This summer, during the chaos resulting from my wife’s hospitalization, I neglected to take my antidepressants.  I wouldn’t have thought it would be a problem.  I was in a positive state of mind, happy with the reception to my writing on Open Salon, my mind conceiving other creative projects, and I thought my demons were long in the past.

After five days, I was wondering which part of the bridge was the best to jump from.   

No, I wasn’t really suicidal, and knowing that my state of mind arose from exhaustion and lack of medication, I began taking my meds again and quickly regained my equilibrium. But I was thoroughly shaken by the realization that my “unplugged” state was still one of morose pessimism.  Even worse, that state of mind was reflected in most of the people around me. 

Every day on OS, I read first-hand accounts by people who are struggling to survive: months of unemployment, bankruptcy filings, foreclosure proceedings, parents with Alzheimer’s, children with autism or other problems, the writer’s own medical or psychological woes, treatments they can’t afford or insurance won’t cover, worthless ex-spouses who refuse to help.  Everyone sounds overstressed, depressed by a lot more than whether they can shed that last ten pounds. 

Recently, I read one post – I won’t say by who, since the writer has deleted it – that felt like one utter wail of despair.  I was left speechless and, not for the first time, felt unable to comment any more intelligently than a clichéd “Hang in there, you’re not alone.”

Perhaps I’m more attuned to it after going through my own battles with clinical depression, but I have never before sensed such gloom in the American public.  Many of the writers put on a brave face, but I have this nagging sense that we’re approaching a national nervous breakdown.  We feel that the image that we’re presented of the American dream – land of prosperity where you’re rewarded for working hard with a house with a yard for your 2.2 children to play before they get their college degree – is a party to which we have not been invited.

I’m no economist – Paul Krugman forgets more while pouring his first cup of coffee than I’ve ever known – but I have suspected all along that the nostrums we’ve been fed about economic recovery are obsolete, true for an industrial society but not for the service economy we’ve become.  

War is good for the economy: oh yeah?  I see two simultaneous wars draining our economy, not stimulating it.  Military weapons are so powerful now, their power so compressed, that we don’t need to man the assembly line with Rosie the Riveters to keep the fighting forces well supplied.

Consumer spending will stimulate production: production of what?  We don’t make anything anymore.  Buy yourself a new wardrobe, and you’re stimulating the economies of Mexico and Vietnam.  Buy the hottest gizmo or doohickey and the Chinese put in more overtime.  If we truly spend and spend, maybe the mall will hire a couple more salespeople at just above minimum wage.  Big whoop.  (Oh, and the creditors will have to hire more bill collectors.)  

Things change so rapidly today that it has become disorienting.  Companies go from "hot" to Chapter 11 in the blink of an eye.  Friends who work free-lance have seen their projects dry up, undercut by the free or cheap content on the Internet. My business pals tell me this is good for the economy; it keeps it cutting-edge and free of stagnation.  Perhaps.  But there is a human cost that has become evident.  Economic instability is toxic to a 45-year-old with a mortgage and two kids still to put through college.  If there is ever a time someone needs stable employment, it is then. 

But even those still gainfully employed feel insecure, expecting the other shoe to drop – mergers, relocations, outsourcing, downsizing.  It’s hard to provide a stable environment for your children when you fear you won’t have a job in six months and if that happens, at your age, you’re highly unlikely to ever earn an equivalent salary for the rest of your life.

We are no longer “personnel,” but rather “human resources,” chess pieces that can be moved or discarded at management’s whim. Unfortunately, I know too many people who can’t retire because they’ve had to change jobs so often that they were never able to establish a sufficient 401(k).

We sense that our representatives aren’t really addressing our situation.  Political parties are more interested in their next election than in solving our problems.   Not that I’m giving the Democrats a pass, but I’m appalled that Republicans today seem glad that the economy sucks – when you’re the party out of power, a happy citizenry is bad for business.  And if you think the last two years have been disappointing, wait until the Republicans regain the House and we experience two years of full gridlock.  Contain your joy.

Middle-aged Americans approach their “golden years” with the sense that they have underachieved, even if they thought they had played the game correctly and followed the rules.  Some join Tea Party rallies and lash out at big government and illegal immigration, even though these things were also present during good times.  Others fall into a blue funk or hit the bottle or pop too many pills to numb themselves.  The rest gamely soldier on, slashing their personal budget and drastically reducing their expectations.  A lot of marriages collapse.

Some conservatives denounce the growing social safety net.  We used to have a very solid safety net.  It was called “our job.”  Many of us had parents like my own father, who worked for the same company from the day I was born until the day he retired after my 37^th birthday.  He knew where his next paycheck was coming from – and the one after that – and he never had to worry about whether he’d be able to provide for his children. 

Few of us have that safety net anymore, and we’re frightened.  We are all one managerial decision from the unemployment line, one medical disaster from financial ruin.  Our lives are built on a foundation of quicksand, and many are slowly being pulled under.  I wish I had a rope to toss them, but I don’t.

All I can do is say: Hang in there. You’re not alone.

(Koshersalaami has an accompanying post.)