I remember walking on a cold February day, thinking of what a Psychologist and I had just talked about. It was the first time that we met and words like depression and anxiety had been words to describe other people, but now I was in that mix having emotion after emotion surge through my body having no idea what to do with them grasping for some type of handle. Well, early last month marked four years since that day. Like any day, it came and went. I don't find it a day I buy balloons, bake me a cake and enjoy a Coke while throwing confetti in the air. I find that I do more thinking about how the journey has gone ... thinking about what I've learned realizing that the score is more wins than losses. How do I know? I'm still here breathing. Okay, so I had a bit of levity there using Four and Score ... I know it's eighty years, but I've always wanted to say that or write that. Mark another off the bucket list if you will. With that said, here are just a few thoughts about that last four years. Yep, they are my thoughts ... take the risk of reading, I dare you!
Why do people go to the hospital to visit others with some sort of ailment? I can only speak from my own experience, but for me it was to show support and love. Heck, even maybe bring a balloon, card or flowers. Who am I kidding? I was never good at bringing stuff, I just wanted to come and say hello and try to bring a smile. Never in my mind was I going to the hospital to "cure" or "fix" my friend. I didn't want anything to do with touching anything. Even touching the remote to the TV or adjusting the bed made me very uneasy. I had the opportunity of being in a hospital for a couple of days when I was a teenager. They can be lonely times. This was a time before "texting" or the other plethora of other social media ... I know I am old! Having visitors was huge! The smiles came easier. The loneliness seemed not so heavy. The act of love was simple, yet had a powerful effect. Those with the ailment of mental illness should be no different, but it is. The irony is that the simple acts of love is what those with mental illness need more than anything, yet stigma, fear of not knowing what to say or do is strong. When people came to visit me in the hospital when I was young, they didn't talk about my surgery, or how the procedure was done. They were there to support, love, bring comfort and joy.
Can I tell you how much I loathe, "The Squeaky Wheel gets The Grease." I have witnessed so many experiences of people getting the promotion, the sale, the last item, the good booth, etc when so many others deserved them more ... and of course the reason is they made the most noise or stink about it. For whatever reason, if a stink or noise isn't made about an issue then that person must not have one. Let me share a little secret here, those that have mental illness will not squeak. In fact, you will be lucky if you get them to make any sound. The heaviness of the stigma wins too many times. I've gotten tired of hiding my mental illness and have opened up, yet I will admit my shoulders get tired often of the stigma. Meeting people for the first time is always fun. Telling them you are fighting a mental illness is like a fart at church ... you get many different reactions. There's the "wow I don't know what to do, so I will ignore it." Then there is the "wow, can you believe the nerve!" This one is usually folks that don't really believe in mental illness. Rarely does it turn into any type of concern. I know of many that are fighting daily their mental illness be it meds or talking with a person with a leather couch. Those that haven't made any steps and are suffering are the those that truly need the "grease" ... love and support.
Taking a step can take a day, months or years. This isn't because of denial or not wanting to progress, but has to do with how horrific the darkness can be. Spiralling down grasping for any hope of truth or principle and not finding it is horrifying. How can one lose sight of such things? I can only speak of my experience here ... for whatever reason, I have had to go through questioning everything. Not a pretty sight at times. There is such a helpless feeling like your "anchor" is gone and you're being tossed around. I know it has been since Nov of last year that I have written anything. I wish it was because I had made huge progress. Let me just say, I'm in the middle of making a step. Patience by others and by those fighting mental illness can be so hard, but is as crucial as eating some good fiber after eating rice and cheese.
My Psychologist once told me that relying on others acts of love and comfort to bring a sense of happiness will do more damage than good ... the acts of love will simply not be enough. I think of that everyday. The days that folks reach out to me means a lot, I won't lie about that. Sadly, there are days though when I am left to my thoughts. The true battle of depression is striving to find happiness on your own. The darkness is real. The feeling of literally being pulled down is real. Thus, the difficulty of finding happiness. Please note, I didn't say you will never experience happiness. I know when I experience the glimpses of happiness the peace it brings is unreal! Finding those glimpses is the fight.
Lastly, I look at the world in a different way now. It's not because I'm hanging upside down. It's not because I'm shorter or taller. It's not even because I'm on the verge of getting bifocals. I'm not sure how to explain it, but I'll take a swing. I'm far more clearer on what defines me and what I let fall on the ground leaving it behind. Depression has made me so insecure, which is such a pain in the backyard, yet pondering for hours and even days on the emotions insecurity brings has in a strange way brought some kind of clearer understanding.
I share these thoughts and ideas not to bring on any light to me. I share them with hopes it will help those fighting depression or anyone with mental illness. I share them with hopes to teach those without mental illness how to be helpful and know that your acts of love is like gold. I share them with hopes that the stigma will lose it's strength bringing more smiles and peace.
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.
Thank you for sharing :)
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