Dear Reader,
Today is Mental Health Awareness day. Bell Canada is running a promotion that offers a donation to Mental Health Awareness to those of us that tweet using the hashtag #BellLetsTalk and will match cent for cent those Bell customers that talk, call, and text with their Bell Mobile phones. As an budding educator most of my focus is on Mental Health Awareness in our youth, but it is just as important for adults.
So why me? Why here? It occurs to me that it is possible that I have somewhat of an audience, and that although I have never been shy about sharing my story, maybe today is a good day for me to put it into the public forum. That being said however, I want to be clear that this is not about me. I am doing just fine, but this is for the thousands of others who maybe don't feel strong enough yet to tell their own stories, or to reach out to someone and ask for help.
For anyone that is a Final Fantasy X fan; this is my story...
When I tell people that I once struggled with depression they often look at me like I have two heads. They usually don't believe me. I know because I have asked them. I know because I can tell by the look on their face.
"But you seem so funny and outgoing!" Some would tell me.
"You're always so happy though..." others would say, trailing off at the end as if this new thing they had learned about me had somehow changed the way they looked at me.
And finally, my favourite:
"I just don't understand. What do you have to be depressed about?" That one came from my father.
The truth is... all of the people in the above examples are 100% correct. I try to be outgoing, hoping to put others at ease and make the whole room feel a little lighter. I try to maintain a positive outlook, although the cynicism that seven years of University breeds in you is unbelievably strong. Although that quote does not make my father seem very supportive, technically he is right.
I was raised my two of the most loving parents one could ever ask for, in a small town community in southern Alberta. I played sports, had friends, chased girls and grew up with few cares in the world. My parents ensured their was always food on the table and a roof over our heads. My Mother taught me how to think critically and openly about the world and my Father taught me how to be a leader and how to distinguish between right and wrong. The only REAL struggle I ever had growing up was trying to decide which video game I wanted to play that day. I don't blame my father for reacting like he did, I never once blamed him for it, I understand why he reacted that way. In my opinion if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone.
In the Fall of 2009 I talked to my doctor about clinical depression. I told him that I had been suffering periods of prolonged sadness (usually defined as longer than one or two days at a time), low self-confidence (not a new thing for me), and, occasionally, suicidal thoughts. He prescribed me some anti-depressants, and I left hoping they would help.
Let me be clear that I never once came close to taking my own life, or really ever considering it. But I believe I would fall into the relative minority of those that think about suicide. I won't pretend to think that everyone who has suicidal thoughts have them for the same reasons, because I have no idea why some people think about suicide. I know I had thoughts because my self-confidence was at an all time low.
I was pushing two hundred pounds (I'm 5'8), wasn't happy in my relationship, and distanced myself from my parents and friends. I was irritable, struggled with sleeping, and didn't know what was happening. I was scared and frustrated. My girlfriend at the time didn't know how to help me, and I wouldn't let anyone else try. I don't blame anyone but myself and I am not looking for any type of sympathy, I am only trying to put my story, and the stories of others, into context.
I would lay at night and wonder what the world would look like if I was removed from it. Would things be any different? Would anyone REALLY miss me, I mean maybe aside from my immediate family and girlfriend? Who would come to my funeral? Who would really care enough to reach out? I won't hesitate to say that if there were a way to answer those questions without physically leaving this world, I would have at least explored the possibility.
In the Spring of 2010 I had a major relapse. I had been taking the medication, but doing it inconsistently and always forgetting. I was facing a long week full of tests and assignments and had not started any of it. On the Sunday before the week started I broke down at my girlfriends. I began crying uncontrollably and entered a cycle of anger at myself, sadness, and self pity. I sent some emails to my professors explaining my situation and requesting extensions, I promised my girlfriend I would see the doctor on Monday morning to refill my presription. The professors were gracious in their efforts to support me and I made it through the week scared, but unscathed.
However my mood swings persisted throughout the summer, my self confidence remained low, and I was left without answers to my question: "What the hell is wrong with me?"
In the late summer of that same year I decided to take control of my own life. I got out of a long-term relationship that I felt was at least partly responsible for my own problems. I changed the quality and quantity of the foods I ate and was determined to make it back to my playing weight (180ish). When I got back to school I sought the help of a counselor hoping to find a strategy to assist me when I felt down. I knew those days would still come, but I was determined not to allow them to grow into a span of days or weeks. I met new people, made new friends, and began to rely on old ones as much as I could bear it. Most of all, I told my parents that I loved them everyday. My goal was to build myself into someone that I didn't hate, someone that I was proud to be.
Mental Illness is easy to forget about because it is difficult to see. Someone who seems friendly and outgoing is just as likely to battle some type of mental illness as the quiet person who sits in the corner. The jock who wears their letterman jacket is just as likely as the goth who sits in class with their head phones on.
