Eyes Open

In my youth I was given the responsibility of a paper route. I shared this great job venture with my older siblings so at first it wasn't too bad because it wasn't a daily task. Plus, the route was something like 34 houses so it wasn't too labor intensive. As my siblings got older they moved on to other jobs and the route became my own. There were two hurdles at first that made this job a bit of a challenge for me. I had to get up rather early on Sunday mornings and deliver the paper rain, snow, shine, wind, or beast of all beasts. One snowy Sunday morning after prepping the papers I got on my old trusty bmx bike and went to it. Now, the night before it had snowed about five inches, which makes it fun riding  a bike weighted down with papers. Thankfully the car that had dropped off all the papers at my house left some good tire tracks so I followed those for a while. In a way it was actually peaceful until I fell and then it got cold real fast. The second hurdle was the beast of all beasts. His name was snoopy of all names and was a large black dog that always waited for me. I believe he totally enjoyed scaring the daylights out of me. He usually waited until I was close and then would start snarling and barking. He wasn't much of a runner though, which was my saving grace. I can't watch any Charlie Brown shows though without thinking of him. As I got older I was pretty darn good at knocking out the papers so boredom became the new hurdle. One Sunday morning I had just finished delivering the last paper and was on the way home. Now, where I grew up the streets were laid out in a grid system so most of them were straight. Some streets had ditches close to them since it was dry where I grew up. Some were about three feet deep, which were well protected by fences.; however, the other ditches were about a foot in a half deep and were wide open for business of curious folks. As I rode my bike home I was so confident in my bike riding abilities that I decided I could ride my bike with my eyes closed for three seconds. After opening my eyes after counting to three I was not surprised at all that I was still on course. So, I raised it to five seconds and then seven seconds. After opening my eyes after counting to seven I was doing incredible, which again was no surprise to me. I came to the end of the road and took a left staying on the sidewalk. I felt it was time to count to double digits and go for the big 10. I closed my eyes, began peddling and counting most likely with a big prideful smile on my face. Before I got to five I felt my bike come out from under me and then went under wanter. I immediatley stood up finding myself in one of those foot in a half deep ditches with my bike at my feet. I lifted up my bike and threw it out in the road. Seeing my bike land I realized that in the midst of closing my eyes and counting I had not only come off the sidewalk but had crossed the road right into the ditch all the while thinking I was going straight and all was okay. I gained a new appreciation for those ditches.

Suffering in silence is real and just that ... suffering without anyone really knowing it. Before my sweet wife approached me concerned about my behavior I knew suffering in silence too well. I knew things weren't right but I kept pushing on. Looking back, I was really falling down and falling down hard. There were nights when I would close up the office that I would spend 15 to 30 minutes checking every drawer in my desk over and over and over and over to make sure it was locked. I would even unlock it and and then lock it again and then check it over again like that helped some how. The worst was when I would get out to the car and then head back into the office and do it all over again. I would have to talk to myself out loud to convince me that everything was locked. I must have been a sight to see. Yep, I was stroking in the pool of OCD but not swimming a bit. I would get home late and usually head to bed. Notice I didn't say sleep. I would constantly think about the next day and have so much anxiety that I couldn't get a good sleep. I was lucky if I got an hour or two per night. I got to the ugly point in my life where I didn't like any place I was. I didn't like being at the office dealing with all sorts of different emotions I wasn't used to. I didn't like being home because that meant I was that much closer going to the office and not one soul knew about it except for me. Suffering in silence, yep I knew it and still dance unwilling with it every now and then. I was holding so much in because of pride. Heck, I was the man of the family and felt I needed to provide for them no matter what cost. Little did I know what the cost was becoming.

