Learning to Fly: A story about overcoming depression

by David E Forrester

  ‘No, really, just please take me home. I really need to see my wife,’ Pete insisted.

  ‘OK, suit yourself sir,’ the cab driver replied with a wobble of his head.

  Pete managed a strained smile as he saw the humour in the situation. He stared out the cab window at nothing in particular, as the rain began to fall.

  47

  Rage

  Liz heard Pete’s keys as they hit the counter near the front door. She came into the living room to see Pete bent over taking off his shoes.

  ‘You’re home early. I thought you and Roger would be jabbering away for hours,’ Liz said casually.

  Pete stood up and Liz was startled by his reddened eyes and the sullen look on his face. ‘Pete, are you OK?’ she asked, concerned.

  Pete offered some expletives about the bank, Nick and Neil.

  ‘Pete, what’s wrong? Why are you so angry?’ Liz asked.

  ‘Roger told me that the bank’s been interviewing people for my job. At least what I thought was my job. I’m not going to be promoted,’ Pete said with venom in his voice.

  ‘What?!’ Liz said in disbelief, ‘but you saved their butts in the de-peg, you beat your budget last year and you’re well ahead of it this year. You’ve earned it.’

  Liz’s statement stirred Pete’s anger. ‘Don’t you think I know that!’

  ‘Then what possible reason could they have for not promoting you?’

  Liz’s question drew a look of angry incredulity from Pete.

  ‘Seriously, it’s been a year and they’re still holding that incident with Derek against you? Can’t they see you’re an entirely different person now?’ she added.

  ‘I’ve had some run-ins with Neil these past few months. And one them was in front of Whitey,’ Pete continued angrily.

  ‘That’s hardly a reason, I mean…’ Liz saw that her words were not helping and changed tack. ‘I’m really sorry Pete. I know how hard you’ve worked over this past year,’ she said sympathetically.

  Pete began to tear up. ‘That’s just it, Liz, I’ve got no more left in me. And it wouldn’t matter if I did anyway. Because no matter what I do, it’s not good enough. This past year’s just been a waste of time and I’m still an arsehole, just not their kind of arsehole,’ Pete added and began to cry as his gaze drifted towards the floor.

  Liz rushed over to hug and comfort him. A few seconds later, Bobby came out into the living room rubbing sleep out of his eyes. ‘Mummy, Daddy, what’s wrong? Are you fighting like before?’ he asked, scared.

  Liz turned to look at Bobby and quickly moved to pick him up. Pete took a few quick breaths and wiped his eyes. ‘No sweetie, Daddy’s just a little sad and upset,’ Liz said, trying to reassure Bobby.

  ‘About what?’ Bobby asked.

  ‘About work,’ Liz answered.

  ‘What about work? Are you losing money, Daddy?’ Bobby queried.

  Pete saw the look of fear in Bobby’s eyes and a feeling of failure came over him. Then all of the anger that he had been holding down bubbled to the surface and he broke into raging tears.

  ‘Daddy are you OK?’ Bobby asked, beginning to cry too.

  Pete covered his face in shame. The image of his father looking dejectedly at the floor in the shed back home came into his mind and Pete felt as though his fear of turning into his father was becoming a reality. He rushed from the room, saying, ‘Get him away, I don’t want him to see me like this.’

  Pete closed the bedroom door after him, but he could still hear Bobby crying and asking Liz, ‘Is Daddy going to be all right?’

  Pete fell onto the bed and began to sob, curling into a foetal position. Eventually the crying faded to a whimper, and the whimper to silence, and then the silence gave way to nothingness. Not even the Monster could reach him now.

  48

  Unconscious

  Pete began to hear a voice. He could not open his eyes, move or talk, only listen. He strained to hear what was being said and who was saying it. It was a woman’s voice and she sounded like she was talking on a phone. It was Liz.

  ‘He just collapsed, and he’s curled up in foetal position on the bed,’ he heard her say in a worried voice.

  Pete heard the voice on the other end of the line, but could not make out what it was saying.

