Have you ever said hi to someone one and they knowingly ignored you? Have you ever made plans with someone and they dogged you on purpose or "forgot." Have you ever had someone say they will help you with something and then tell you "no"? Have you ever had someone say they had your back but watch them knowingly stick a knife in your back? Have you ever asked for help and got no response? I would guess yes and it hurts deeply. Add someone that is fighting with depression and having these things happen can be literally devastating. Yet, no one sees. We "look" okay because we don't have a cast on our head or don't have an I.V. stuck in our arm to remind people that we are hurt and suffering. There is nothing that shows the hell we are going through, the battle in our mind ... the thoughts of escape from the torment. The only way people know what we are going through is telling them or someone that knows tells another. When we run into them there is no visible sign of our torture and overtime they easily forget. Even those closest to you don't see the demons you fight over and over and they can get eventually callused to what is going on. They may even let you down when you ask for help. Yes, people are human and aren't perfect. Thus, those closest to you will fail you. I am a Christian and believe in my perfect Savior and know that he won't fail me ... yet it is tough to feel His love when I am consumed with darkness. You may be thinking "wow, dude that is a dark scene you are portraying." I would answer, "yep." There are so many with depression that literally suffer. To them, I would say you are not alone. That island you think you are on by yourself is full of others just like you. I'm sitting right next to you having a horrible day with you. I may not see you or know who you are but just knowing you are there is helpful some how. To those that may be nervous of talking to folks like us. We aren't asking you to fix us or give us advice. We just want to have our spirits lifted and you have no idea how your simple visit, text, email or whatever helps so much. If you don't know what to do, break out the crayons and draw a picture of your favorite memory. I guarantee you will see a smile!
Hey! I'm Ken. I'm a guy in his late 40's who has been fighting severe depression and anxiety for 8+ years.
I have an enemy named stigma who is not nice! My way of sticking it to him is writing my thoughts and experiences with my mental illness striving to smash down the walls he creates.
Kick back and read away. These are my experiences and mine alone. If you agree, awesome. If you disagree, awesome ... just don't fuel the stigma beast! My desire is that sharing these thoughts offers some help to those that are in the fight as well.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Yet, They Forget
I was fortunate enough to grow up with a good group of friends. We were in scouts together, went to the same church ... even our scout leaders and church leaders were the same and came to know us very well. When I was a young teenager a family moved in our neighborhood and they had a boy about all our same age. We took him in and got to know him pretty well ... I will call him Rick for the sake of this blog. Now Rick was one of those guys that would do almost anything you dared him to do. This was a good thing and a bad thing. We got plenty of laughs, including him laughing, but there were many times he pushed the envelope too much with that thing they call safety. Anytime we went on an outing our leaders would have to keep an eye on him to make sure he wasn't doing anything too crazy. We loved the guy though and became quite close. You can imagine our surprise when one day we were told that Rick was getting off a city bus and went to cross the street and was hit by a truck going 40 miles per hour. He was severely injured including some brain damage. He wasn't able to talk and there was some question if he could even understand what was said to him. Our leaders informed us that they wanted us to go visit him to boost his spirits. We were terrified ... I was terrified. How was I supposed to go see my friend like this? What on earth was I supposed to say if he couldn't understand me? How were we going to have a conversation if I was the only speaking? I was pretty sure that I wasn't going to do this. Our leaders were very understanding yet explained how helpful this may be to Rick. They suggested that we draw pictures of our favorite memories of him and take them with us. Imagine ten teenage boys using crayons drawing pictures. It felt strange but we did it. In fact, I believe if I remember right all pictures were of something crazy he had done. As we made it to the hospital my heart was racing. I had my picture but I had no idea what to say. I could feel the sweat on my forehead and hands. We all gathered outside of his room and the nurse let us in. Laying on the bed hooked to all sorts of tubes and wires was Rick. It took us all off guard. His eyes lightened up as he saw us though. As we showed him our pictures he smiled and reacted with excitement. He even laughed a couple of times. He even smiled at me and my picture. It was so hard to see him like that but seeing him smile was so worth stepping out of my comfort zone. A week or so later we were sadly informed that Rick had died. I will never forget his smile.
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