I have learned the importance of talking. Not one of those chit chat folks that speaks for hours and hours and really doesn't say much ... I mean really talk. I am getting close to using a phrase here that used to give me the shivers and fear for my man card. Here it goes. I have learned to talk about my feelings. There, I did it. But it is so true.  No matter how strong something is it will reach a point where it CAN'T HOLD ANYMORE and strange things begin to happen, which is really the prelude to the tipping point, explosion, complete loss of balance .... whatever you want to call it. Talking with my pscyhologist the first time wasn't the easiest. Not because he was difficult but because I really didn't know how to express what I was feeling. If he asked how I was feeling I may answer "crappy." Then the lovely follow up would come and he would ask why I felt crappy. I learned that saying "cause" didn't work as an answer. But I learned that working with him and talking about feelings was like opening the faucet and letting out all the crap that I had stored away. I know how difficult it can be to open up. Talking with a psychologist you can have comfort that they will not laugh at you or think less of you. Looking back at the beginning of my journey I have learned that talking about what is going on in my head and heart is as crucial as keeping my eyes open when riding a bike.

Voices

I feel like it was just yesterday when I was dating my sweet bride but the years and my incredible kids have a way of convincing me otherwise. Dating my bride to be was ... well, incredible! We literally were best friends that loved to hang out and then cupid did his thing. After we had been dating for a while people began to tell us that we really should start to think about getting married. We thought it was something that may happen down the road but we wanted to do it on our terms. You thought that when we told folks this that we had totally offended them, which really didn't bother me. I mean, did I really ask them for their advice? That perfect day did come and I did end up marrying my best friend. It wasn't long after the honeymoon and the dust had settled from all the excitement that we began to get folks telling us it was time to have kids. I was starting to see a theme here. I so badly wanted to tell people that my wife was already 3 months pregnant but I figured the time spent putting out fires on the rumor wagon wasn't worth it. Still it was very tempting. Almost two years later we welcomed a lovely beautiful little girl into the world. Of course, before she was born we were being told what to name her. There were some folks that were kind enough to inquire on the names we were thinking about and then shoot them down in a blaze of glory. The spelling was wrong, the initials won't look right, or it is just too long or too short. So badly, I wanted to start answering the naysayers with odd names. We knew we were expecting a girl so I figured saying we wanted to name her Karl Malone or Eddie Vedder might throw them for a loop. But I held my tongue. I was amazed how many people were "interested" in me, my sweet wife and our family but I learned quickly that there was more of a voice of opinion than interest. I still think that a daughter name Eddie Vedder wouldn't have been too bad.

Meeting with my psychiatrist for the first time was kind of interesting. I learned real fast that there was a vast difference between my psychologist and psychiatrist. My psychologist had the leather couch and would spend and hour with me chatting about how I was doing giving me insight and help with coping techniques. My psychiatrist asked me questions but they were more centered around medications. Don't get me wrong, she was caring and nice but she spent most the time talking about how meds could help. I actually said nope to meds the first time I met with her. I don't know if it was the unknown or the stigma I saw in the movies about folks that were on meds that had mental illness. I was fighting depression that was attempting to steal my identity and I wasn't about to take some sort of meds that I feared was going to make me some sort of other person. I still kind of liked me even though depression was trying to convince me otherwise. At this point I had a small circle of loved ones that knew what I was going through. Some voices of opinion started to seep in telling me I should take meds. I had a rock solid loved one though that gave me sound advice that resonated with my experiences in life. He said it was truly about me and what I felt and that I should only do it when I felt it was right. That was a person that was truly interested in me. I thought a lot about it and talked with the psychiatrist a lot about it and came to the conclusion for me that meds used properly wasn't meant to steal who I was but to actually help fight the depression to strive to keep the old me. I finally said yes. Now granted, I did have them in my kitchen for a while and would look at them every now and then but the day did come when I felt right about it so I put them in my mouth and washed them down.

For me, taking meds has helped. Yep, it took a bit to find the right one that best helped me. Yep, I didn't notice that immediate change. In fact, the only way I knew the meds were helping was that my sweet wife would tell me that she noticed a difference in my behavior. Does taking the meds make my illness go away? Nope, but it makes it easier to deal with. Will I ever stop taking the meds? I don't know. I have a lot of people voicing their opinions. For now, I just pay attention what I feel is best for me and that simply is good enough.

