Well hello there...

So it has been a while...  How ya been?

I have started writing numerous posts over the past months, but always stop short of posting it.  Most of the time deleting everything I wrote.  Not because I didn't mean it, or that it was too disturbing to share with all of you.  I just, didn't think it was worth reading.

It has been two years since I was hospitalized.  Some days it feels like two years, most times it either feels like a decade ago, or last month.  Either way it is in the past to stay.  I am feeling pretty good all things considered, and that is such an improvement that it makes looking back at the past a little easier.  It is still difficult to come to grips with some of the things said or done while I was sick, but the past is the past.  I can not change what happened or the lives changed forever, including my own.  I can not apologize for what happened.  It really wasn't under my own control at the time.  For those of you who have no idea what I am talking about, as in this is your first time reading something I have written, I suggest you visit My First Post to go back to the beginning.  Much easier than me trying to explain everything all over again.

I started my grown-up job a little over a month ago and am really liking it.  I'm still pretty self-conscious and hard on myself when I make mistakes or don't know something that I think I should.  I try to remind myself I am new at this, but it is still a struggle.  I do find myself feeling like I am doing well at times too which is new for me.  For so long I never felt that way.  That anything I did was good enough or even good for that matter.  There have been moments of praise with starting this new position.  I still find it hard to feel good about what is said.  That doubt still slips in with thoughts of "They won't think that for long" or "You must really have them fooled."  I don't know that my brain will ever be able to not have thoughts like that.  They have been there for so long.  As long as I can remember, that it is hard to see life without them.  Maybe that day will come.  For now the doubt isn't controlling me and I find myself working a little harder to prove my own self wrong.

I am glad I chose a career where there is constant learning.  If you ever feel like you know everything in nursing you are most likely delusional.  There is always something to learn and that is the beauty of this.  For those of you who know me well, and have known me a long time, I was never the best student.  Growing up in school I was bored most of the time.  Classroom settings always bored me.  Even in nursing school.  I loved the content, but sitting there being talked at can be torturous.  I learned so much more doing hands on.  Seeing the patient, hearing from them, reading their chart, looking at tests and trends.  I'm learning more now than I did in all the lecture hours combined just by being immersed in it.  I'm almost certain most college degrees are the same way, none prepare you for everything you will come to see or do.

I don't want this next paragraph to be taken out of context or to be misconstrued.  I am very happy for my mom and the path she has chosen.  I love the life she is now leading, and love the man she has married and his family.  For those of you who didn't know, in May my mom moved from Kansas City for southern California, took a job at Disneyland, and married a man I have literally known all my life.  I couldn't ask or have hoped for a better person for her to fall in love with.  But, I would be lying if I said the transition wasn't difficult.  My mom has always been here.  A short drive for home-cooked food and family.  I miss that.  Porcupines and noodle-bock.  I am adjusting to this new reality, just as I know she is too.  Mom, I love you and am behind you just as you have been behind me.  I can't wait to see you and David again in November, just as I know you feel the same way. 

With her moving it really has placed me on an island.  This certainly isn't her fault or anyone's fault.  With the separation, getting an apartment, the end of school, and my nursing school friends growing up and getting real jobs (just like me) I find myself with a lot of alone time.  On days off I find it hard to be motivated to do much of anything.  This is the first time in my life I have lived alone.  Every other time I have lived with someone whether it was my mom, a roommate, or Renee.  Solitude is a strange thing.  Sometimes you just want someone to talk to and no one is around.  Just something I have to get used to I guess.

Overall I am doing well.  I am not sure where things are headed in life.  I am one who likes to have some sort of plan, and right now there are a lot of unknowns and the path ahead is pretty foggy.  The good thing about fog is it doesn't typically last very long in any one area.  The path slowly becomes clearer over time and if you can't see what is next you just have to wait out for a little change and it becomes a little clearer.  I'm in the market for a little sunshine and maybe a light breeze right now, but I never mind a little fog.  Sometimes the way it lingers is just as beautiful as a sunny day.

Yesterday was one of the rougher days lately.  I know everyone has ups and downs, that's life.  I get concerned when I start to feel down.  When you have been burned by depression, you fear any sign of it like no other.  I can deal with one day of being pretty down, probably even two.  I fear that it will keep dragging on.  Day after day, week after week, and I will be back at the beginning.  I try like hell to keep that from happening, but there is always that doubt lingering.  "You couldn't stop it before, what makes you think you can stop it now?"  I never have a great answer.  I may never have a great answer.  That is probably where this post is coming from.  Writing has always seemed to help when I need it, so I should probably keep doing it huh?

My son, who is 3, is scheduled to have surgery a week from today.  Nothing major, getting his eyelid fixed.  It has been something we have been seeing specialists for since he was about 6 months old and it was just decided that surgery was our best option since it is causing vision changes and his eyes to work differently.  The nurse in me knows that it is a minor procedure.  Only about 30-45 minutes long.  The dad in me is worried for him.  Surgery is still surgery, and no one wants their child in pain.  The surgeon doing it is a "Pediatric Oculoplastic Specialist."  Fancy, huh?  Basically he is a plastic surgeon who only works on kids eye's.  I guess if my son is going to have to go through this having a guy who is that specialized and has been doing it at Children's Mercy for a long time is the way to go.  I'm not sure how long he has been with the hospital, but his picture on the website is in black and white and he has dark hair.  When I met with him his hair was kind of thinning and white.  They may need a picture update.

In August, on the 11th to be exact, the world someone a lot of people felt close to.  Robin Williams starred in many movies, some with critical acclaim and others deemed pretty much awful.  That night, after a long day of orientation for my job I sat down with my laptop and watched the news.  Media and people on Facebook were shocked at how someone seemingly so happy could be so tortured inside.  I took a few moments and shared some of my thoughts on my personal Facebook page, and though it has been over a month since his death I will share what I wrote here.  I probably should have just done it here anyway, but I was tired and a little shaken.

"I have been kind of stewing on this all night since hearing the news of Robin Williams death. I thought of just saying it was a tragic thing, but I don't think that would do much justice.

I have seen multiple posts and news quips talking about how he was so funny, and that it always seems to be the funny ones who end up taking their lives.

I think I am a fairly funny guy. I may be the only one that thinks that, but that is ok. Many people after finding out about my battles with depression made comments like, "I never would have thought that, you are always so funny" or "wow, but you seemed fine, and always joking." I would never compare my humor to that of a man like Robin Williams, the man was purely comedic genius. However it seems to be a commonly themed trait amongst some people with depression. Hiding behind humor to keep everyone in the dark.

For those of you in Kansas City, you likely remember Don Harman, the Fox 4 weatherman who was well known for his comedic antics. He too suffered from long term severe depression that he hid behind humor.

I can't speak for others, but using humor was really the only coping skill and way for me to hide my troubles. I feel for all of those who knew Mr. Williams, and my thoughts are with them. I just wish at some point society will wake up and realize mental illness like depression is not taboo and does not need to be hidden. Like any other illness it needs treatment, compassion, and understanding. It is a terrible shame that people, myself included, feel or have felt that taking your own life is the only viable option.

Rest in peace Mr. Williams, you touched the lives of so many, brightening their days and lives."

I am not a Kid Rock fan.  I will start by saying that.  I'm not sure he really has a whole lot of musical value, but I heard this song for the first time in a long time this morning and it has kind of stuck with me.  Here are the lyrics for the last verse of the song.  Like I said, not a big fan, but I can relate to these words:

People don't know, 'Bout the things I say and do
They don't understand, 'Bout the shit that I've been through

It's been so long. Since I've been home
I've been gone, I've been gone for way too long

And maybe I forgot, All things I miss
Oh, somehow I know, There's more to life than this

I said it too many times, And I still stand firm
You get what you put in, And people get what they deserve

Still I ain't seen mine, No, I ain't seen mine
I've been givin', just ain't been gettin', I've been walkin' that there line

So I think I'll keep a walkin', With my head held high
I'll keep movin' on, And only God knows why

I even had to look up if he was the actual writer of this, and much to my chagrin he was.   I went ahead and posted the lyric video for this song on the music page.

There was a 60 Minutes story on as a rerun last week that I thought I would share.  It talks mostly about the struggles parents have with mentally ill children, but the themes hold for adult patients too.  Some of the things mentioned in this story are just so asinine.  So asinine, but true.  It is about 15 minutes long, if you have time you should watch it at this link.

I work the next five days in a row so maybe that will help break the funk.  I know there are some of you out there going "Five days in a row?  That's nothing."  But trust me, five days in a row at a hospital will test anyone's resolve and patience.  Here's to hoping things go smoothly and it gets my mind out of whatever funk it is presently in.

I know I have kind of rambled around a bit with this post, forgive me.  I guess that's what I get for not having posted in nearly 6 months.  Have a great weekend folks.

A little fed up with the media

Taking a semi-break from studying to write this.  By semi-break I mean I still have some guy, an internal medicine doctor on YouTube talking to me about respiratory acidosis/alkalosis and metabolic acidosis/alkalosis.  Fun right?  Ok so back to my actual topic.

Another shooting.  Another person shoots and kills or injures others for one reason or another.  The first thing that comes up after is why they did it.  Rightfully so.  People, especially those directly affected by the tragedy deserve to know why their loved ones have been shot.  Most times, there is no good answer.  Hell, there is never a *good* answer.  There is never a good reason to kill someone in a setting like these.  I will not get into times when killing someone may be ok, but let's leave it as there are times, and they are few and far between.

