the right woman’s love. Now I’m sure his numerous therapists and psychiatrists have explained to him that no one will love him until he loves himself. Richard has attended support groups and self-help meetings for years. By all appearances, he participates in his “recovery.” Although he did give one female shrink an ultimatum that if she didn’t love him, he would leave her. Guess what happened?

I have only met Richard twice; yet, I know more about his personal life than I should because Richard dominates the group. He twists every topic back to his desperate search for love. When I offered that people often meet someone when they are not looking, but there is nothing wrong with trying, he made a snarky comment about me being married. After gritting my teeth and chewing my lip at the last meeting, I realized I had to find another group. If I ever see Richard again and hear him whine about how a woman will fix him, I know the devil in me will say, “Go jump off a bridge already, will ya? I hear no one survives the Golden Gate. I’ll even drive you there.” Terrible, I know, but at least I direct my anger toward the person who deserves it.

I cannot empathize with Richard, but I should sympathize with him. However, my inability to do so reminds me of the many people who don’t understand the cause of my depression. I cannot count how many times I’ve heard “Get over it” or I’ve seen those unspoken words reflected in someone’s eyes when I cry over my sister Adrienne. Nine years? Seems like yesterday to me, asshole.

I won’t return to that particular support group. I mean, who needs chipped teeth and chapped lips? But seriously, I don’t want to be one of those people who says something horrible to Richard. I wonder though, if I angered him, if he could stop being mad at himself—if only for a moment.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. The photo of the house on fire is not my grandparents’ home, but it closely resembles it.

*These causes of depression are my psychiatrist’s experience, and he listed them in this order of common occurrence: Loss, Anger, and Genes. After some research, I discovered that physical factors (e.g., hormonal changes) can also cause depression. For more information, visit Web MD Depression and the Mayo Clinic.

Posted under Adrienne & Health | 1 Comment »

After my last post, I decided to make a life map (yes, I made up that term) to better understand my behavior. In my head, I have always viewed my life through various segments, but creating a visual manifestation on a poster caused me to realize something else: I divide up the people in my life—excluding relatives—into three categories: the Befores, the Afters, and the Before/Afters.

The Befores are people who entered my life before I gained custody of my sister Adrienne in December 1994. I met the majority of the Befores during college. These are the people whom I didn’t keep in touch with after graduation—the friendships that faded away, the love affairs that ended. Although I am Facebook friends with some Befores (Facebook is excellent for finding former classmates), I can only think of one Before whom I actually talk to on a somewhat regular basis. The Befores are such a distant part of my past that I cannot imagine they would understand the person I am today.

The Afters entered my life after Adrienne died in October 2001. They primarily include former coworkers, other writers, and classmates from graduate school. One of my best friends happens to be an unusual After exception. We met 23 years ago in high school, but we didn’t become friends until 2003. He never saw me as a parent and he never met Adrienne; therefore, he is an After.

Of course, my most significant After is my husband. Just as I would give my life to have Adrienne back, I would give anything for my husband to have had the chance to meet her. I selfishly wish he could have seen me as a parent because Adrienne brought out the very best in me. I didn’t have time to be sad or moody around her. I worked hard, I focused on my goals, and I was, as Adrienne liked to call me, “The Bee.” Always buzzing around, always moving, never stopping. Do you ever sit still, Sissy? Can’t you just watch a TV show without doing two other things at the same time? I was “the Bee” who didn’t know how to be, but I was happy. My husband brings me great joy, but I doubt he would describe me as a truly happy person.

As you have figured out by now, the Before/Afters (BAs) are an incredibly special group of people. Even if I lost touch with them or they lived far away, they knew Adrienne, and they saw me parent her. The BAs include boyfriends and lovers; performers whom I acted with or directed; former classmates who became friends; and people who became my friends through another connection (e.g., a friend’s spouse). Well, the love affairs ended (don’t they all?). The last show I directed opened two weeks before Adrienne became ill. The last time I attempted to act in a theatrical production was in 2003, and I quit the entertainment business the following year.