The Brain VS The Soul

I was brought up in a good loving Christian home. We went to church and my sweet mom did all she could to teach her kids about doing the right things. I remember a lot of time being spent on the "Golden Rule" ... treat others how you would want to be treated. Being the youngest my older siblings did things to me that I was pretty sure they didn't want me to do to them though ... making me go down the laundry shoot and putting a mattress at the bottom of the stairs and throwing me down first to see if it really prevented injury comes to mind. As I grew older I did start paying attention and noticing how I felt when I did good things compared to when I perhaps wasn't too Christian. I noticed I felt happy and pretty cool about life if I was staying out of trouble and living right. One summer I had a fascination with baseball cards. I loved the anticipation of seeing who I would get and the bubble gum that came with it was amazing. Well, I was low on funds one day so I took the money off the fridge one of my older siblings had put there to pay their tithes later that week. That's one of my first memories I have about the deep emotions that come doing something wrong. However, as the teen years came I learned more and more about those feelings (nope, no dirty secrets shared here). I remember feeling unhappy, guilty, dark and even empty. Yet, the good thing I learned and have applied my whole life is that if I change my course a tad and change my ways those feelings quickly subside and I can be happy again. One could say that taking that money was for payment of being a test dummy for older siblings but I couldn't justify that.

I remember the day being told that I was fighting depression. I knew how I had been feeling and I knew that depression was associated with people feeling sad and that was all I knew. I can tell you now that I know depression robs one of happiness. Feelings and emotions of guilt, shame, emptiness, and being desperate ping pong back in forth in your head convincing you that is what you are. I have experienced that there is no warning nor a nice little agenda when it is coming or telling you how long it will last. At times you feel like you are wading through thick tar reaching for the end you can't even see. Fun times for all I know. My first fights with depression were so confusing because I was having emotions that I would usually feel when I was not making the best choices like guilt, shame and emptiness so I would look at my life and attempt to make the changes that would allow me to be truly happy .... yet the happiness never came. I remember doing that desperately over and over and fighting for any glimpse of real joy when depression was on a full court press and no happiness would come. I didn't get it. I was angry with the Man Up Stairs. I knew that if I would "change my ways" happiness should come,  yet nothing. The brain is pretty cool and a powerful thing but it isn't the soul. When the brain is working properly so many incredible things happen like fight or flight for example. I always felt the flight mode though when it came to kissing girls. For me how I am doing with the Man Up Stairs comes from my heart or soul. But when the brain is having issues deep powerful emotions can be created like guilt, emptiness, sadness and darkness that compete with similar feelings the heart can feel when not making right choices but THEY ARE NOT THE SAME THING!!  I struggle to this day still finding that fine line because the emotions of depression are so incredibly strong and can mask how I feel in my heart. I don't know why but that is how I have felt and feel. When depression starts kicking in I begin reminding myself that God loves me. I may not feel it because of the darkness of my illness but I strive to look at all the reminders around me. Plus, I don't have to go in flight mode any more for a nice loving kiss.

King Distraction

My sweet mom grew up on a dairy farm in the mighty state of Idaho. Needless to say I have tons of memories visiting my cool grandma and grandpa and their farm. There was hay, horses, hay, cows, hay, dogs, hay and wild life visitors. I never milked a cow, which I'm not too desperately disappointed about but I saw my grandpa do it and that was okay with me. I was able to ride horses, which was cool until I fell off one. You know that saying that if you fall off a horse you need to get right back on. I never got back on and to this day horses terrify me. I mean do they really have to be in parades? My kind grandpa did have me help him once or twice though with some jobs around the farm. There is one that I will never forget. I was about ten years old and he needed to move a lot of cows from one side of the farm to the other, which headed out to a field ... or I should say pasture I guess. He would open the gate at the one side of the farm letting the cows loose and have them head down a dirt road. Now each side of the road had something by it preventing them to go any which way they wanted. The only way they could go was down the dirt road. At the other side of the farm the dirt road took you either up to the paved main road or if you took a left it took you out to the fields. My task was a simple one. I was to stand in the middle of the road at the other side of the farm and convince the cows to take a left and head out to pasture. Yep, this little ten year old kid was supposed to do this. I mean holy smokes, right? I did almost say holy cow there. Anyway, I remember standing there looking at the road ready for the cows to be coming straight for me. I recall looking down at the road and picking up two rocks and for whatever reason began to rub them together. I was reaching for any kind of distraction I could get I guess. As the cows came I rubbed those rocks together and screamed at the top of my lungs. I will always say it was to help the cows not pass me and turn left, which they did but truth be told I was screaming for my life. As one could guess, I truly don't like cows and they still freak me out.