I want to start off by saying that I can not defend someone who does things like this.  There is no real defense.  I am not apologizing for the shooter's actions.  But am pointing out a failure by the media and our healthcare system.  Being depressed or having anxiety is not an excuse for killing or injuring others.  But maybe, just maybe, if there were better services for people with mental illness of varying degrees, there would be less of these horrific stories that have become all too prevalent in our current age.

One of the first things to be said about the shooter at Fort Hood yesterday was that he "suffered from mental illness."  Really?  You mean someone was unstable mentally when they shot almost two dozen people?  Does a stable person do this?  No.

I have no real big issue with the media always saying that the person responsible for shooting others was not mentally stable.  It's true.  However, writing it off as mental illness is not the same thing.  The shooter this time was being treated for depression, anxiety, and reported PTSD.  The PTSD is being thrown in.  He was not diagnosed with PTSD, but it is being reported he self-reported he had it.

Depression and anxiety are not going to cause you to shoot 20 people.  Let me say that again.  These two things alone are not going to do it.  There is something else at play.

I actually heard a host on a talk-radio/news radio host today say that the shooter was in Afghanistan for four months and never saw combat and then ask, so how could he have PTSD?  Really?  Shut your mouth, read a book, and think before you talk.  Do you really think Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder comes solely from military combat situations?  Maybe we should coin a new disorder and make it Post-Military Combat Zone Involvement Stress Disorder.  PMCZISD.  Better yet, Intense Situation Acknowledgement With Situational Hyper-Intense Theoretical Mental Attack Notions.  That's right.  ISAWSHITMAN.  Someone can get PTSD from any traumatic situation.  Yes, there are events with military deployments and involvement that can cause PTSD, but there are many people out there who have it from car accidents, witnessing a traumatic event, being in a fire, you know, just like the disorder states "Post-Traumatic Stress".  As in, stress following a trauma.

Let's not pigeon hole those of us with "mental illness" as potential murderers.  Another person today said that "We need to do something about the people walking among us with mental illnesses".  What do you suggest?  I have a suggestion if you don't mind my opinion.  How about, you take your narrow-minded self back to your basement and put on that foil helmet and write up some more conspiracy theories of how the aliens are poisoning the earthworms to cause autism in kids.

Sure this country, and countries around the world, see mental illness as almost taboo.  Something you don't talk about.  If you have it, don't talk about it.  If people find out, they will see you as weak and possibly the topic of a future Dateline, 20/20, Criminal Minds, or some other prime time television show plot.  If you think there isn't a problem with mental health treatment in this country I have a little experiment I would like you to do.  Pull out your health insurance card.  Read the name of the company, then start calling psychiatrist offices saying you are a new patient with possible depression that needs to see a doctor.  When they ask what type of insurance you have tell them.  If by chance they take your insurance, see when the next new patient appointment is.  You might be surprised to hear when it will be.  How does 2015 sound to you?  Even a quick internet search will yield articles with titles like "Mental health care: Average wait to see a psychiatrist in Dauphin County is 8 months".  And reading that article, that is for someone with private health insurance, have medicaid or medicare?  The wait goes to over a year.  Oh and Dauphin County?  It's in Pennsylvania, and happens to be the home of the Pennsylvania state capitol.

There is the option to go directly to an emergency room.  When I was calling for appointments this was brought up.  I was told even they were turning away people who were not in an acute crisis.  Psychiatric hospitals?  You almost always have to be referred into at this point because they are so overcrowded.

Does your insurance have co-pays?  You know, $30 to see your primary doctor, $75 for urgent care, etc.?  Check out what it is for a specialist office visit.  Usually about double the primary doctor.  Every visit to the psychiatrist is a specialty visit.  And initially, that could be twice a week for a month or two.  Weekly, bi-weekly, monthly to follow depending on your progress.  Oh and those lovely medications you see on TV to treat depression, anxiety, and other mental illnesses.  Check your insurance to see if those are covered and how much they are.  A lot of those newer medications are top tier prescriptions.

Oh, and before you get too far you should review your policy.  A lot of insurance companies don't cover mental health like medical.  It is often covered by another company other than your primary provider.  And those companies, have other ideas on how you should pay, not to mention prior authorization for every appointment or medication.  Your doctor, you know once you actually see them, may say you have XYZ diagnosis and require ABC medication(s).  The insurance company may come back and say we disagree, you have QRS diagnosis and do not require medication, or a medication that doesn't even make sense to your set of problems.  I was told that the medication my doctor wanted was not approved by the insurance company and they wanted me to take a different medication instead.  If I didn't have some form of medical knowledge I might not have pushed back.  They wanted me to take a medication for my depression, that was used to treat schizophrenia and bipolar mania.  The opposite of the medication I was prescribed by my doctor to treat depression.

Before you start believing that the people with mental illness are a problem, take a peek at the system we deal with.  It is pretty messed up when it comes down to it.  So before believing the media about things like "they went untreated for mental illness" or "they reportedly were suffering from some mental illness, but were not being treated for it" remember, they might have called for their appointment a month or two ago and were waiting until December to see the psychiatrist.

I know, I know, don't nag

So it has been forever.  I know.  How are you doing?  Fantastic. 

So my nursing program is winding down, only a month and a half until graduation.  Kind of a scary proposition. 

To any future employers who are doing background checks on me and stumble across this blog.  Hi, take a seat, read away.  I don't know how you will feel about all of this, but if I can may I offer a suggestion.  Don't view the events on here as a downfall, or a handicap.  See them as a triumph.  Sure things got out of control.  They got downright bad, beyond bad.  Yet here I am.  Graduating school.  Intact.  I know I will be a good nurse, and believe it or not, there are others who feel the same way.  Nurses themselves, instructors, patients, and patient families.  I challenge you to not gauge me by my past and see me for who I am.  Talk to me, ask questions.  I will answer them.

As time has passed, a lot of things have changed, some good, some not-so-good.  Either way, change is life.  Nothing stays the same, we aren't expected to never change.  We can adapt or live in the past, I choose to adapt.  I have learned how to live within myself and with who I am.  I don't expect for everyone in my past, present, or future to change for me as they should not expect me to change who I am for them.  This shift, the change has and will cause problems and pain.  Both to me and others.  I wish I could wave a magic wand and make people happy or make them forgive me, but that isn't reality.

Sometimes in life you need to move past your past.  Forgive, forget, or don't and move on.  Maybe I need to think about this myself.  I can not forget, and struggle with forgiving myself.  I have to remind myself I didn't knowingly do the things I did, that I didn't choose that path.  I won't let that happen to me again, I don't want to ever feel that way again.  It is however a fact that it did happen.  There is no denying it, there is no escaping it.  But there is no need to keep it in the forefront.  No need to use it against me.  Just know I have worked past it, and am living my life the best I can.  If you can accept that, thank you.  If not, I am sorry and maybe it is time for the third approach, for both of us.

WANTED

WANTED

Unknown Subject Wanted For Identity Theft
Reward: $10,000*

It has become abundantly apparent that someone has robbed me.  Taken from me something I cannot get back easily, if at all.  Something it seems everyone else has, and now I am left without.  

I was asked awhile back to strip away all the labels that I associate with myself.  You know, the things that "define" me.  Once those are stripped away I will find the true me.  My true identity of who I am.  So you take away the the things like "husband", "father", "student", "male", and all labels that you or society places on you.

Apparently people are able to see something that remains.  Something to hold on to.  Something tangible to say "This is me."  I started to peel away the labels.  Just like Shrek was an onion with layers, I began peeling away things in my mind.  I'm guessing even that loveable ogre was left with that little green tail thingy in the middle of an onion.  

 

Me?  I peeled away what I thought was the last one and... nothing.  There wasn't anything.  The only thing there was the most awesome echo ever.  There is nothing left of me apparently.  Like a paper mache mask, I was just layers on top of something that used to be there and now, it was gone.  So you quickly pile the layers back on.  Trying to get the order somewhat right and looking how everyone had come to know me.  Phew.  Back to normal.

Normal?  How is being an empty void normal?  Maybe that was the point of doing this.  The removing of labels.  The realization that under all that you are missing something you once had.  Or... maybe I'm just broken.  Either way, I want to find the thing responsible for it, hence the wanted poster.  

At this point I am not even sure what was supposed to be under all those labels and layers of how I identify myself.  Was there supposed to be the real me?  Apparently that persona cashed in it's chips and caught the bus to a non-extradition country.  Maybe someday he will come back from this extended vacation.  I just hope when he does he isn't covered in back alley tattoos, missing appendages, or with an insatiable addiction to gerbils or something.  

I can only imagine this person didn't do this willingly.  Either someone kidnapped him, or forced him to run.  He wouldn't do this for shits and giggles.  Just up and vacate the premises on a whim.  

 

I just hope I didn't kill him off completely.  I mean, if I did it was accidental.  Maybe I just covered him with so much crap to keep everyone else from seeing how distraught he was that I suffocated him.  Withered away to nothing.  Dust in the wind.  For now I will just keep on holding out hope that he will come back.  Or that someone else, a new me, Scott 2.0 will fill the void.  Keep an eye out for him.  And don't forget about the reward for finding him.


*Reward paid in Monopoly Money

An open letter

This won't apply to everyone, but most have been affected by depression, either yourself or someone close to you has likely gone through it.  In light of the anniversary of my hospitalization I wanted to express a few things to you all. Things you probably already know.  Things you have heard before.  But hear them again, and listen from someone who should have.

Dear Reader,

You are not alone.  No matter how alone you feel, there are people who want to see you get better.  Family, friends, doctors, therapists, and even perfect strangers.  Just as you are good at hiding it, so are most.  Just know there are others out there struggling, and your struggles are no less than theirs.  Some of the best therapy I have had is talking to others about depression, both mine and theirs.