  ‘Yes, he’s breathing fine, but not responding to me at all. I’m not sure if he’s asleep or passed out,’ Liz continued.

  The other voice spoke again.

  ‘No, I don’t think that’s necessary, and he wouldn’t want that either,’ Liz answered.

  Pete thought he heard the other voice giving instructions.

  ‘Yes, I’ll keep a close eye on him. I’ll let you know in the morning. Thank you Doctor Ong,’ Liz said and ended the call.

  Pete wanted to get up and talk to Liz, but he could not manage even a grunt. C’mon man. Get up! he tried willing himself.

  And then it was as if some gentle and caring being had suddenly noticed he was awake. He felt as though a warm and comforting blanket was being pulled over his mind while a voice whispered, ‘Surrender,’ and he fell back into unconsciousness.

  49

  Consciousness

  Pete felt sunlight on his face and gradually opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and realised that he was in his pyjamas and lying flat on his back. He tried to sit up, but his head was throbbing. He groaned, and Liz hurried into the bedroom.

  ‘Pete, how are you feeling?’ she asked anxiously.

  ‘Like I’ve got a massive hangover,’ Pete said, wincing as he struggled to sit up.

  ‘Hold on a sec. I’ll get you some water.’

  Pete swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward to put his head in his hands.

  Liz came back into the room with two glasses of water. ‘Here you go,’ she said, offering Pete one of the glasses.

  ‘Thanks.’ He took the glass and drained it, feeling the cool water slide down his throat.

  Liz held out the other glass and Pete looked at her, confused. ‘You were asleep for over twelve hours, so, you’re probably dehydrated,’ she explained.

  Pete nodded and to his surprise easily drained the second glass. He began to feel a little better. ‘What time is it?’ he asked.

  ‘About eight o’clock,’ Liz said.

  ‘I guess I’d better call work and tell the…’ Pete swallowed ‘…them that I’m not coming in.’

  ‘I’ve already done that,’ Liz said.

  ‘What did you tell them?’ Pete asked curiously.

  ‘That you have food poisoning. That way, no one wants the ugly details, or if they’ve got half a brain, they know its code for “don’t ask”,’ Liz said. She sat next to Pete on the bed. ‘Doctor Ong was worried about you. He even suggested I admit you to hospital.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t. The last thing I needed was to wake up in some mental ward not knowing where I was,’ Pete replied.

  ‘Well I think you should still go and see Doctor Ong. And, maybe talk to someone at church,’ Liz added.

  Pete felt some residual anger rise up. ‘I’m not in the mood for God or therapy. Fat load of good either of them have done me,’ he said testily, staring at the floor.

  ‘So, what are you going to do, just sit around the house all day and mope?’

  ‘I just need some time alone. Not lectures on God or from shrinks or you for that matter,’ Pete added.

  Liz sighed. ‘Wati’s cooking you an omelette. I suggest you eat it and head out for a run. Maybe you’ll be in a better mood to talk after that,’ she said and stood up. She looked at him carefully and said, ‘Are you OK to be by yourself?’

  ‘Would I tell you if I wasn’t?’

  ‘I’m being serious.’

  Pete glanced at her and said, ‘I’ll be fine, I guess.’

  ‘Good.’ She leaned over to kiss Pete on the top of his head and said, ‘I love you no matter what.’

  Pete was plodding along at a steady pace as he headed down Orchard Road.
As he reached the Presidential Palace, Pete turned right to head past Fort Canning Park before reaching Clarke Quay and the muddy Singapore River. He then turned left to run along the river and through the bar and restaurant district, which was empty except for some cleaners.

  At the end of Clarke Quay Pete came across a queue of people and stopped. He peered ahead and saw that the queue extended along the river towards Parliament House. Pete noticed that the people queuing had bottles of water, umbrellas, ponchos, and some even had food. He politely asked to slip through the queue and the people obliged.