In my early stages of battling depression I began to learn the art of distraction. What do I mean? I did anything I could to not entertain the constant dark thoughts that battled for my attention. My psychologist was doing great at teaching me coping skills but being distracted actually brought some sense of beautiful relief. I never was a drinker or one to do drugs but I can totally understand how someone would want to do that to forget about pain for a while. I personally don't condone it but I understand it. If I don't have to look at depression in it's horrible eyes and don't have to think about it than I was on board with distraction. I found that working with wood was a great distraction for me. To the point that I would start early in the morning and not really stop until late in the night. Perfect right? Not having to deal with the consuming thoughts of depression at all! I was King Distraction. I wasn't fighting my depression ... I was running from it. Who really wants to welcome the dark thoughts of depression so you can learn to practice coping exercises? Doesn't sound that fun to me but I knew I needed to do it. I still battle with this and am learning that keeping a balance is crucial for me. When my depression strives to kick my tail I try to look at it in the face and apply my weapons of coping. Some times are better than others. However, I also know that taking a break from that fight by a distraction here and there is okay. Keeping the balance is the hardest task for me, which I work on daily. Staying away from cows and horses helps as well.

Caution, Good Intentions Are Ahead.

I am a fan of good tasting things and most of the time I am able to enjoy them. Every now and then though I have the reuniting of the taste of my foot. Taking the time to write every occurrence I have put my foot in my mouth would be a task I prefer not to venture on. However, since the window of opportunity is here I will share a few. Some years ago around Christmas I had a client come by that had a simple question. She had stopped by with a friend and apparently they were going to do some shopping afterwards. But before that could all start, this kind lady wanted to chat with me. I didn't get a good look at her friend but from what I could see she was wearing a "Santa" hat ... there was the nice white puffy section by her forehead followed by the red velvet around the rest of her head. After finishing with my client I shook her hand and complimented her friend on the "Santa" hat and for the expression of such Christmas spirit. As her friend came into full view I noticed that I jumped to a quick conclusion about the hat. Yes, it had what I have described but was far more of a classy Christmas head scarf not a "Santa" hat. I apologized and looked for a hole to hide into. I believe I was wearing fake leather shoes that day ... not a good taste. I think this next one more folks have done and if they have, it is a mistake you only make once. Yep, I congratulated a lady on her pregnancy and asked her when she was due when she was not pregnant. The long pause and the look of disbelief in her eyes still haunts me this day. I believe I was wearing older tennis shoes that day ... not a good taste.

With having depression my ears pick up far more comments about depression than it ever has. I have learned just how vulnerable I am. I understand the feeling of laying in bed not really caring about anything but also thinking about all the things I could have done to be "productive" if I was out of bed. It doesn't make any sense I know but dealing with depression never has. I know what it is like to be amazed how much time has passed after staring at the wall or ceiling for a while. I understand how the day can blaze by because you watched tv all day and then beat yourself up for being a slacker. I know the feeling of hurting inside so bad the tears don't stop. I know the feeling of getting a bit ambitious and getting up taking a shower and afterwards staring at yourself in the mirror. You see the person that looks like you staring back but you have no idea who it is inside looking at you so you just go back to bed. Dark days are real with depression an they can make you feel so vulnerable. As with any illness you wish you it would just go away. I can say for me that yes I have dark days still and yes they are miserable. However, they are far less than they were at the beginning.