If you are reading this and you are in a place of darkness, I understand, sort of.  People will say they understand, that they have been there.  But have they really?  No.  They may have dealt with their own demons, fought their own fight, but in the end they aren't in your head.  They can suggest things, offer things, be there for you, but you have to let them, and that is hard for us.  As much as you know you need some sort of help, you aren't willing to ask.  Like me, you are probably thinking you aren't worth it, that it is hopeless, or that no one really cares.  They do.  They really do, and no they will not be better off without you.  It will scar them for life, and they will feel like they failed you.  They will blame themselves for these things that were beyond their control.  As much as you feel they would be better off, they wouldn't.  No one will be better off without you, as hard as it is to hear, you are worth their love, their friendship, their help.  A lot of pain could have been spared had I realized this before.  So I hope you will take my words and trust in them.  Let someone help you, you are in no shape to keep trying to solve it yourself.  If you had that ability you wouldn't be here right now would you?

A lot of people will downplay your depression as the blues, or a phase.  They do not mean to do it, they just don't know any better.  They want to help you, they just don't know how.  Tell them.  I know, that's easy for me to say right?  If it is someone you trust, someone you care about, you have to tell them you are hurting.  Tell them you can no longer help yourself and you need something, someone else.  Tell them you can't continue listening to yourself, because you know what you are telling yourself is bad.  You might even think it is true, but deep down you really know it is just a deafening falacy.  Look inside you, there has to still be a shred that still remembers you before all of this.  Grab it, hold onto it as best you can.  That little shred, sometimes just a happy memory, is hope.  And that is something you can build on.

If you are feeling worthless, hopeless, or that life is not worth living, I beg you to reach out.  You need help.  I know you don't want to hear that, but it is true.  You need someone with experience and that you can feel comfortable with.  A psychologist, a psychiatrist, a social worker, a counselor, or even a friend you believe will not downplay the situation.

Will you be healed instantly by doing this?  No.  I am not going to lie to you.  If you are depressed, you will not just snap out of it.  It takes time, it takes effort, and it takes courage.  You have these things.  As much as you don't think you do, you do.  You just have to get the tools that you currently do not have in this darkness.  Tools that are supplied through therapy, openness, and a lot of times some form of medication.  You will need a support structure.  Friends, family, doctors, therapists, people who know the situation and have offered you help.  They do mean it when they say they want you to get better.  So let them help you gain your footing again, because you have been sliding for awhile.

The road is not easy, but regaining your life, your happiness, is well worth it.  There will be bridges that need repair or complete rebuilding.  Even though you did not mean to do the damage and you don't know what you did to burn the bridge, it still is in need of attention.  The easiest way to do this is to be open and honest and listen to what they are saying when they tell you how they feel, and how they were hurt.  It will hurt you to hear it.  You never meant to cause them pain.  You did not knowingly or intentionally do it.  You were sick and still are.  Help them to understand that you did not willingly participate in the depression.  You did not enjoy it.  You didn't mean to do the things you did.  You were not in control of yourself.  Educate them if needs be.  Explain that your brain was not producing the things a normal brain does.  Serotonin, norepinephrine, endorphins, dopamine, these can all be out of whack.  That is what the medication helps with.  It helps, but is not magic.  You also need other help along with them.  And hopefully you are seeking that help at that point.

You need to act now.  Save yourself.  Reach out.  Call someone.  Call a crisis center if you are at the ledge.  Stop thinking and act.  If you think about it your scumbag of a brain will talk you out of it.  So please, for your family, your friends, and especially for yourself, seek help.

Sincerely,

Scott Rivera

Author of Depressible Me

Diagnosed with Severe Treatment Resistant Depression and Generalized Anxiety Disorder

Always willing to help anyone going through depression or any other difficult times.

PS: If you or someone you know is going through depression do not hesitate to contact me.  Message me through here, or leave a comment with your contact information.  I am perfectly fine with you being anonymous, I will not judge you, and I will not downplay your feelings.  Please, just reach out.

31,536,000

That's a large number isn't it?  In my little world it equals other numbers too.  525,600 is one, 8,760 is another, 365 is the final equality for the title.  If you haven't guessed already, it is the number of seconds, minutes, hours, and days in a year.

One year ago today, my scumbag brain told me to do something I regret immensely.  I regret it, but I also appreciate it.  I know that sounds strange, but it is true.  Without that start to a chain of events that led me to the place I am now.  I'm not talking about physical place, even though that event has led to that, but mentally.  Mentally I think I have come a long way.  There is certainly a long way still left to go as well.  I am still very flawed.  I know this.  I accept this.  I will always be flawed.  The more I remember this and remember that others are flawed as well, the better I will handle this situation.

Saying this past year was like a roller coaster would actually take away from what all has happened.  A roller coaster can be fun, exciting, and a thrill.  Sure I have had fun times in the past year, as well as exciting and thrilling times.  But overall, the past year has been none of those.  Well maybe a little thrilling in the scary movie sense.  Terrifying might be a better description.  I do not think I have been more scared in my life than I have been at times in the past year.  

But, I have learned this year that I would much rather be terrified than complacent.  Indifference to everything and everyone was something I did for a long time.  It got much worse over time, becoming indifferent even to my self.  So insignificant that my death would be a mere hiccup in the big scheme of things.  I know a ripple can supposedly turn into a tsunami.  But I wasn't like that.  My death would have had the affect on the world and the people around me that a gnat landing on a glass-like, still, undisturbed lake would cause.

Even though I was indifferent to myself and others I was still so very selfish.  Selfish in the sense that I really couldn't see what I was doing to those around me.  The pain I thought I was the only one feeling was hurting the people around me too.  My depression wasn't just mine.  It was theirs as well.  I'm not sure how I would have handled this information 400 days or so ago.  Now, I see it and feel guilty that I had such a profound negative affect on the ones I care about.  Even though I know it wasn't really me doing these things, I was not in control of it at all. Yet I still carry that guilt of being responsible.  

But if I would have known the damage I was causing back then, I think it would have made things much worse.  I would have escalated very quickly, because I would want to no longer be able to hurt them.  If I were to be gone, the pain I was inflicting would have stopped.  There is not a bigger fallacy in the world.  As much of a pain I have been and how hard it has been for me and them, my death would have been a long lasting, painful event for my loved ones.  Something my kids would have to live their whole lives dealing with.

I would much rather them know I battled depression and survived, than have them see their father as someone who couldn't handle it or didn't care enough about them to fight my way out.  I truly hope that they never experience depression of a clinical magnitude.  Genetically, I have put them at a disadvantage.  Depression runs in my family, but hopefully the cycle can be broken.  Hopefully they will live a long, happy life filled with joy and wonder.  I know they will have down times and be hurt or sad.  That is normal.  But overall, I hope they can find their happy place.  They certainly were mine.

For a long time, even after the events of September 20th, 2012, I still hoped to die.  I wasn't going to do it, but if it happened it would be welcomed.  A car wreck, an illness, an accident, a murder, anything and any way other than suicide.  It would have a less painful for everyone had it happened this way.  I didn't take my own life, it just happened.  I could be remembered for who I was and not for what I had done.  This passive look at death is a common thing with severe or clinical depression.  Just wanting it to be over without the trauma of suicide.  But it is still traumatic, it is still painful, and it will always be surrounded by the suspicion that you caused the death and it was truly a suicide.  Once again, this is something I have learned over the past year would still be devastating to my family.  Suicide or not, my death would be painful and cause life-long issues in many people.  And it is much better for everyone, myself included, if I live.  Even as dysfunctional as I can be, it will always be better for everyone if I survive.  

So as I reflect upon and celebrate the past year's small victories, triumphs, and the disappointments and downfalls, I am reminded that life will never be a flat, straight path.  It will be filled with twists and turns, valleys and peaks, and even bridges and tunnels.  I just have to remember to slow down, put my hands at 10 and 2, and steer myself the best I can.  I thank each and every one of you for helping to repair my imaginary car for this journey.  I am sure I will need a lot of repairs and routine maintenance along the way, but I know I can stay on the road and finish my nice long journey.

So how will you spend your next 31,536,000 seconds?  I plan on mine to be full of changes, and that is okay.  I will come through it in the end.  I will always have my family, friends, and even a doctor or two to lean on when things get rough.  I am going to take my next 31,536,000 seconds one at a time.

When the doubt comes around

It rolls in like fog off the coast.  You can see it coming, you can feel it.  Unlike the differential in temperatures that cause coastal fog, the cause of doubt is far more vague.  But the two have glaring similarities as well.  Like the captain on the sea blind in the fog can run aground, doubt can cause the wary traveler of life to hit a wall full force.

A lot of times for me that doubt is more self-inflicted than anything.  Something will trigger it and set off a chain of events.  I don't know if I doubt myself more than anyone else, but I can't help but feel that way.  It doesn't take much at all to get me going.  It's like picking a scab, the more you mess with it the more it bleeds, the bigger it gets, and the worse it gets.  Every little thing you do is wrong and you know it.  Every thing you do is a big mistake.  Even when you don't try or even know you did something, people seem quick to point out how big of a fuck-up you really are.

Take school for instance.  How am I going to be able to take care of someone else when I can not even take care of myself?  For that matter, that same thing comes in with regards to my family too.  How am I supposed to care for my kids and my wife, when I can't take care of myself?  How can I show them I love them when I am constantly reminded of my short-comings?  How can you repair things when you feel like every time you blink, someone is right there to pull the rug right out from under you?  I really don't know how.  So if someone out there has some magical way to deal with this let me know.