The farther away I get from that relapse in 2010, the more I come to realize that I was lucky to have suffered from a milder form of depression. Since I sought counseling three years ago my mood swings have become more predictable (usually weather and stress related), My self confidence is up, my weight is down, and I grow happier every day with the person I am trying to be.
My goal was never to write this story in an effort to garner praise. I will never turn down a pat on the back or a "hey man, so glad you talked to me about this," but that was not my purpose for writing.
I saw a feature on TSN last night about a young girl who took her own life in Ontario. a little over three years ago. She was a hockey player, and her teammates and best friend have turned her tragic death into a call for raising youth mental health awareness. Their website is difd.com (Do It For Deron) and about half an hour ago I bought myself my very own "DIFD Kit" from their store to help support the girls. I can't wait to proudly wear my purple wristband in support of a cause so dear to my heart.
It was then I realized that too often we as people require someone's death to be the point at which we take initiative. We use their story to inspire others to take up the banner. I have zero doubts that my parents would have done this had me and this young girl traded places. I would have been a martyr for the cause of depression and youth mental awareness.
I asked myself the question then, "must I be dead to serve as a reminder that this cause is one worth paying attention too?"
The answer is no. I have been to the dark rooms of the Depression Hotel. I left of my own accord. I am one of the lucky ones. My best friend never said no to being there to listen to me, he is a huge reason as to why I am able to write with such passion today. My Father, although he still doesn't truly understand, told me that I could always talk to him about anything. My Mother, fighting back tears, never lets me leave the house with out telling me she loves me. My brother, my older brother from another mother, my friends old and new, they have all reached out to me to tell me they love me, and that they would be there for me if I ever needed anything.
I need to cut myself off before I start to cry, but let me finish with this. One of the biggest things I had to learn as I built myself back up was the difference in "being lonely" and "feeling alone". Being lonely is sitting in your apartment with no one else around and looking for something to do on the weekend, or lying in bed at night wishing you had someone else there beside you.
But feeling alone is a feeling I do not wish on anyone. Feeling alone feels like you have no one, like you ARE no one, and like there is no one to turn to. Raising Mental Health Awareness to me is about reaching out to those that you love and telling them that you are there for them, no matter the day, time, or situation. It also means that you need to reach out to someone you love if you ever think you need them.
Don't be afraid to rely on others, and never, never be afraid to Talk. You're not alone, the world is a big place, but out there is someone who loves you, or knows how to help.
Raise Mental Health Awareness.
You just might save someone from themselves.
Today is Mental Health Awareness day. Bell Canada is running a promotion that offers a donation to Mental Health Awareness to those of us that tweet using the hashtag #BellLetsTalk and will match cent for cent those Bell customers that talk, call, and text with their Bell Mobile phones. As an budding educator most of my focus is on Mental Health Awareness in our youth, but it is just as important for adults.
So why me? Why here? It occurs to me that it is possible that I have somewhat of an audience, and that although I have never been shy about sharing my story, maybe today is a good day for me to put it into the public forum. That being said however, I want to be clear that this is not about me. I am doing just fine, but this is for the thousands of others who maybe don't feel strong enough yet to tell their own stories, or to reach out to someone and ask for help.
For anyone that is a Final Fantasy X fan; this is my story...
When I tell people that I once struggled with depression they often look at me like I have two heads. They usually don't believe me. I know because I have asked them. I know because I can tell by the look on their face.
"But you seem so funny and outgoing!" Some would tell me.
"You're always so happy though..." others would say, trailing off at the end as if this new thing they had learned about me had somehow changed the way they looked at me.
And finally, my favourite:
"I just don't understand. What do you have to be depressed about?" That one came from my father.
The truth is... all of the people in the above examples are 100% correct. I try to be outgoing, hoping to put others at ease and make the whole room feel a little lighter. I try to maintain a positive outlook, although the cynicism that seven years of University breeds in you is unbelievably strong. Although that quote does not make my father seem very supportive, technically he is right.
I was raised my two of the most loving parents one could ever ask for, in a small town community in southern Alberta. I played sports, had friends, chased girls and grew up with few cares in the world. My parents ensured their was always food on the table and a roof over our heads. My Mother taught me how to think critically and openly about the world and my Father taught me how to be a leader and how to distinguish between right and wrong. The only REAL struggle I ever had growing up was trying to decide which video game I wanted to play that day. I don't blame my father for reacting like he did, I never once blamed him for it, I understand why he reacted that way. In my opinion if it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone.
In the Fall of 2009 I talked to my doctor about clinical depression. I told him that I had been suffering periods of prolonged sadness (usually defined as longer than one or two days at a time), low self-confidence (not a new thing for me), and, occasionally, suicidal thoughts. He prescribed me some anti-depressants, and I left hoping they would help.