  Pete continued to run along the river beside the queue. As he came upon Parliament House, he saw that it was channelled into a zig zag by temporary metal barriers. He craned to look over the orderly crowd to the front of the queue, where there was a large framed photograph of a kind, grandfatherly face resting on an easel and surrounded by floral wreaths and candles. People were paying their final respects to the recently deceased founding father of Singapore, Mister Lee Kuan Yew.

  Pete turned away from the photo and looked up ahead and along the river. He saw another part of the queue and realised he had run alongside only a small segment. Pete turned around to track it and saw that the queue ran across the Singapore River and over Cavenagh Bridge, along the river and past the financial high rises of Raffles Place, back across the Singapore River and over the Elgin Bridge and finally back to where he was standing. It was kilometres long and made up of thousands of people.

  Pete stood in awe of the outpouring of love and respect towards a man who many of the people in line had probably never even seen in the flesh, let alone met. He was also struck by the diversity of the people in the queue - young and old, Chinese, Indians, Malays, Eurasians and Caucasians. It was a kaleidoscopic nation unified in its mourning, and a tribute to Mister Lee’s legacy.

  Pete paused for further thought and to pay his own quiet respects. He then started to run again and passed through the next section of the queue to reach the spiny Esplanade Theatre. The pedestrian traffic fell away as he ran along Marina Bay and crossed the Helix Bridge to turn left and run past the giant warped bubbles that were the terrariums at Gardens by the Bay.

  Without his headphones pushing a pulse, Pete was able to fall into the natural rhythm of his stride. He allowed the rhythm to permeate his mind and began experiencing the space between thoughts that he had only read about. It was allowing him to look inside himself.

  Pete pushed his consciousness deeper and began appreciating the quiet. But then he heard the Monster prompting him to remember what was happening, You’re not getting promoted, there will never be another chance, you’ve lost, it hissed.

  Pete stopped running and closed his eyes to try and calm himself with some breathing. After a moment, he opened his eyes to see a squall bearing down on him. He ran for shelter towards a spiral staircase that led up to a viewing platform. But before he could get there, the squall hit him like a gust of sea spray. The rain started pelting down painfully on his bare skin.

  He reached the staircase, which provided shelter from the rain, but not the wind. He began to feel cold and goose bumps pushed up through his wet skin. He saw a flash of lightning, which was closely followed by a clap of thunder.

  Pete looked about nervously, then towards heaven. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me, right? You’ve brought me all this way just to smite me with lightning?’

  Pete opened his arms in apology. ‘OK, I’m sorry for what I said this morning. But I trusted You and surrendered to You and where did it get me? I’m still depressed and I lost my promotion anyway. They’ve won and I’ve lost!’ He closed his eyes and took a breath to try and calm himself before continuing, ‘So, if you’re trying to teach me something, I’m sorry I must be dense, because I’m not getting it.’

  There was still no answer, so Pete grunted and turned away from heaven in frustration. He put his hands on his hips and looked out to a grass clearing leading to the Kallang River. Pete then saw a labrador sprinting ahead of its elderly owner, who was shuffling towards the shelter. The labrador stopped short of the shelter and began gleefully rolling around in a puddle. Pete smiled as the owner passed by his dog and joined him under cover.

  ‘He looks happy,’ Pete observed while nodding toward the dog.

  ‘Yeah, he loves any opportunity to get dirty,’ the owner said in an American accent while smiling and shaking his head.

  ‘He’s not afraid of the rain or lightning?’

  ‘Him? He’s not afraid of anything,’ the owner replied, his smile broadening.

  ‘I had a dog like him a long time ago back in Australia. Not a lab, but brave and smart and full of life. You really just loved being around him.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘Died of old age. I cried the day it happened even though I was almost seventeen at the time. Missed him like crazy for months. Still do,’ Pete added dolefully.

  The man gave Pete a sideways glance. ‘But do you remember the joy he brought to you?’

  After a few seconds a smile crept back onto Pete’s face. ‘Yes, I do actually.’

  ‘You know I can never understand how people can forget the things that make them happy, but really hold onto the things that make them sad. It should be the other way around.’

  ‘I guess it’s harder to let go of things that hurt us. Pain has a way of generating lasting memories,’ Pete responded becoming downcast again.