I feel inadequate.  I feel unwanted.  Whether people realize it or not, that is what I get from them.  I know when I have rational thought that they do not mean it.  They do not think that way.  They do not want me to feel that way.  But in my clouded, fogged in mind, everything I do is wrong.  Everything is just a mistake.  If I try to be assertive, I'm an asshole.  If I go with the flow, I'm spineless.  Jack Johnson once sang: "Move like a jellyfish, rhythm is nothing, you go with the flow, you don't stop."  I thought for a long time being like the jellyfish was a good thing.  If you just go with it, nothing should worry you.  But now, I'm feeling more like the Pacific trash island.  Still floating along, but a expanse of waste that no one wants to deal with or admit is a problem.

Okay, I'm done whining.  Time to go do something else.

Back in the Swing of Things.... Sort Of

Well, the summer is over and it is back to school for everyone, including me.  School is mostly a solace for me.  A place where I can use the good things in my brain to do good things for other people.  The good things begin to out muscle the bad.  At least that is the plan.

Lately I have done something new for me.  For those who know me quite well I have never been religious or spiritual.  I could have counted on one hand the times I had been to church if I had to guess, and even less the number of times I went willingly or not required to go.  But over the past month or so I have gone to church three times.  I'm not looking for "God" or "Allah" or "Yahweh" or Daffy Duck.  I know people say I should be.  But I am more looking to expand my own feelings, rather than seeking out a single deity to be the be all, end all.

For those of you who believe in one of the aforementioned deities and the many more I did not haphazardly spout off, I have nothing but respect for your beliefs.  My personal beliefs are be nice to people.  Basically Kindergarten.  Treat everyone in the same fashion you wish them to treat you, play nice, don't hit people with cardboard bricks, don't eat or drink things you shouldn't (paste), stop and color a picture or make macaroni art, and have fun.  I don't mean fun like "Woohoo Party!"  I mean do things that make you happy.  Things that are neutral to or help others.  Don't have too much fun at someone's expense.  I am certainly one that jokes and teases with people, but it is not in malice, if I do it to you, I openly expect you to do the same to me.

The church I have been going to, instead of teaching Christianity, Judaism, Islam, or Satanism, talks about how to live your life and that everyone, regardless of race, religion, socioeconomic status, appearance, or geographic location, is important.  Everyone is worthwhile.  Everyone should be treated as a friend and an equal.  Just because we don't see eye to eye on politics, racism, importance of trivial things, or anything else for that matter, does not mean I should look down on you.  Help others.  If we all actually made ourselves available, to the extent you are comfortable with, the world would undoubtedly be a happier place overall.  If you can believe that the beggar on the dirt streets in sub-Saharan Africa and yourself are both important, then what would drive hate?  If you viewed everyone, including yourself as having worth, how can you truly hate someone else?  If you hate others it is undoubtedly more your issues, and less of theirs.  Now I am not saying you have to love everyone, hold hands, and play the bongos with everyone, just respect them.  You never truly know what is going on with them.  You may dislike their actions, their words, their decisions, but you don't know what is in their head or what they have been through.

Okay, I'm getting off my pulpit/soapbox now. 

Just be nice to people.  Words hurt and last a very long time.  I still think about things that were done to me in elementary school or middle school.  Times when I was looked down upon, bullied, teased, made fun of, picked on, treated as an outcast.  That sticks with people.  When you are young and don't know any better, the majority of people probably aren't wrong, so to the kid, they believe these things.  These things pile up and drag them under.  Every insult is a brick added to the sack tied to their ankle as they are treading water.  Every once in awhile, a compliment or accomplishment will remove a brick or two.  But for me, there was always someone there with another to replace it.  I am sure someone who reads this will be one of the people that added a wheelbarrow of bricks to the pile.  I just want to tell them, it's okay.  We were kids, you didn't know better.  I don't know what was going through your head or going on in your life at that time.  If your way to survive was to be mean to me, I get it.  We all just want to keep our heads above water.  I just hope that the person you have become today, knows that the person you were then hurt people.  I only hope you have learned from that, and do not still bully people or pick on someone with the sole purpose of making them feel bad.  I certainly hope you will not tolerate your kids to bully someone either.

Ok complete change of topic now.  I still have bad days.  I can't be truthful if I say they aren't there.  But now the good days outnumber the bad ones.  I don't have stretches of bad days that seem never-ending and unrelenting.  They also don't take me to a place where I stumble down the road of thinking about harming myself.  I have not cut myself, or inflicted pain on myself in almost a year.  I still have scars.  Mostly on my thighs and upper arm.  I remember a time, around this time last year where I was learning how to give intramuscular injections and the instructor asked me to pull up my sleeve to show the deltoid site.  I quickly lifted it, covering the still fresh knife cuts with my hand, pretending it was just there to hold my sleeve, but it was there to hide my pain.

For those of you who read this that are in my class.  I must say to all of you that there was nothing you could do.  I was very good at acting as if nothing was wrong when I was in public or at school.  None of you could see that sometimes during lecture or labs my hand move down my leg to my ankle as if to scratch an itch, instead it was drawing the blade of a small knife across my skin to keep me from breaking down.  It was a temporary fix, obviously.  It didn't help with what was going on, it masked my emotional pain with the pain of laceration.  You hear about people having a release from cutting themselves.  It isn't what you think.  It is not a pleasurable release.  It was a release from internal struggles to control your own mind.  For a brief time you could take control of your brain by forcing it to respond to the pain and the wound.  It would be like smacking your hand with a hammer after stubbing your toe.  Not very smart in retrospect.

When I say I was good at acting fine, I was.  But pretending to be fine took an even bigger toll than I realized at first.  Keeping up with appearances was exhausting.  I was spent, and hid from the world mostly in my own bedroom, ignoring the people who cared for me the most, and that I cared for the most.  It was my way of shielding them from me.  It was easier to hide, to disengage, than it was to try and keep up my acting with people who could see through that.  That knew the facade was bullshit.  That knew something was wrong.  But like the people at school, there was nothing they could do.  They offered me anything.  I still didn't want to worry them or burden them.  In my own head I wasn't worth their time and their worry.  But that wasn't true at all.  A sick mind plays many cruel tricks on you.  Perceptions are skewed, words are bent to mean something else, the look from across the room which was just a passing glance, was piercing.  It was judging.  It knew you were full of crap, so you better get away or try harder to cover it up.

For a long time I had been the one dumping the bricks that were pulling me under.  No one else but my messed up mind.  I was a master bricklayer by the time it finally pulled all the way under.  It slammed against the ocean floor and that was it.  Ever since then I have been cutting at the threads to shed the weight and resurface.  Oh to just be bobbing in the ocean.  Semi-buoyant compared to having a makeshift anchor tied to your legs.  I'm sure I will never be free of everything.  Things will happen, the hypothetical bricks will make their way back to me.  But maybe, just maybe if I am good, and kind, and help others, and be a good man they will just fall to the ocean floor never hanging out in that sack tied around my ankle.  They won't carry the weight they once did, and all of you will be my ducky floaty around my waist and the water wings on my arms.  So in advance, thank you.  Thank you for understanding if I am having a bad day.  Thank you for offering to talk, even if I can't bring myself to do it.  Thank you for listening when I do.  Thank you to those who do not judge me for what they perceive and instead appreciate what I am trying to do.  Thank you to those that do not judge me if and when I can't help but cry.  Yes, grown men can cry.  It has taken me 33 years to figure out it is ok.  Better to just let it out and not bottle it up like I did for so long, right?  

So back to school, back to routine, and onto a path to a more balanced and "normal" place.  With the restarting of school and the need to be on a computer, I am truly hoping to update this more often than I did this summer.  Until I post again, be good to yourself and others, and once again thank you.

Reappearance

I know I kind of disappeared. No, I did not win the lottery. No, I did not go on a whirlwind vacation around Europe. I didn't even go crazy and end up back in psychiatric hospital. I've just been me.

I have been trying to do the right thing as it comes. Part of that is not over-analyzing decisions and not beating myself up over mistakes and short-comings. This is rather tough for me, I mean, it wasn't all that long ago where I couldn't stand the sight of myself and thought everything I did was wrong and stupid. I can actually look back now and see how wrong I was for feeling that way. Feeling I was worthless, that no one needed me, no one would care if I was gone, hell they'd probably be happier if I was. I was so far off-base that it is very sad to think about how I could have thought these things. Now I can look my loved ones in the eye and see that I matter to them. I matter to me. I matter to the world. I may be an insignificant speck on this tiny floating rock hurdling through a solar system surrounded by an infinite number of other rocks, but that is ok. I am not insignificant to my family or my friends or those I care for.

I got some sad news the other day. One of the people who read this blog, supported me, offered help if I needed it, and was just an all around good person passed away. I don't know the circumstances of his passing, but I do know he had battled health issues for quite some time. He was my age. Graduated from high school the same year. He has left behind two young children who will miss their father very much. I can't help but think of what I had put my family through, and what it would have been like for them if I wasn't able to recover and get back on the right track. I can not imagine the pain and anguish that TJ's family and friends are going through and think about if I had caused that same pain to my family. That is enough to keep me doing the right thing. I don't want to make them hurt any more than I already have.

In a few days we will have a definitive answer to the age old question: "Do you have a brain in your head?" I am having an MRI of my brain done on Friday. With my lower than low testosterone levels and the severity and speed at which my depression, anxiety, irritability, and anger hit, amongst other things as well, my doctor thought it best to get a look inside my brain. Not ready to have my head opened up and my brain fondled, I guess an MRI is a better avenue. And no, opening my head was never discussed. I think I would find a new doctor if his front line thing is brain surgery.