As for the tight circle of friends who surrounded me from 1994 – 2001, most of them didn’t survive the transition after Adrienne. I used to blame the BAs for abandoning me, but the truth is I am no longer the person I was before. In some ways, I am better: Adrienne, cancer, depression, and my husband are teaching me to slow down—to play as hard as I work, to do one thing at a time, to spend time on myself, to appreciate every day I am alive. (I say “are teaching” because I am still learning.) In other ways, I am worse. I don’t trust people. The friend who dumped me was an After, and I thought for sure he had become a friend for life. My motto is Give me an animal over a person any day of the week.

I am Facebook “friends” with many BAs, but they are not active participants in my life. They are not my friends. They don’t know me anymore, but they knew me then, and that fact alone matters. Recently, I met up with a BA whom I hadn’t seen in nine years. Brian was an actor; I directed him in two shows. He is certainly not the only actor I ever directed or the only actor I ever worked with on multiple occasions. However, he is one of the few people I personally called when Adrienne became ill. I had to let someone know that I would not be returning to the show; most directors move on after a play has opened, but I usually checked in on my actors. We also had a last-minute cast replacement so I was expected to be at the theatre that weekend.*

I still remember standing at the pay phone in the waiting room of the fourth floor (i.e., the oncology ward) of Childrens Hospital Los Angeles. The Anne Geddes pictures hanging on the walls disgusted me because bright flowers and smiling happy babies do not cheer you up when your child/sister has cancer. I dialed Brian’s number; I don’t remember why I called him instead of my stage manager—the more logical choice. Perhaps because I knew Brian better, I thought it would be easier to say the words. My hands trembled as I touched the numbers on the keypad. I remember crying, but I don’t remember exactly what I said or how he responded.

About a year ago, Brian and I reconnected on Facebook, and we discussed getting together eventually, which means nothing in LA since most people don’t mean what they say. However, Brian recently accompanied me to a birthday party that I didn’t want to attend by myself. He met someone there, and I hope it works out. That evening gave us an opportunity to catch up, but I don’t expect anything else. The problem with BAs like Brian is that if they didn’t make the transition nine years ago, they are highly unlikely to make it now. Moreover, despite being a BA, we were never close friends. But that phone call is like a cattle prod that has been burned into my memory; therefore, I will never forget Brian.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. I dedicate this blog to the people in my speed dial: three BAs, four Afters, and my father.

*The entire cast of Once Upon a Wolf knew my sister Adrienne, and she spent her spring break helping me build props for the show.

Posted under Adrienne & People/Relationships | No Comments »

I want to apologize upfront for this extemporaneous, stream-of-consciousness blog entry—especially since it has been more than a month since I have posted and this material is not at all related to my Learning to Love LA (again) series, which I promise I will finish.

I was sitting here on my couch watching the news, and I remembered a funny story from my first year of college. My roommate whom I’ll call Julia asked me, “What’s your major?”
I responded, “Journalism.” At the time, USC had one of the best journalism schools in the country and I had written a brilliant bullshit essay to get into the school. Getting my degree in broadcast journalism at an expensive university was easier to explain to my father than my true ambition—to be an actress.
Then Julia asked, “If your major is journalism, how come you never watch the news?”
I spoke before thinking (a bad habit in my youth), “I hate the news; it’s depressing.” When I saw the look on Julia’s face, I realized I had no business taking that spot in the journalism school. I dropped out the next day and changed my major to theatre. My father was not pleased when he found out, but that’s another story.

The funny thing is … now I watch the news all the time. I am a News Junkie; it is my drug. I watch CNN, Fox, even MSNBC. I read The Week, an awesome magazine that provides all points of view on a variety of subjects. I can tell you when I started paying attention to the world—when my sister Adrienne died. You see, I was so busy pursuing my dream, trying to earn a decent living, and later being a parent, that I didn’t make time to watch all of the ugliness around me. (At least that’s my excuse.) Maybe my conversation topics at dinner parties were limited, but I have always gotten by on my smile and my charm. I knew I was the ditzy, funny redhead of the “group”; in fact, my friends often compared me to Lucille Ball. “If only you could get your own sitcom,” they would say.

