Sister Mary Class About Depression

Class on Depression,
Taught by Sister Mary Elephant

CLAAAAAASSSSS!! SHUDD-UP!!!
Thank you.

“Now class, today we will discuss depression.
We will create a comic dialog with your responses.
Johnny, take that gun out of your mouth. Your teeth may scratch that nice barrel.
If you don’t respond to these questions I may have to call on you – or not.
Susie, stop picking at your bandages!
The questions are simple. Your answers can be simple.
You can answer one or all of them and your responses can be brief.”

“Okay, lets’ begin. What is depression? Johnny.”

“Uh, ain’t that when your girlfriend is a psychic and she breaks up with you before you even meet?”

“Very interesting Johnny; Susie, what do you think depression is?

“Sister Mary, I think depression is when I expect a million different things from one boyfriend and he expects only one thing from a million different girls.”

“Susan! (crossing herself) Holy Mother of God! Who taught you that? Susan, come out into the hall. The rest of you, discuss depression among yourselves.”

What is Depression?
Is depression an aching anxiety about the future?
Does it stem from expectations that seem out of reach?
Is there a link between expectations and depression?
Are many expectations nebulous and/or subliminal?
Can expectations be more clearly defined?
What specifically are some expectations?
What expectations involve material things?
What expectations involve people?
Where did we get certain expectations?
Is the value of our existence defined by how well we meet certain expectations?
If we think we are a failure in one area, does that make us think we are a failure in all areas?
Do we have a rational definition of failure?
How would you know if depression was the result of a chemical imbalance?


Charles, agitated by the prospect of homework, raises his hand in question. He fears this new project will interfere with this weekend’s self-loathing festivities.

Sister Mary calls on him, “Charles?”

“Sister Mary, you speak of depression as behavioral and/or environmental. This implies behavior modification and environmental changes as possible solutions. Can chemical imbalances also contribute to depression? Can drugs also be helpful when malfunctioning neurochemistry shares the blame?

"Charles, you are slumping listlessly in your desk again. Did you take your drugs this morning poor child?"

"Yes Sister Mary. I slammed a fortified dose this morning with a 10 gauge needle. But it hasn’t been working as good lately. I think I’m developing a tolerance to it. And the pot and haven’t been curbing the side-effects of the medicine as well lately either. I might need something stronger, like whiskey and crack. And besides," Charles’ face swells, his head rotates 360 degrees and he belches green vomit, “The only thing slumping listlessly on me, you ignorant slut is between my legs. But they got a pill for that now too!”


“Now Charles,” Sister Mary said, “remember our discussion about not using contractions while speaking. Trixie, do you have a comment?”

“Yes Sister Mary. I partly agree with Chucky. He is such a doll.”

“Yeah be-atche," sneered Chucky. “I mean, yes Sister Mary, you be-atche. And stop calling me Charles! The name is Chucky be-atche. Get it?”

“That is better Charles. Now, Trixie, you were saying?”
“Well Sister Mary,” said Trixie, “It is true that drugs do take the edge off depression. But lap-dancing in my pleated skirt can have the same effect. My brother’s friends and other boys have been paying a lot of attention to me lately, and that always makes me feel better for a while.”

“It makes me feel better too,” snickered Chucky. The girls nodded and the boys winked.
“That is a brilliant innovation Trixie,” said Sister Mary. “Why do you think it works?”

“Well Sister Mary, the boys did not start noticing my naturally curly hair until I started doing lap dances for them.”

“So, you expect the boys to notice you and found a way to get their attention?”

“Yes Sister Mary.”

"Class, what are some other ways for Trixie to get attention?"

“Sister Mary,” said Anna impatiently. “All this talk about depression is making me depressed. Anyone can see these folks are a bunch of lazy losers who just want to blame their problems on someone else.”

“Very interesting Anna,” said Sister Mary. “Why do you say lazy?”

“Because, Sister Mary, almost everybody I know who says they’re depressed are pouting like spoiled brats over not getting their way in one or more situations. And instead of moving on and creating new opportunities for themselves, they waste all their energy feeling sorry for themselves and getting other folks to feel sorry for them too. Paying attention to such nonsense is part of the problem.”

“Immobilized by setback,” mused Sister Mary. “Can you give us some examples?”

“Uhhh, yaa-eah,” said Anna. “Just look around. Little Johnny didn’t start moping around like a lost puppy until Trixie started lap-dancing for the Rotary Club. And Trixe didn’t start her little escapades until after she got kicked off the cheerleading team for loitering in the locker rooms. But then, no one is accusing Trixie of being depressed. She gets all excited by just watching herself in a mirror. And Charles uses his pain like Trixie uses lap dances. Except now he has become addicted to the morbid ways he gets attention. And now that everyone that knows him has caught on to his little game, he has to find new and morbid ways to get the attention he craves.”

“Yeah right, Anna,” blurted Rauel. “Are you saying these folks are addicted to their depression? That they use their pain as a way to get what they want?”





The panzer tracks of Leviathan roll slow and incrementally, clouding enlightenment while crushing liberty like an oiled, Orwellian machine.
-------- Son of Samwise, 1998.

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“Okay class,” (loud racket.)
“CLaaasss,” (Sister Mary insists politely.)
Racket continues.
“CLAAASSSSS, SHUDD-UP!!”
“Thank you.”

“Now class, today we have a guest speaker, Ms. Brenda Bubble. Ms. Bubble is going to tell us about her experience with depression. Ms. Bubble.”

“Thank you Sister Mary. Good morning class.”
A chorus of voices respond, “Good morning Ms. Bubble.”

“My story is pretty simple. My dad was killed when I was seven. Two months later the retarded girl next door dropped my baby brother on his head when I was supposed to be watching him – he died. I started thinking my dad’s and brothers deaths were my fault so the doctor gave me valium. I went through childhood in a haze.

When I was 24, my loser husband ran screaming from the marriage, dumping me and my five year old son.
(And he called me hysterical.)
I had serious back pain, and was angry and crying all the time.

Four years later I married a nice man.
I started feeling better, but he didn’t understand sex.
When I told him “in frequently,” he thought it was just one word.
I had to start calling his waterbed the ‘Dead Sea.’

Divorce is expensive, but it’s worth it.
I was studying law and my job was improving until my boss tried to stick his tongue down my throat, so I quit.
I guess he thought he could skip the foreplay.”




The panzer tracks of Leviathan roll slow and incrementally, clouding enlightenment while crushing liberty like an oiled, Orwellian machine.
-------- Son of Samwise, 1998.

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