When people don't know you are suffering from depression, because heck you are keeping it close to your chest, comments can be made that cut so deep. Those people that know we have depression can make comments that cut so deep. Those people that we opened all our thick steel doors to being all the way open even make comments that cut so deep and these for me hurt the worst. I have only once had a person where I opened all doors to be malicious to me. I don't know why they did but the word "hurt" doesn't seem to describe it. All other occasions I know the people had good intentions. I share this not because I am getting on those with good intentions. I share this to help those with depression and hear those comments and feel beat up. Getting passed them is not easy. I remember getting so angry when people carelessly talked about depression and would just hope the best for me. I literally wanted to introduce my fist to their face and I really didn't know why. It surprised me because in my life I have usually been a calm person. You can imagine how it surprised my wife as well. To this day she has to calm me down at times. My psychologist has worked with me on finding that middle ground between one side of the spectrum shall we call anger and the other side shall we call lethargic and progress has been made. Yet, I know how deep those comments from good folks with good intentions can hurt. Don't feel guilty about being upset with them when it happens. I get it when there are days when your skin is so thin because of the battle of depression you have been fighting that is secret to many.

Now to those that may be reading this that don't have depression thinking holy crap what do I do then? I never want to give birth ... oh man, do I never want to do that. But I can almost, and I want to emphasize almost ladies, know that I can understand what it feels like when a lady may be 4000 months pregnant ready to pop and someone asks "how ya feeling?" Really? Yep, when having a horrible day with depression you really don't want to talk about it. I have been asked how I felt on those days and not by my medical buddies and not by someone I really discuss it with. So what do you do? The absolute best thing is to love them and not just by words. A couple of things that have really touched me was when a friend that knew I was fighting something miserable brought me a coke and told me she was thinking about me. She saved me that day. I also had a friend that recently found out about my depression and he came to my house and just gave me a big hug. Those things let me know that they loved me and I think of them often. Being showed love is one of the best weapons that has helped my depression. Plus, showing love really cuts down the chances of tasting your shoe.

Chocolate Cake!

I had the opportunity to experience an environment for a while in my life where I was reminded over and over that "failure was not an option." I was informed that 99.9% of any goal was a failure. 100% was the only acceptable achievement and if that was missed I would have some serious explaining to do while listening to the cracking of the thin ice I was immediately moved on. I was even informed at times that I had to achieve more than 100% for success. Being a perfectionist, this was quite the environment to experience. During this time I often thought about the story of a young man around 12 years old that wanted to surprise his mom one day by making a chocolate cake. He had baked a cake before with his mom so he was quite comfortable with doing it and when all was said and done he was very pleased with the cake he had made. The only thing he hadn't learned was his mom's cleaning ability after baking. He had made a terrible mess of the kitchen but he had proudly put the chocolate cake on the counter for display. It wasn't long before his mom came home and saw what her son had done. She looked around and saw the mess and berated him explaining every little thing that was wrong. The boy left with his head down and went to his room. The mom had been so focused on the "mess" her son had made that she didn't see the cake proudly displayed.

After being diagnosed with severe depression I simply felt like a failure. I felt I let my family down. I felt I let friends down. I felt I had let me down. I felt I had let every possible thing down. In my eyes I was a failure and that was simply it. There were many days that I didn't leave my bedroom or bed for that matter and all I could think about was everything that went wrong in my life. I had grand illusions of an early retirement and now getting out of bed was a big accomplishment. I was introduced to many demons that simply wanted to fight and at times I would feel like I would simply lay down and let them hit me over and over. I was starting to lose my identity and was being defined by failure. Simply to say I understand dark times. I remember sitting on the nice leather sofa one day talking to my psychologist. He would usually start with how I was feeling and then ask me how I felt about that, which was always my favorite ... I hope you are feeling the sarcasm here. Anyway, I told him about feeling like a failure. This is something that truly was and is a huge brick wall that I am working at constantly breaking down brick by brick. One day he said something that simply clicked for me that I have to tell myself over and over. I may have "failed" at ab&c (place whatever you want here) but that doesn't mean that I am a failure. In fact, ab&c may actually be a small piece of the whole me. Simple this may seem I can't tell you how many times this has helped me.