I did something this week that I do not think I have ever done. I willingly went to and had an open mind during.....church. I won't go into details, but I enjoyed myself for the most part. Sure their were some odd things, but I can look past some things. I will attend a few more times to see if it is something for me. I have never been religious or spiritual. Always clinging to reality and empirical things. It is as good a time as any to explore the unfamiliar and sometimes uncomfortable scenarios in hope of finding mental peace. I could just do without all the handshaking and hugging.

I guess the moral of the story today is to hold your people close. Hug them tightly. Tell them you love them if you do. Don't waste time arguing or fighting over things that require neither. You never know when or where or how a loved one will pass away. Just let them know you care and you won't regret not telling them.

Thank you all for the support you have given to me and continue to give. You can not imagine what it has meant to me.

My Anniversary

I promise to write another installment to the blog soon, but for now I think you should head over to my Music Therapy Page. I updated over there for my 9th wedding anniversary and even got a tad creative on my own. See now you are intrigued. Go ahead, click the link and watch a couple videos.

Another Year Older And Reason To Celebrate

There is a large part of me that truly didn't expect to make it to my 33rd birthday yesterday.  Given where I was last year on my birthday, there is some surprise to waking up today.

Flashback to last year at this time.  I had not seen anyone for my depression and was hiding it seemingly well from everyone but my wife.  I had made the decision to get help after a long struggle with realizing I needed help and I wasn't surviving on my own.  Finding a psychiatrist was a difficult task in and of itself.  No wonder people do not get the help they need.  Some only take certain insurances, most don't take new patients, and quite a few the receptionist treats you like a moron.

In recent years my birthday grew to be something I would have rather just forgotten.  Just another day, nothing to see here.  Yesterday, however was different.  Even though the day was very low key and involved mostly studying and a nap, it wasn't the same as years past.  The day had a purpose, it wasn't just another day, it was my birthday.  Being awoken by my kids screaming "happy birthday!"  It wasn't an annoyance, it was amazingly gratifying.

My life has changed so much in the past year.  Some good, some bad, some amazing, and some debilitating.  Hindsight will always be 20/20, and that is something I have realize and remind myself of constantly.  There are a lot of things I wish I could go back and do differently, but I cannot.  Even though now I see how I should have been, what I should have done, I can't change it.

I am making a point to try and enjoy things this year.  Last year I could not enjoy much of anything.  Not that there were not joyous events, just I was incapable of feeling joy or excitement.  I lost all typical emotion as most people know it.  A lot of great things happened last year that I don't think I ever got to enjoy.  Acceptance into the nursing program I wanted for one.  Around 450 applicants, only a quarter of them get an interview, and of those only 62 were accepted.  I was more terrified than excited when I got my letter.  I faked excitement because that is what everyone would expect right?

I still have a hard time giving myself credit for my accomplishments.  Although, I allowed myself to feel good about myself twice in the past couple of weeks and it was an odd feeling for me.  Today was one of those times.  Getting the results from my final and knowing I had survived my first year of nursing school.  A lot of events transpired over the past year that created obstacles to my getting here.  So far I have made my way through most of them and better for it.

The other time I was able to feel good about myself is when I was praised by an instructor.  Saying I surprised them with my skills.  Not really my clinical, physical skills, but my emotional skills.  I was kind of taken aback by the comment.  They explained I had surprised them because they see a big tall man and they were astonished by my ability put patients at ease with my words and confidence.  She said she never expected to see me so compassionate and caring when dealing with a dying patient, and how the patient and family took to me.  I was given the biggest vote of confidence I think an aspiring nurse can get from an experienced nurse.  Being told that they would be happy to let me take care of them if they were in the hospital.  There isn't a much better seal of approval you can get.

So it is with those two building blocks to liking myself again that I will build on this year.   Hopefully, I will have many more blocks to add over the next few months.  There are a lot of bridges that need rebuilding and I have to start by building on my end first. 

I Never Dreamed Home Would End Up Where I Don't Belong

I can't get a grip.  Sometimes I feel like a rock climber facing a sheer cliff.  Working, climbing, hanging by my fingernails at times.  One little misstep, a rock breaks away and you slide.  Tearing at your fingers, trying to find something to hold on to, something to save you.  You grasp a rock, you think it is what you need, the rock disappears.  Removed from your grasp by something you can't see or feel.

Free fall.

You think this is it.  The time has come.  You find yourself staring at the knife case at Wal-Mart.  First just thoughts of cutting yourself to redirect your mind.  Then you think you need one bigger and sharper.  One not just to cut, but to slice through flesh, able to plunge through cartilage and connective tissue to reach a depth deep enough to end the thoughts once and for all.

I hate feeling like this.  If I could turn it off and be better I would.  I did not ask to feel this way, I am not keeping it up to try and get attention.  I will be thrilled the day I can post on here and say goodbye.  Not because I am going to do something terrible, but because I am better and can move on from all this.

So I wrote the above a little over a month ago.  I was in a pretty rough place and worried the people close to me that were watching me slide back down into a deeper depression.  I wasn't sleeping much which in turn makes the symptoms of my depression worse.  I was headed towards another breakdown, another failure to grasp my feelings and emotions and express them.  Another failure to reach out for help.  Why is it so hard for me to just express what I am feeling and what I need verbally?

When I was in the hospital after my breakdown I made a promise.  I promised my wife that if I began getting worse, began to slide back down into the abyss, that I would leave.  Not because she didn't love me, or that I didn't love her, it was because we both loved each other enough to know that if it happened again I needed to leave.  It would be toxic not only to us, but our two children and I don't want either of those.  So when my wife came to me saying she saw me falling backwards and our daughter said that she thought I hated her, it was time to make good on that promise.

I of course did not take it that easy.  I was upset.  I was being abandoned when I was in a dark depression.  That was it, no one really cared about me anymore.  I was alone, I was scared, and I was hurting.  Then I remembered the promise I made back in September.  I thought to myself: "If I am going to get better and work on healing myself and the ones I care about I have to live up to my promises."  It was a starting point in a time when all things seemed to be ending.  So that evening I packed some things and headed to my mom's house, not knowing what was to come.

I began to understand that I needed this, and my wife probably needed it too and the kids certainly didn't need to see me spiral down again.  This didn't happen overnight, or even over a week.  It was a slow process to come to terms with the situation as a whole.

One of the first things I did was go to my psychiatrist to see about changing one of my medications.  I thought it had stopped being effective so we switched to another.  The switch certainly helped, I was back to sleeping at night. I also went in to see my general practice doctor to talk about testosterone.  I had a family member that was tested and his levels were remarkably low, and with the symptoms I have had it could explain a lot.  So I was tested, simple blood draw.  Told it would take 48-72 hours to get the results.  The next morning I had an e-mail from my doctor.  My levels were well below the cut off for low.  In fact, according to a few studies I was below the 2nd percentile of men.  I'm pretty sure my levels were closer to a woman than the average man.  So I also got onto testosterone replacement therapy.  Smearing gel on my shoulders every morning.  If you don't let it air dry for more than 10 minutes your shirt will stick to your shoulders.  I think even 10 minutes may be generous.

Even with everything that has transpired in the past 6 weeks I am feeling better.  The medication I replaced had caused an insatiable appetite at times.  With it gone I am eating less and eating healthier.

I miss my kids, I miss my wife, and I miss the life I once had.  I don't know if I will get it all back, but I am, for the first time in a long time, hopeful for the future.

I wanted to share this blog post with you all as well.  It was shown to me and it does a pretty good job of describing depression.  The illustrations are certainly worth the price of admission.  http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2013/05/depression-part-two.html

Oh yeah, and in case you were wondering, no knives left the case at Wal-Mart. I figured out I don't have to hide from my emotions or block them out with pain, I just have to deal with them as they come and do what I think is right for myself and those around me.  Causing pain to stop thinking about things was the way I took before and I didn't want what I did before, I wanted something new.  I still have the scars from when I did it before, and for now they serve as a constant reminder of where I was and in turn where I want to be and need to be.  I can't help but feel optimistic about the future.  For the first time in a long time, I am optimistic about life.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, have you reached a verdict?

Guilty.

I've been told by my therapist that I shouldn't be.  I shouldn't feel guilty.  I shouldn't be ashamed.  But I am.  He tells me that sometimes life is shitty.  Sometimes it is shitty, and other times it can be great.  He tells me that I did not ask for all of this to happen, that I could not have prevented it.  But couldn't I have?  Couldn't I have gotten help sooner?  Couldn't I have reached out to the people who told me to reach out to them if I was feeling suicidal instead of reaching into the cabinet for bottles of pills?  I can't help but feel guilty, can't help but be ashamed. 

Blame has to fall somewhere.  It certainly can not fall on anyone but me.  No one else could have stopped it but me, yet I failed to do it.  I failed to see it coming.  In a demented game of chicken, I blinked.  I closed my eyes to the fact I was spiraling out of control.  It was normal.  It was what life had become.

It's a funny thing this depression, I know it is an illness.  A chemical imbalance in the brain.  A lack of serotonin, norepinephrine, dopamine, endorphins.  All tangible things.  Depression is not much different than diabetes if you think about it.  Your body stops producing a substance that is needed for your body to work properly.  Insulin in the case of diabetes.  So we both take medicine to help.  We both try and keep a disease from getting worse, to keep from letting it take over, keep from letting the disease win.  In the end that is what it boils down to.  Depression can put up a mean fight, and in the end, it can win out.  There is no debating that.  Every 13 minutes and 42 seconds someone commits suicide and 90% of those people had a diagnosable and treatable mental illness.  Some sought help in their war, others did not.  This is reality.  A cold, harsh, bitter reality that needs attention.  Allies are hard to come by for us waging war.  It is hard for us to trust other people with our secrets, our shortcomings.  If you were to turn away, if you were to pull away, if you were to disappear it is another lost battle in a lifetime of losses.  So we back away.  If we never put ourselves out there, we won't be rejected.  The possibility of acceptance is so small it is not worth the risk of rejection and it's feeling of failure.