I liked playing that role. I miss That Girl. Goofy, ignorant me didn’t know anything about the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and it didn’t bother me even though my former-roommate-turned-best-friend Julia was Jewish. Hell, it didn’t bother her either because Julia loved being the super-intellectual. Her favorite phrase was, “Does that make sense?” because we dimwits could not possibly comprehend her level of genius. The difference between Julia and me is that I knew I was smart but I never felt a need to prove it. I was comfortable being Lucy because in her shoes, the world was beautiful.

Ever since Adrienne died, I have been trying to figure out who I am. Being her parent gave me an identity that completed me, more than anything I have ever experienced in my entire life. Having that taken away from me—having her taken away from me—I struggle every day to find not only my identity, but also some beauty in this ugly world.
I found a butterfly lying on the ground in our backyard yesterday; it was dead. Perfectly intact, yet devoid of life. I lay the creature with its delicate yellow wings in our pomegranate tree because I didn’t want our dog Winston to step on it.

I don’t know if the butterfly is still there because I cannot bear to look. I need that brief moment of beauty to get me through the next week.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. I think I should stop watching the news or buy a pair of rose-tinted glasses. Either way, I’m open to suggestions.

Posted under Adrienne & News | 2 Comments »

Do you remember The Game of Life? Originally created by Milton Bradley in 1860, Life received a makeover 100 years later, and I’m almost positive that we owned the 1963 edition. I played the game often as a child, but I didn’t enjoy very much. I didn’t like that girls had to be “pink pegs” in the pawns (i.e., plastic cars) and that part of the objective included obtaining wealth, getting married, and giving birth to children. I didn’t want those extra pegs in my car. Even at eight years old, the whole concept seemed so ordinary to me. I understood that the game was supposed to reflect “real life” but it didn’t represent the one that I wanted. Therefore, winning Life didn’t matter as much to me as beating my brother at Monopoly.

Except for The Game of Life, I have always been competitive. I never bought into that saying, “It’s not whether you win or lose; it’s how you play the game.” Bullshit. The objective is to win. Many people don’t play games with me anymore because I am too obnoxious. My husband and I can’t play each other in Trivial Pursuit because we get too mean, but we make a ferocious team. I love games because like math the answers are definite.
1 + 1 = 2 or Earn six pie wedges by answering tough questions and then answer one final question (selected by your opponent) in the center hub. Of course people interpret them differently, but for the most part, the rules of games are clear.

Real life, however, doesn’t work that way. It is far more subjective, enigmatic. I remember my dance teacher used to wear this t-shirt that read, “He who dies with the most toys wins”; he collected Porsches. Unlike the board game, I used to think “winning the game of life” meant having an incredible career. Later, I realized that being Adrienne’s parent made me happier than any acting role ever did. For example, I scheduled the final dress rehearsal of a play that I directed, produced, and wrote around Adrienne’s 13th birthday party, which I refused to miss. No matter what, she always came first.

Even though I did everything that I could, a part of me feels that I failed Adrienne. I didn’t help her win the game of life. I didn’t see to it that she made it to the finish line. It is as if she lost her turn and never came back to the game. Like she quit, but that is not what happened. She never gave up even when she knew her time was running out. Like a tired boxer in the ring, she kept fighting and every time a doctor counted her out, she got back on her feet and threw another punch. She refused to suffer a knockout. She finished the fight on her terms—she died at home in peace.

All of these years, I thought Adrienne had “lost” the game because she didn’t survive cancer and because I had lost her. I had it all wrong. Even though Adrienne was not as competitive as I am, I instilled in her the same aim: Play to Win. If life were a boxing match and the judges had to decide between Adrienne and her opponent—cancer, there is no question. Adrienne won. She led a successful life. She made some of her dreams come true. She inspired her friends; she continues to inspire me. While cancer may have beaten her down physically, she never allowed it to take away her heart, her spirit, or her soul.

