The President's Tall Lonely Body. On Depression.

When I see you walking, Mr. President, on the tarmac coming out of your plane, I see that tall lonely body of yours. A coat that hangs over your frame, open, not buttoned up, covers your jacket, which is open as well, giving space to one of your many red ties.

On the tarmac you are alone, even when your wife Melania, who seems just as lonely as you, is close by. You walk with a somber inward look. You for a minute don't seem to be aware of the world around you, in contrast to the your ususal hyperawareness of the world. You remind me of my father, when he was old and retired and I took him for a walk from his apartment to a petting zoo close to the river, where he had made friends with Shirley, a woman who sold cookies, coffee and soda. He suffered from heavy depressions and he was alone as well, no matter who was with him. I could not reach him; he didn't let me. But with the cookie friend he was charming, outgoing, and talkative. Remember how you shook hands with the Japanese leader Abe?

Like all sufferers of depression, my father knew how to perform in safe situations, that is with people you don't know deeper than their surface. He locked himself up in his mind and his body when he was with those who were close to him. I know this mechanism very well, since I inherited his depressions.

Your face is somber while walking on the tarmac. You never seem to laugh. When you try to laugh it shows as a grimace. You don't show a lot of personal emotions on your face anyway. You show emotions, which are produced for an audience. Just like my father. When we walked to the petting zoo or somewhere else, he stopped so every now and then in his tracks, turned to me, forcing me to stop as well, and set in that dramatic manner the stage for something he wanted to say in capitals. I or one of my siblings were his audience. Your audiences are bigger of course.

In transition, that is in the intermission between two acts, you show who you are. I thought for a while that the way you dress showed aggression, an attitude that shows the world you are ready to fight. But now I think it shows vulnerability: the area where your heart and your private parts are, you let uncovered, for the world to see. And red is maybe the color of love instead of anger.

For long, long years I was locked up in myself, like my father, like you. I got angry when people suggested that I was depressed or needed some kind of help. Didn't I perform well? Angriest I became when he who is closest to me, my husband, said it. And then something dramatic happened in our lives, and I couldn't perform anymore. When I finally realized my isolation, I tumbled in the deep depression I was terrified of to happen my whole life. After a while I decided to embrace my state of mind. And that is, I tell you, the road to recovery.

Somebody wanted to start a general discussion about your mental health out of a deep concern for our country. I understand that, but I think that call will not help you, nor the country; you will for sure resist because ‘they’ will talk over your head. No, you yourself have to embrace your dark feelings, by making use of your unbuttenedness to find your heart. I did it and it helped my family, you can do it to help our country.

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