So we lock ourselves away.  Physically and mentally.  Physically we confine ourselves.  We seclude from others to not disappoint them, to not risk failure, and to not make things worse for others.  Mentally we do the same.  We get stuck inside our own mind because we don't want to venture out into the realm of possibility for fear of defeat.  We keep our thoughts to ourselves because we know they are not normal.  In turn, we aren't normal.  We don't belong anywhere.  We don't fit in.  We take pills to make ourselves not feel anymore.  The pills are designed to help us feel better, to squelch the sadness and despair.  But they don't just block sadness.  They can block other emotions and other feelings.  They can block joy, happiness, the things we need.  Instead of feeling better, we feel callous and detached.  Unmotivated to get out of the house and out of bed.  So they give you other medications to take on top of those to try and help.

Steering away from all that, I have noticed an increase in my pain levels.  My lower back, my legs, ankles, feet.  Most of the time now they hurt.  Especially at night and early morning.  I brought this up to my therapist and I will bring it up to my psychiatrist when I see him, but the therapist wants me to go see my family doc about it.  To get another set of eyeballs on me to see if it is caused by the depression or by something else.  I kind of hope it is just depression, not sure I could handle some other medical mystery right now.

I received a little feedback about my last post and the way men are perceived.  I guess I should go into that a little more.  As a man, society and history have told me I have to be the breadwinner, the solid-as-a-rock figure, the one who does not let things get to him.  I should put on a smile and grin through the pain.  Pain, after all, is just weakness leaving the body.  And we can't have weakness.  Stereotypically men are strong, stoic beasts with a lack of emotion.  When a man goes against that stereotype, when he is vulnerable and fragile, he is just weak.  A wuss.  A pansy.  A broken down shell of a man.  A man can not be that way.  Women have a lot of the same stereotypes put on them.  The woman can be emotional, and is often portrayed that way, but they too are seen as inferior if they crack under the pressure.  They are drama-queens or just seeking attention.  They've got baggage or issues.

I've got baggage.  I've got issues.  I've got baggage stacked up on a sky cap's cart dating back to childhood.  I'm pretty sure my first bag came along with my diaper bag.  My issues fill up a magazine rack like a lifetime collection of National Geographic.  I can't let my baggage keep me from getting to where I need to go.  That much checked luggage would cost a fortune.  I need to downsize.  Get rid of some baggage and board the plane with a carry-on.  I need to get a digital subscription of my issues and get rid of the racks of magazines that tell the stories of my downfalls and fall downs.  I don't know how to do it, but I have to.  If I don't the racks will overfill and topple over me or the baggage cart will tip over and crush me under it's weight.  So I have to go through my things and pack light.  Clean out the cobwebs in the closet of my mind.   Now if I could just get motivated to find my duster and hard-sided carry-on bag.

Man Up, Nancy Boy

So my psychiatrist left me a voice mail yesterday wondering if my recurrence of symptoms was due to the increase in Wellbutrin he did over a month ago.  I'm not thinking that is it, but he wants me to try a different form of it to see if that helps.  I'm not thinking that is the issue, but I guess I will go with it for now.

I'm doing a little better than I was.  I have gotten some sleep the past couple of nights, but I still am catching myself getting irritated easily.  I really hate that.  I am not an irritable and angry person.  I used to be a go-with-the-flow, happy-go-lucky type of guy, but with this depression that has gone away.

Depression and anxiety hit people in different ways.  I am sure there are some people out there that would be able to take what I am going through in stride.  I also think, however, the vast majority of people if they had the same situation would develop major depression.  I have to believe that this didn't happen because I am weak.  That is one of the biggest struggles I think a guy with depression has.  Society tells men that we are supposed to be strong-willed, unemotional, stoic, tough guys who don't let things get to them and handle any situation.  Those of us who fail at that?  We are weak, girly, gay, or a pussy.  Society tells me I am weak. 

The numbers show that women are much more likely to be depressed than men.  70% more likely to be exact.  I can somewhat see how that is, but I also think it is skewed by the sheer number of men who wouldn't report it.  That don't go to their doctor and say they need help, or find a psychiatrist or psychologist and seek help.  Men shouldn't need help.  Feeling down?  Kill an animal for sport, watch football, punch a wall, fix a car.  Man stuff. 

Part of why I started this blog was to open people up to depression and anxiety.  Men, you can be depressed.  You do not have to hide your feelings away.  For too long we have been told to bottle up our emotions.  We are told to stiffen up our upper lip, clench that jaw tight, don't let them see you cry.  And if we fail at that, if we break down and cry, or if we reach out for help we are shunned by society.  You think I don't feel that?  You think I don't know that? 

Ok so fair warning... The next bit is a peek inside of my head from a few months ago.  I would be lying if I said that none of these thoughts still entered my head.  They do.  More often than I like.  I am working on it though, and for now that is enough for me.  So to everyone out there, I am ok.  This is just a little insight into how my mind was at my darkest times.  I am not suicidal right now, I am ok with things at the moment.  So just remember that as you read on. 

My mind was consumed by these thoughts.  Every minute of every day.  It can be downright exhausting.  You know how cartoons portray the devil and angel trying to convince the character of what to do?  Think to yourself, what it would be like to only have the devil sitting there.  Telling you things.  Bad things.  Things like the following.

Outcast.  Depressed.  Failure.  Failure to handle this on my own, failure to just keep living life like nothing is wrong, failure to be a man.  Black-sheep.  Pitied.  Sick.  Tired.  Sick and tired, tired of struggling to get out of the house, tired of having my short fuse already lit when I open my eyes in the morning, tired of living this way.  Tired of living.  Death.  Dying.  Dying inside?  Already dead inside.  Worthless.  Unworthy of love, unworthy of happiness, unworthy of sympathy, unworthy of help.  Death.  It would be easier if I were dead.  Sinking.  I'm dragging people down with me.  Miserable.  I'm making everyone else miserable too.  They would be happier if I died.  Why can't I just die?  My kids would be better to have an image of what I was, than who I have become.  What have I become?  Nothing.  A non-living thing.  An emotionless, worthless, helpless, piece of garbage that is a drain on society, on myself, on my family.  I welcome death.  Can't it just happen?  I don't want to kill myself... I just want to die.  How pathetic am I?  I can't even make the decision to ease everyone's suffering.  Maybe tomorrow I can be a man about this and handle it.  Maybe if I stop being a pussy and just did it, it would all be better. 

My god, what am I doing?  Is this what I have become?  My inner voice is winning the battle of insanity.  Who do you turn to when you have turned on yourself?  Too many men have turned to the wrong people.  Namely, Jim, Jack, or Jose.  We try to drown the voice with alcohol or negate the voice with drugs instead of talking about what is wrong.  How will people judge me if they find out I am having these thoughts or feeling this way?

How do you judge people?  Do you have a preconceived idea of what a crazy person looks like?  How about a depressed person?  An alcoholic? 

If you pictured anything other than someone like your neighbor, your friend, your coworker, your parent, your sibling, your child, your significant other, or even yourself, you need to adjust your outlook.  I am your neighbor.  I am your friend.  I am your coworker.  I am someone's parent.  I am my brother's brother.  I am my parent's child.  I am my wife's husband.  I am a little crazy.  I am depressed.  I am me, and that's perfectly fine.  Not broken, not weak, not worthless.  I am me.

The enemy within myself

Is it starting again?  I don't feel as depressed as I was, but the pains are coming back.  So is the insomnia.  I couldn't get to sleep last night for anything.  The pain in my legs and back are both back as well.   They are accompanied by intermittent headaches, some lasting hours others lasting seconds of intense, sharp pain.

Concentration has been slipping for a couple of weeks now.  I'm finding it harder and harder to concentrate durning lectures.  Even interesting topics can not hold my attention.  Not to mention I find myself having to drag myself out of the house every day.  I know it isn't healthy for me to stay in bed all day, but that is just how I feel.  At first I thought it was laziness, but it is much more than that.   It is a lack of motivation to do anything.

I also have found myself getting irritable and short fused when there is no need for it.  This seemingly goes hand in hand with the overwhelming need to blow every little thing out of proportion.  That my friends is my anxiety.  It lies dormant then BOOM.  Everything is a huge deal.  One little criticism is seen as a shunning of your existence.  Every critique is a huge question of your intellect or character. Even positive things get blown up.  Someone telling you something good about you is instantly transformed.  They are just saying that, they don't mean it, they are lying to make you feel better.  This circle is exhausting.  You just want out.  Any way you can.

You then turn to thoughts of hurting yourself.  I'm not back at that point yet, but I know it is around the corner.  For me it begins with all of the above and you just get tired of feeling so terribly.  The thoughts come in.  Not even of suicide.  You just see yourself dying.  Over and over again.  Various ways, various times.  Before long you begin thinking of how you would do it.  Then, a leap is made.  Thoughts go from just thoughts to a thought of how you would do it, then become a plan, a viable way to kill yourself.  Some plans are elaborate, some plans simple.  All plans are dangerous.  They all show a shift from thoughts to intent.