  ‘Only if you let it.’

  Pete became a little annoyed and turned towards the man. ‘Know a bit about pain, do you?’

  The man rolled up one of the legs of his trousers and to Pete’s surprise revealed an artificial leg from the knee down. ‘Phantom pains. They keep trying to tell you your leg’s still there when it really isn’t. It took me a while to learn how to talk back to them and tell them to go away. But I did eventually.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Pete said ashamedly.

  ‘Don’t be. I’m not. Sure, Vietnam was horrible, but at least it brought me here where I met my wife and now I have three wonderful kids all making their own way in the world,’ replied the man while letting his trouser leg back down.

  ‘Sounds like things worked out,’ Pete said still feeling awkward.

  ‘They tend to, especially when you focus on what’s in front of you rather than behind you. You’ve just got to keep moving forward. Build something so that people will remember the good things you did for them when you’re gone.’

  Pete nodded. But while he knew the man was right, he was struggling to internalise his message. ‘You’re not a psychologist by chance, are you?’

  The man shook his head and let out a huff. ‘Nope, just a guy out walking his dog in the rain.’

  Pete looked out from under the shelter. ‘I think you can start running again. The worst is over now,’ said the man without looking up at the sky.

  Pete gave him a curious look and said, ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ He then held out his hand. ‘Pete by the way.’

  The dog owner shook Pete’s hand and said, ‘Michael.’

  Pete smirked. ‘Thanks for the chat, Michael.’

  ‘No problem, enjoy the rest of your life.’

  Pete nodded and waved goodbye. He then left the shelter and slowly broke into a jog. Maybe it was the break from running or something spiritual, but the fatigue in his body had waned, and Pete began to run on.

  ‘I bet those people are still queuing at Parliament House,’ Pete said to himself thoughtfully.

  50

  An intervention

  ‘They’re waiting for you,’ the receptionist said in a serious tone, motioning with her head towards Gabriel’s office.

  ‘They?’ Pete pondered as he looked at the door to Gabriel’s office, which had been left ajar.

  Pete walked towards the door and heard two voices as he drew closer. He entered the room and Gabriel turned in his seat to give Pete a sombre look. ‘She arrived a little before you did,’ he said, ‘and she’s angry.’


  Pete turned to look at the couch and was taken aback to see Liz sitting there with a look of cold anger on her face. His anxiety level jumped several notches. Pete tried to explain Liz’s ire to Gabriel. ‘Well I said some things this morning that—’

  ‘At the both of us,’ Gabriel interrupted.

  Pete’s anxiety eased a little. Well at least I’m not the only one, he thought.

  ‘Liz and I were just discussing your circumstances. So, please come in and sit down,’ Gabriel said, getting out of his seat and motioning Pete towards the couch.

  Liz shuffled right up to one end of the couch to make room for him. Gabriel closed the door. Pete nervously rubbed his hands along his thighs, pressing out the creases in his jeans. ‘When you left the note on the dining table saying, “Appointment at Doctor Ong’s at twelve o’clock”, you could’ve hinted you were going to be here,’ Pete said to Liz.

  ‘I wanted some one-on-one time with Doctor Ong. I was hoping for more, but you turned up on time, which is a first. Or is punctuality something you reserve exclusively for Doctor Ong?’ Liz said.

  ‘Maybe I would’ve been late if I’d known I was walking into an ambush,’ Pete said and turned to Gabriel. ‘And you, you’re not supposed to be discussing my case with anyone without my permission,’ he said.

  ‘Pete, your condition last night warrants me discussing some aspects of your case with Liz; you had us both very worried,’ Gabriel explained. ‘But I can assure you, Liz doesn’t know everything we’ve discussed in here.’

  ‘Yeah, you’ve got yourself a real rock of Gibraltar here,’ Liz said, indicating Gabriel. ‘I still don’t know what you two have been doing in here for the past year, which is frustrating seeing as you’ve folded like a deck chair at the first sign of trouble,’ Liz said to Pete.