Let me be clear that I never once came close to taking my own life, or really ever considering it. But I believe I would fall into the relative minority of those that think about suicide. I won't pretend to think that everyone who has suicidal thoughts have them for the same reasons, because I have no idea why some people think about suicide. I know I had thoughts because my self-confidence was at an all time low.
I was pushing two hundred pounds (I'm 5'8), wasn't happy in my relationship, and distanced myself from my parents and friends. I was irritable, struggled with sleeping, and didn't know what was happening. I was scared and frustrated. My girlfriend at the time didn't know how to help me, and I wouldn't let anyone else try. I don't blame anyone but myself and I am not looking for any type of sympathy, I am only trying to put my story, and the stories of others, into context.
I would lay at night and wonder what the world would look like if I was removed from it. Would things be any different? Would anyone REALLY miss me, I mean maybe aside from my immediate family and girlfriend? Who would come to my funeral? Who would really care enough to reach out? I won't hesitate to say that if there were a way to answer those questions without physically leaving this world, I would have at least explored the possibility.
In the Spring of 2010 I had a major relapse. I had been taking the medication, but doing it inconsistently and always forgetting. I was facing a long week full of tests and assignments and had not started any of it. On the Sunday before the week started I broke down at my girlfriends. I began crying uncontrollably and entered a cycle of anger at myself, sadness, and self pity. I sent some emails to my professors explaining my situation and requesting extensions, I promised my girlfriend I would see the doctor on Monday morning to refill my presription. The professors were gracious in their efforts to support me and I made it through the week scared, but unscathed.
However my mood swings persisted throughout the summer, my self confidence remained low, and I was left without answers to my question: "What the hell is wrong with me?"
In the late summer of that same year I decided to take control of my own life. I got out of a long-term relationship that I felt was at least partly responsible for my own problems. I changed the quality and quantity of the foods I ate and was determined to make it back to my playing weight (180ish). When I got back to school I sought the help of a counselor hoping to find a strategy to assist me when I felt down. I knew those days would still come, but I was determined not to allow them to grow into a span of days or weeks. I met new people, made new friends, and began to rely on old ones as much as I could bear it. Most of all, I told my parents that I loved them everyday. My goal was to build myself into someone that I didn't hate, someone that I was proud to be.
Mental Illness is easy to forget about because it is difficult to see. Someone who seems friendly and outgoing is just as likely to battle some type of mental illness as the quiet person who sits in the corner. The jock who wears their letterman jacket is just as likely as the goth who sits in class with their head phones on.
The farther away I get from that relapse in 2010, the more I come to realize that I was lucky to have suffered from a milder form of depression. Since I sought counseling three years ago my mood swings have become more predictable (usually weather and stress related), My self confidence is up, my weight is down, and I grow happier every day with the person I am trying to be.
My goal was never to write this story in an effort to garner praise. I will never turn down a pat on the back or a "hey man, so glad you talked to me about this," but that was not my purpose for writing.
I saw a feature on TSN last night about a young girl who took her own life in Ontario. a little over three years ago. She was a hockey player, and her teammates and best friend have turned her tragic death into a call for raising youth mental health awareness. Their website is difd.com (Do It For Deron) and about half an hour ago I bought myself my very own "DIFD Kit" from their store to help support the girls. I can't wait to proudly wear my purple wristband in support of a cause so dear to my heart.
It was then I realized that too often we as people require someone's death to be the point at which we take initiative. We use their story to inspire others to take up the banner. I have zero doubts that my parents would have done this had me and this young girl traded places. I would have been a martyr for the cause of depression and youth mental awareness.
I asked myself the question then, "must I be dead to serve as a reminder that this cause is one worth paying attention too?"
The answer is no. I have been to the dark rooms of the Depression Hotel. I left of my own accord. I am one of the lucky ones. My best friend never said no to being there to listen to me, he is a huge reason as to why I am able to write with such passion today. My Father, although he still doesn't truly understand, told me that I could always talk to him about anything. My Mother, fighting back tears, never lets me leave the house with out telling me she loves me. My brother, my older brother from another mother, my friends old and new, they have all reached out to me to tell me they love me, and that they would be there for me if I ever needed anything.
I need to cut myself off before I start to cry, but let me finish with this. One of the biggest things I had to learn as I built myself back up was the difference in "being lonely" and "feeling alone". Being lonely is sitting in your apartment with no one else around and looking for something to do on the weekend, or lying in bed at night wishing you had someone else there beside you.
But feeling alone is a feeling I do not wish on anyone. Feeling alone feels like you have no one, like you ARE no one, and like there is no one to turn to. Raising Mental Health Awareness to me is about reaching out to those that you love and telling them that you are there for them, no matter the day, time, or situation. It also means that you need to reach out to someone you love if you ever think you need them.
Don't be afraid to rely on others, and never, never be afraid to Talk. You're not alone, the world is a big place, but out there is someone who loves you, or knows how to help.
Raise Mental Health Awareness.
You just might save someone from themselves.