Back to where I am now.  Not sleeping is troubling.  I don't get very good deep sleep anyway, but if you take away even more sleep it is a very bad thing.  Tiredness breeds even less concentration, even less motivation, and even more irritability.  I am keeping my eye on it, and am letting my doctors know if it continues.  I don't want to end up at the bottom again, but it is hard on someone whose depression causes them to be very hard on themselves to stay positive, to believe in myself, to think I can win.

Maybe I should look at my battle with mental illness as not just a battle, but as a war.  If it is just a battle, then what is it when the depression or anxiety breaks through?  Is it losing the battle?  If it is a war and you win more battles than you lose and win the key battles, you can lose a few and still be ok.  You can have a misstep, you can fall down, you can be a temporary failure, but losing just one battle at one time doesn't mean you are losing the war.

Depression, anxiety, and I have had some battles.  I have won some recently, but lost many more early on.  This is war.  Not a skirmish, not a tussle, not a battle,  I can lose, and still overcome.  I can get knocked down, I just have to get up and dust myself off.  I can not control the challenges life puts in front of me, I can only do my best to deal with them as they come and do it the best I can.  Hopefully, in the end, I can plant my flag and fend off the enemy.  The problem is, the enemy is inside me.  It knows my shortcomings, it knows my fears, it knows every way to defeat me, because deep down it is me. 

It becomes hard to discern between the real you and the depressed you.  You lose your identity, your image.  The person you see in the mirror isn't you.  It represents what you have become, you grow to hate yourself more.  You begin to hate yourself, mostly because your inner thoughts tell you to.  They constantly remind you that you are worthless.  Now, these are not voices, that is a whole different ball of wax.  This is your inner voice.  The thing you have trusted throughout the years.  It has turned on you.  You feel like two completely different people.  The person you were, and the good-for-nothing, sorry excuse of a person you have become.  They don't even seem to be related, let alone the same person.  Your past and your memories become something like a movie you once saw.  It didn't really happen to you, because you are no longer that person.  Maybe one day I will look back and this chapter of my life will be the old movie, and my past will be my past not someone elses.

This disease is different than most.  You can not see it.  There are no visible signs that something is wrong other than people close to you can tell you are constantly in a bad mood.  Not just a bad mood, but no longer have enjoyment.  You can't run a simple blood test or an x-ray to see what is wrong.  There is no vaccine to prevent it, or 100% way to cure it.  There are medications that help, but most carry heavy burdens along with them.  People have seen the commercials, they know the names.  Zoloft, Paxil, Cymbalta, Wellbutrin, Prozac, Ativan, Xanax, Valium, Lithium, Depakote, Abilify, Seroquel the list is never ending.  Most of these come with unwanted side effects.  Side effects that do not necessarily help the situation at all.  Weight gain, sexual dysfunction including libido loss, anxiety, headaches, tremors, dizziness, drowsiness or insomnia, delusions, hallucinations, and in rare cases syndromes that can be fatal.  Sometimes you need more medication to combat the side effects of the medication. 

For many years laughter and use of comedy have been my tools for battling the disease.  It was not enough.  The disease still struck, even after lying dorment for many years, it sunk it's fangs into me, coiled around me, and nearly squeezed all signs of life out of me.  Through the trials you have already read about I got on medication, some helped, some made things worse.  That can be the frustrating part.  You take a medication and it is supposed to help.  The first antidepressant I took caused me to have a pounding heart, so hard you can feel your pulse throughout your body, so hard you can see it with your eyes closed.  Or can you?  Then began the colors, bright flashy rainbow tunnel on an acid trip colors.  Sweating and dizzy.  My god, is this what it is going to be like on these meds?  Fortunately for me, it was just that certain medication and I was switched to another.  One that would help me sleep too.  It has worked fairly well until now.  It used to be after I took it, about 30 minutes later I would be very tired.  Now, 30 minutes later I am wide awake.  An hour later I am just getting drowsy.  Two hours later I am tired.  Last night, it took almost 5 hours to finally fall asleep.  I moved from the bedroom to the couch at about midnight as I had been tossing and turning for almost two hours at that point.  A few hours later the light came on and a short, high-pitched scream woke me up.  Apparently, my wife was unaware of my sleeping difficulties and was not expecting a grown man on the couch.

Scratching the surface

So there are parts of the lead up to seeking help and my breakdown that I kind of glossed over.  Part of it was intended, part was I never really saw it as something big when it really was.  In the moment I was lost in my self.  I was trapped in a state of only thinking three things.  The first was I am worthless.  The second, everybody who knows me would be better off if I wasn't around.  Lastly, I should kill myself.

It is an interesting thought process when it comes.  I should kill myself.  What bad could come from it?  I mean, everyone would be happier without me dragging them down.  It is a scary time.  When killing yourself goes from a fleeting thought to a viable option.  Not just a viable option, but a high possibility. How can you break that news to someone?  A lot of people don't and they end up a statistic somewhere.  For those of us who verbalize it to someone, it is like sharing your deepest, darkest secret.  You hope they won't think you are joking, that they won't think you are trying to be funny, that you are pulling their leg.  Nothing has been truer in your mind than the possibility you will end your life without help.

I verbalized to another person that I was thinking of killing myself.  It certainly was hard to do, but if I wanted to get better I had to do it.  I can not even begin to imagine what goes through someone's mind when someone they care about, someone they love, tells them they are suicidal.  I didn't pick the best time to tell them either.  I had to get to class, and things lined up just right to where I told them that I was very depressed and had been contemplating killing myself.  I know it was not quite that elegant, but I am sure I got my point across.  The next hour and a half or so was spent crying and barely talking.  Then, I had to leave.

What would you think if this were you?  For me, I was too self-absorbed to see what I was doing.  I was too stuck in my own mind to understand the pain and worry I was causing.  I didn't think that someone could or should worry if I was coming home.  If they would just get a call instead of me pulling into the driveway that night.  Was I really going to class?  Was I doing what I said I was?  I couldn't be trusted.  I was beyond the tipping point, so to the people around me my word was no longer good enough.  Saying I wouldn't do anything rash, promising I would come home, that I would be there, was no longer a given.  There was too much at stake not to worry about my every move.  My every emotion.  My every breath.

I would be lying if I said I understood how someone put in that situation would feel.  I can not even imagine the torment it causes.  I just hope the people I confided in understand it took a lot for me to do that.  It took a lot for me to say "I have been very, very depressed for awhile and I have been thinking of killing myself."  I am sure those were not my exact words.  But they have the same meaning all the same.  As someone who felt like their heart did not even exist, I can only imagine that it felt like their heart was being ripped out of their chest.  That all they knew was disintegrating around them.  Stability was gone.

I never knew how much damage those words could have done.  I was trying to reach out, trying to do the right thing.  But in the end, even though it was the right thing for me to do to get help, it was undoubtedly hard to deal with.  In the moment it was hard to see the fact that I was releasing this pain of mine to someone else.  Now they had a burden.  It wasn't intended to be, but now, from that moment forward, if I were to give in to the thoughts and take my own life, anyone I told I was feeling the way I was would feel as though they let everyone down.  That if I killed myself, they were responsible.  They knew I was having these thoughts, these issues, but I still did it.  That is a hard thing to live with.  It is almost like I guilted them into the situation.  That if I kept my mouth shut, we could all just continue on our merry way.  Would it have been better if I never said a word?  Would I still be here?  Is it worth sacrificing something just to keep myself alive?  Am I worth that?  Am I worth the pain and suffering those around me have gone through?  Am I worth the pain and suffering I have gone through?  Am I worth the pain and suffering we all will go through on this journey?

Yes.  Yes I am.

I have to tell myself that a lot.  I have to convince myself that I am worth all this trouble.  I'm not sure I completely believe it. My therapist tells me I don't need to believe it at this point. If I keep telling myself that I am, eventually I will believe it. So I guess for now I will just have to fake it until I make it.

People like me are told not to dwell on things in the past. They tell us not say or think about should haves or could haves. I should have done this, or I could have done that and things would be better. The fact of the matter is that if I knew to do those things then, we wouldn't be here. We wouldn't be talking about this. But the fact remains, I am here. I did not do the right things. I took the rough road to get here. I shot myself in the foot, hell, I shot myself in both feet and possibly a hand. I almost took the worst road of all. I was in a nose dive headed for the earth. But a few others and myself grabbed the controls and pulled up. Now, it is just the battle to stay aloft. To keep from crashing.

I saw a quote the other day that has kind of stuck with me.  It deals with suicide and I do not know the origin other than two different pictures I have seen of two different men holding a cardboard sign that reads "Suicide does not end the chances of life getting worse, suicide eliminates the possibility of it ever getting better."  This is an important outlook to keep in mind.  Choosing suicide is choosing the certainty that your life will never get better, and choosing the certainty that you will leave a lasting scar on the people around you.  Some scars are ok.  They remind us of the past, they remind us that we overcame something.  A scar means you have healed.  I have visible and invisible scars just like everyone else.  Physical and emotional scarring that will one day tell the tale of my triumph over depression.  That is what I want my legacy to be.  One of hope, of triumph, of success instead of leaving a black mark on everyone who cares about me's soul. 

The lead up to and attending my first depression group

It has been a long time coming. I should have done it long ago. Certainly when I first went for help and definitely when I got out of the hospital after my breakdown. I need to find an outlet other than a therapist, a psychiatrist, and this blog.

One of the things I actually enjoyed when I was hospitalized was attending group therapies. Us, some of them were hokey, but a majority of them allowed for expression and education on what I was feeling and thinking. I only walked out of two group therapies early. One because they played Hotel California by The Eagles then Eleanor Rigby by the Beatles. Great songs, but poor choices for the looney bin. The other, people started yelling and fighting with each other so since I was close to the door, I left.