When asked what they want for their children, parents usually reply, “as long as they are happy and healthy” but all parents have dreams for their children. When I was a kid, my father told me that I should be a doctor because I love to read. I guess he figured that I could survive medical school. I didn’t have a career selected for Adrienne, but I wanted her to leave home for college, preferably a four-year university such as Stanford, Berkeley or an Ivy League school on the East Coast. (She preferred my alma mater USC.) I wanted her to realize that there was nothing wrong with making money from her art. I wanted her to learn to drive a stick shift. And of course, I wanted her to be healthy and happy.

But Adrienne never graduated from high school, sold her art, or drove any car. She suffered from depression long before cancer invaded her body. She didn’t have a chance to do the things that I wanted her to do, but my dreams for her should have no bearing on whether or not Adrienne lived an extraordinary life. Even though I don’t like the outcome, Adrienne won the game.

It does not matter how you play the game of life  … it is how you define winning. Therefore, Adrienne is a champ.

AWW — XoXo

P.S. Happy Birthday baby—you are the champion of my world. I miss you so much. Keep playing Queen for me, okay?

Posted under Adrienne | 3 Comments »

Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality

Whenever I hear those words echo out of my car radio, I think two things: Is this my real life—the one without Adrienne? And is she talking to me right now? Queen was one of Adrienne’s favorite bands and even though “Bohemian Rhapsody” was not her favorite Queen song, whenever I hear it—especially the opening—I think of her, and lately, Queen seems to be following me everywhere.

Last month, just about the time I decided to buckle down and finish the second draft of my memoir, my husband commented, “Have you noticed we keep hearing a lot of Queen lately?” Indeed, I had. Whether we were in my car listening to Los Angeles radio stations or in his car listening to XM Satellite radio, Queen seemed to sing to us as soon as we pushed the power button. From Jack FM to KLOS, Freddie, Brian, Roger, and John reminded me that I had made a commitment to myself. To my husband. To Adrienne. Are you ready? Hey, are you ready for this? I don’t know, but then the song continued … Are you happy? Are you satisfied? How long can you stand the heat? It is just a coincidence, I told myself as I turned off the radio.

No matter what your religious beliefs are, I think we all hope that there is some kind of afterlife. I mean, who wants to believe this is it? This one life. I couldn’t get up in the morning if I thought Adrienne was gone forever. While I don’t believe that heaven is above us and hell is beneath us, I do think there are other planes of existence. The year after she died, I felt Adrienne’s presence near me several times, but I haven’t “seen” or “felt” her in seven years. I have this theory that maybe where she is at, time moves slower. Maybe in her world, one day there is one year here, and in her mind, she has only been gone a week so there is no need to keep in touch.

However, my theory starts to fall apart when I hear Queen nonstop for three weeks, and I wonder if Adrienne is reaching out to me. Telling me to just do it. You’re ready, Sissy, yes you’re ready for it. You’re standing on your own two feet. Write our story. You have a dream—a vision. Finish your book. Your voice, your hope, it’s your decision. Fight your pain, she says. Be a Killer Queen. That’s what you taught me. I guarantee you’ll blow their minds.

It is me, Sissy. Listen …
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see
You’ll be successful
You need no sympathy
Because you’re tough as nails, tough as stone
Little high, little low
Anyway the wind blows
We’ll always be together you and me.

I want to believe in blue faeries. I want to believe that people actually win the Publisher’s Clearing House sweepstakes. I want to believe that one day I will live in my dream house in Gold Beach. I want to believe that the sudden barrage of Queen music is not a coincidence. But most of all, I want to believe Adrienne is out there and that some day we will be together again.

AWW — XoXo

Note: All of the italicized words are Queen lyrics or slightly altered Queen lyrics. This one is for you, Adrienne.

One by one
Only the Good die young
They’re only flying too close to the sun
And life goes on—
Without you …

Addendum
Hours after I wrote this post, I got into my car to go and tutor my students. I flipped the ignition switch, turned on the radio, and after less than a second, I heard the beginning notes of one of my favorite Queen songs “Somebody to Love.” The strange thing is that I was running late, yet the timing of the song was perfect. Stunned, I sat and listened. I have spent all my years in believing you … You’re okay, you’re alright. Ain’t gonna face no defeat. Okay, Adrienne, I hear you. I believe …

Posted under Adrienne & Writing | No Comments »