When getting ready to do this Blog I thought a lot about what I should call it. I was tempted to go with "I like Egg Nog" but felt it may be off topic a little. I almost went with "I am depressed. Now What" but it just didn't feel right and then it hit me. For me, saying "I have depression" reminds me that depression is an illness and doesn't define me, it is something I have. Saying "I am depressed" makes me feel like it defines me in some way. Yes, I know this is word play a little bit but heck I will take any word play in a heartbeat if it helps me beat my demons. I can tell you that looking at it that way has helped me see more of the chocolate cakes around me rather than the messes in the kitchen. I find myself being a little kinder rather than wanting to pick a fight with any moving thing that may have made a mess in my eyes. Even though dark days still come I am learning just how much I like chocolate cake.

Scraping The Bucket

One Saturday night when I was around 9 years old I was in a sword fight with my oldest brother but the closest thing to swords we had were his drum sticks. I had a couple of good moves but he was the true swordsman. Our battle was upstairs in our home and I had come to a quick conclusion to retreat and retreat quickly. I dropped my sword and ran for the stairs ready to make my mighty leap. Now I had made this jump down the stairs many times but did this when my mom was not home since it was frowned on, which any fantastic mother would do. This time though I was in retreat mode and made the leap with her home. I remember landing and knowing something was seriously wrong due to the pain I immediately felt. I rolled my ankle causing all sorts of damage. Needless to say I was on crutches for a while letting the torn ligaments heal. Later in my childhood I fell in love with playing basketball and unfortunately rolled my ankles more than I would like to admit. The pain from the constant injury hurt but not as bad as having to wait to heal and mend. I do remember one time not being patient enough and playing too soon after injuring my ankle ... yep, that actually made the healing time longer. I actually got to the point of wearing braces every time I played because I needed to keep playing. Heck, I was going to be the next Michael Jordan.

So what happens when one's brain is broken and depression shows its ugly head? A healing time has to happen. I remember when I started this journey and was diagnosed with severe depression that I was told that I needed to heal. That sounded like a good idea but I really had no idea what that meant. A cast or brace on my head really wouldn't work and staying off my head not putting weight on it really wasn't something that made much sense either. So, what do I do to heal? Again, this is where I believe the answer to this is something that is so individual for everyone. I can only tell you what I have learned for me. Yes, I began meeting with a Psychologist and Psychiatrist but they weren't with me 24/7 yet I began to get great insights from them. For me, I needed to do things for me and spend time on me. This was confusing because I felt selfish. My whole life I was always striving to do things for others and always said "yep" when asked to do assignments or favors. This is not a bad way to live if are able to do it. Let me explain. It feels nice to give others a drink of water out of your bucket but if you are not putting water back in your bucket how do you keep helping others? Needless to say I had been scraping away at an empty bucket for a long time. I get it how hard it can be to tell people "no" when asked to do something and you really can't or don't want to explain why. I get it when people look at you like what's your problem are you being super selfish now. I get it how the guilt runs you over and over because you are saying "no" attempting to heal but the heavy guilt then seems to feed the depression. Please know that guilt should only be felt when doing something wrong ... saying "no" attempting to heal or even just keeping a balanced life is NOT DOING SOMETHING  WRONG AND IS TOTALLY OKAY!!! Do we ever see people asked with a broken arm, leg or hurt ankle to help move or do some labor intensive task? I have to admit there are times that I just wish I had a cast on my head so I wouldn't have to explain why I was saying no ... plus it would cover up my bald spot. I do have to say that I am still learning how to fill my bucket and am dealing with having the patience to do so. The bottom line though is that I am working on healing and that is okay.

Apparently I Missed My Grandma And Wasn't Listening

I am quite fortunate that I have great memories of my grandparents. I was particularly close to my incredible grandmas. I lost one grandma years ago and I was able to attend the viewing (wake) and participate in her funeral. I had never traveled in a procession before. It was strange for the police folks to make sure the roads were clear rather than having those lovely lights behind me telling me they wanted to talk with me again. Not many years ago my other grandma moved on from this world. This time I didn't attend the viewing or participate in the funeral. I was hip deep ... no neck deep at work and convinced myself that I couldn't afford to leave. This was my grandma that after leaving from a couple day visit when I was a kid eventually turned around and came back after traveling for 30 minutes finding me standing on the driveway. When she asked why I was standing there I told her I just simply knew she would come back. Now, I was much older convincing myself not to attend her funeral. I just kept pushing on in life. A day before her funeral I was heading to work thinking of the days tasks ahead of me and burst into tears. I really didn't know why at first but as I continued to cry I felt an overwhelming sadness thinking of my grandma. Still shaking it off, I wiped away the tears and went to work. Sitting at my desk I still struggled with controlling my emotions. I literally couldn't stop the tears. I called my boss who I would describe as a person that had not found her sensitive side yet in life and told her what was going on. She surprised me by simply telling me that since I hadn't dealt with the emotions of losing my grandma that they were now dealing with me and told me to go home. Even though she was my least favorite boss I am still thankful for what she taught me.