Some of the best groups explored the science or reasons behind depression, anxiety, addiction, and other mental illnesses. Sometimes all you need is a room full of people in the same boat as you to see things in yourself. For every good group there was a less than good group. Some surprised you by being good when you expected it to suck. Art therapy, expressive therapy, music therapy... Those were hit or miss. I am not an artist by any stretch, but the point was well taken. You can complete a project and you can make something that represents you or describes you, and that, surprisingly enough, was quite therapeutic. Music therapy, well, was less than therapeutic. A woman with a keyboard singing songs to you. Fail.

So it is with high hopes that I make my way to the meeting tonight to see what it is all about. I am hopeful that it will be good for me and be something I want to be involved with. It is worth a shot right?  It begins at 6:30 and is slated to go until 8:30.  That seems like a really long time to me.  Two hours.  I figured out where it is at and that it is led by a "mental health specialist."  That leaves a lot up to speculation.  I mean, a specialist... So they have experience with mental health?  I have experience with mental health, I lack it.  Does that count?
.................................................................................

Ok so I went to the meeting.  It was a good experience.  Very small group but that is fine with me.  It is always good to be around people with similar experiences and stories.  I am sure I will be back.  I can't say too much about it, not just because of the anonymity for the other members, but because I have posted my story here, and I tell my thoughts and share my problems here already so it makes it redundant to talk about what is talked about there anyway.

There was one thing that struck a chord with me from the meeting tonight.  One of the people brought up thinking about never allowing themselves to get that bad again.  To get to the point of breakdown again.  And then it happened.

This resonates with me because I am terrified of that.  I know things now that should be able to help me if I ever start down that path again, but will it work?  Will I have another breakdown?  I hope not.  I pray and beg that I will not.  You all will play a part in keeping me from it.  Unknowingly, you will all help me keep on the right path.  Letting you in has already helped, and if I keep sharing then maybe it will keep me from going to that dark place.

I have to remember some times that I am human.  I can make mistakes.  I can say the wrong thing.  I can do the wrong thing.  I can be wrong.  I am flawed.  And all of that is ok.  That's normal.  For me, for so long I couldn't accept that, and still have a hard time with it.  I have made myself into this thing that focuses on everything that has gone wrong.  Everything that was bad.  Nothing was good.  It took me hitting a wall at 100 miles per hour and losing my way, my path, my mind, and nearly my life to see that there were good things around me.  I wasn't a failure.  I was loved and worthy of that.  But, sometimes, on bad days, I catch myself.  Catch myself thinking those same tired thoughts.  Those same useless, self-depricating, damaging thoughts.  The good news?  I can see them now.  I can catch myself in the middle of them.  Before they ran rampant through my mind, no control, no subsiding.  I hope the rest of my life isn't a struggle with this constantly.  I hope I get things figured out.  I'm trying.  Sometimes I just don't know if it makes a difference.  If it does any good. 

See, there I go again.

Coming Back From a Little Hiatus

As some of you have pointed out, and others probably didn't even notice, it has been about two weeks since I wrote anything.  This wasn't really planned, it wasn't for any other purpose than I didn't know where I wanted to go with it.  I had a lot of things in my mind, different posts I could write, different avenues and arguments.  I am still debating with myself on some things as it relates to this blog, but just know I have not gone anywhere.  I know there are some of you out there with similar stories.  They may not be your own, but family members or friends that have struggled with depression or mental illness.  I have kicked around the idea of having a "guest blogger" do a post or two.  If you or someone you know might be interested in doing one let me know.  You can message me on Facebook or e-mail me at scottarivera@yahoo.com.  It doesn't have to just be depression.  There are a ton of topics that would work: PTSD, Bipolar, Schizophrenia, Addiction, OCD, Phobias, or even living with someone with a mental illness.

As most of you know I am in nursing school, and this semester I have been doing my mental health rotation in clinicals.  It has been kind of an interesting time.  It is hard to not share too much of my own experiences.  I see these people, going through some of the same struggles I have and am still going through, and sometimes it is just as simple as them needing to know they aren't alone.  They aren't broken or damaged.  I'm not broken or damaged.  We are just sick.

That is hard for people to hear.  I'm sick.  I have an illness.  I did not choose to have all of this happen to me.  I did not knowingly choose a lot of things over the past few years that were toxic for myself and others.  I could not see through the dense fog of depression to make good choices.  I made mistakes.  Big mistakes.  I hurt people.  Not physically, emotionally.  I drove people away.  I did the bare minimum to get by, sometimes not even that much.  I was a burden on the people around me, but not in the way it was in my mind.  In my mind I was a burden because I was alive and in their lives.  In reality, I was a burden because I was unstable.  I couldn't be trusted.  I had to be looked after, not unlike a child.  You wouldn't call your kids a burden, but they can be... taxing?  So maybe I was taxing and not a burden, because the people looking out for me loved me.  They didn't want to see me the way I was, they didn't want for me to go.

But no matter how much someone else wants you to get help, no matter how much they try to lead you in that direction, you yourself have to want it.  No one was going to make me do anything.  I knew what was best.  It would be best for everyone if I killed myself.  It would be over and they could get on with their lives and not have to worry about me taxing them, burdening them any more.

I should have pushed myself to get help.  More help than I did.  I needed ways to deal with my emotions.  Ways to deal with my feelings.  I kept things under lock and key for a long time.  Pushed down, unexposed.  That is the only way I knew how to deal with it.  I had to be strong, had to be stoic.  In the end, I found out I was neither.  Being strong and being stoic doesn't mean you have to bottle up your emotions and your failures.  It is dealing with them.  Pushing them away was more cowardly than it was anything else.  A real man isn't afraid to deal with emotions, to deal with short comings, to deal with...life.

I can not even attempt to undo the failures I have had.  Some small, some large, they are failures.  Failure to get help when I should have, failure to reach out, failure to be a good father, failure to be a good husband, failure to be a good brother, a good son, a good friend, a good member of society, failure to not let my emotions get the better of me, failure to learn coping skills, failure to deal with life, and a failure to see that life was worth living.  All I can do is apologize for my past transgressions.  Apologize for not living up to my end of the bargain.  Apologize for not being what I should have been and hope for forgiveness.  Some bridges have been burnt to the ground, some are hanging by a thread, some are intact but potholed.  I've never been good at manual labor, but I am trying to build bridges back up.  I can only do half of the bridge, maybe a little more, but if the other side does not want the bridge to be there it will inevitably be a bridge to nowhere.  I have to find a way to deal with that.  I did the damage, even if it was because I was sick the damage was done.

If you are struggling with depression, suicidal ideation, self-harm, reach out to me.  I will keep everything confidential and will try to point you in the best direction.  These words may fall on deaf ears, because I know it did when people said it to me.  But try to listen to them.  You aren't broken or damaged.  You are sick and need help.  Let me help you.  Let someone help you.  You can not do it yourself.  Let me repeat that.  You can not do it yourself.  No matter how good you think you are at handling it.  You can not do it yourself.  I thought I was handling it ok.  I thought I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.  I reached out, went to a psychiatrist, got on medication.  That was what I was supposed to do right?  It wasn't enough.  I still broke down.  I didn't know what to do in that moment.  I didn't want to bother anyone with what was going on.  Even those who knew, they offered help.  Anytime, anywhere, if I needed help to tell them.  I didn't.  I overdosed trying to solve the problem temporarily.  I had, as my therapist called it in my last session, a nervous breakdown.  I lost it.  By it I mean perspective.  A sane person knows that taking copious amounts of trazodone and benzodiazepines is not a good way to deal with things. In the moment, I was not a sane person.  Truth-be-told I probably hadn't been sane for some time.

For me losing my mind was not a sudden thing.  It was a gradual process over time.  It is that way for many people.  Things start out slowly.  You are sad, you don't like yourself, you start to pull away from social interactions.  Slowly things snowball and before you know it years have passed and you hate yourself, you are beyond sad, you seclude from everything, you want to die.  This is the point when things start to move faster and faster.  Most people fear death, at this point you just wish it would happen.  You aren't ready to take your own life, but you would welcome something that would do it for you.  While driving you secretly hope to be broadsided by a semi.  You wish you would get very sick and pass away.  Why can't someone just try and rob me or carjack me so I can fight them and make them shoot me.  A lot of times this is the stage where people begin to take big risks.  Deadly risks.  Driving erratically, extreme sports, dangerous drinking, and heavy drug use to name a few.  My case would also fit in this group.  Self-medicating with prescription medications.  A majority of the time the people do not even know they are doing things that are dangerous and reckless.  Subconsciously they are just doing them.  It comes back to that whole I want to die, but I am not going to kill myself thinking.  

As things get worse, that is when people turn that corner.  They make that move from wanting to die, to attempting to or taking their own life.  This can happen quickly or over a period of time.  Unfortunately, those reaching this point are often so far into their depression there is no escape in their mind.  They don't even think with help they would get better.  It would just be a waste of time and resources.  They feel they are a lost cause.  A pointless venture.

My case was somewhere in between.  I acted knowing that what I was doing could have a bad outcome, but I had to get rid of the thoughts in my head.  They were so loud and so constant that day I couldn't focus on anything except I was either going to get rid of them, or I was going to die.  I have very little doubt in that.  It took hitting that low.  That point where I had to go through that experience to understand I needed help.  I needed to be around.  I needed to get my life back.  

I know I could be doing more to help myself.  So it is with that thought that I have decided to follow through on one of the things I said I would do.  I have looked into it and there is a depression support group that meets in Olathe on Monday nights.  I am going to give it a try.  At least it will give me a topic for my next post, right?