If you don't address on your terms what your body is saying it will address it with you later on it's terms. You would think that I would have learned that with my experience with my dear grandma but I didn't. About three years ago I began having strange thoughts. Driving to work I would come to an overpass and the thought come to speed up and drive straight into the cement columns. While I was at work I would have the thought come to just stand up and run as fast as I could into the wall. This was quite confusing to me because I had nothing against the folks that built that overpass plus I had just gotten a new car and was kind of fond of it. Plus the thought of running into a wall really wasn't too appealing. Most of all though I thought of my dear family. My wife is gorgeous inside and if you know her you would realize how good that is because she is hot. Plus she loves the stockings out of me. I have three incredible kids that amaze me daily with their faith, their kindness, their love and humor. So, why on earth would I act on those thoughts? I shook it off and just kept going. As time passed those thoughts continued to come more frequently to the point that I was not really enjoying driving by overpasses or seeing the walls at work. Yet, I pushed on. The thoughts became more and more frequent to the point that I felt I was battling them often every day. What scared me the most was when I felt I was losing the battle and those thoughts became more and more enticing and I had no idea why. I didn't tell anyone ... not even my wife. I was nervous how she would react. Well, just over 2 1/2 years ago as I was getting ready to head to work in the morning, my sweetheart approached me tenderly telling me she noticed that I had been struggling with something and I broke down and told her. That day I told my boss that I was taking time off to "find out what was going on."

Depression is something so individual. It happens for various reasons and appears differently. I am a person that likes to know why things happen or what causes things so if I didn't enjoy it I will stay away from it. I've learned for me that I don't have that luxury of the clean cut why with depression though. There are theories and thoughts behind mine that have been discovered after bonding with my psychiatrist and psychologist for 2 1/2 years and I have learned that is okay. I have learned to be a better listener, which my wife loves. I have learned to listen more than I ever have to what my emotions are saying and give them the proper attention they need and THAT IS OKAY!!

What Happens When The Boot Straps Break?

In my life I have always had the view of when things got tough to just "pull up the boot straps" and keep moving on. Truth be told ... I really don't even know what boot straps are. Anyway, what happens when those lovely boot straps break? What happens when you dig your cleats in a little deeper preparing for the next "hit in life" and your cleats break? I love wood working and have sanded plenty of wood in my time. I can't tell you how much I love electrical sanders by the way. If I don't change up the sand paper when needed and just keep grinding away eventually there will be some serious damage ... yep, speaking from personal experience. So what happens when our brain breaks for whatever reason?

How come it is okay for a person that has broken their arm to go to the doctor and get a cast on it and nothing ever second guessed about it ... it's just what you do when you break your arm. However, when one's brain is broken there's the big question mark. When I finally went and sought help because I knew things were right with my brain I felt embarrassed and even ashamed. I didn't want any one to know. I felt it made me lesser of a man somehow. I doubted all my abilities in life and traveled down a dark road. I get it how dark those times are. It consumes you. It strives to define you and the loneliness is unbearable even when you are surrounded by loved ones. Oh, I get how the dark times try to convince you how alone you are.

I am letting myself now understand that depression is an illness. When those boot straps break, you STOP and get them fixed. When the cleats break, you STOP and get them fixed. When you break your arm, you STOP and get it fixed. When your brain breaks, you STOP and get it fixed. You, me, all of us that have mental illness need not be ashamed or embarrassed. It's okay to stop and work on getting well.