And You're Back......Again

1:22 a.m. July 27, 2016

I want to close my eyes. But I can’t. That’s where the darkness lies. When I shut them, the thoughts are horrifying. I see more with them closed than I do when they are opened. Troubling thought. The very things that give me sight sees more when they are not open to the light of the world. I close them once. I see me killing myself and my son growing up without me. I open them to know I am momentarily safe. I close them again. I see no hope of anything good happening in my life.

I took my prescribed sleeping pill an hour ago. Depression sometimes over powers them. Doctor has told me before that my mind and body can be quite resistant to some drugs. It takes a lot to take an effect on me. Even when they put me out for my ECT’s. It takes more than the average person to put me out. I could take more sleeping pills. I am guessing that is not a smart move. Overdosing is not what I want to do, but it is an option tonight.

Every time I close my eyes, a new scene is created. I am just the audience. I am the only soul in attendance for this horror show. I see it all play out. The actors are the demons and monsters within. Each time the curtain goes up, there is a different show. Once scene, I was living on the streets. 

People walk pass me as if I am thrash and non-existent. Maybe deep down that is what I want; to not exist anymore. This scene also makes me think maybe life would be better off like that for me. Sad picture, truly.

I hate no one. What I have trouble with on nights like this is, loving myself. Trying to find any ounce of good within me. I don’t like me from time to time. I talk to myself. I try to talk myself out of it. It is hard. There is moderate confusion for me. Inner conversation with the monsters. They are never clear. No clarity whatsoever. It’s as if it is a coded message and I don’t have the key to solve it. It tells me all will be good one moment. Then the next couple of hours seem like hell. Sorry, is hell.

I try to describe it using words on this page. Transforming the depressive thoughts and feelings into words is a true challenge. Hope? There is none. Empty? Not sure if that is a feeling or a thought, but whatever it is, it is in me. Well, that’s not entirely true. There are demons and monsters inside. They occupy the emptiness. I am non-caring. I am not sure what word defines not caring, but that’s what I am experiencing right now. Someone could come beat the living hell out of me right now and I wouldn’t care. Probably beg them to put me out of my misery. Because that is what it is; misery. I don’t care if anything good happens to me and I don’t care if anything bad happens to me. None of it fucking matters.

I know it is a bad night when the sleeping pills are not working. More sleepless nights. It’s during these battle nights that I struggle to have and keep mindfulness thoughts. My mind races. That’s why I don’t want to close my eyes. There is too much negative creativity for me to deal with tonight. Do I just stay up until daybreak? Maybe the thoughts will subside.

I ask myself sometimes; “Why do I even write?” It’s part of my therapy. The thoughts and feelings just rattle around inside my body. Bouncing off my bones, muscles, and organs. Being recycled throughout. Over and over. So, I write, hopefully get them out of me.

I am consumed with the thought of death. It’s not an obsession, but I am definitely fascinated with it. The mind of someone with Major Depression, speaking from experience, is a complete cluster-fuck. Experts say that the average person has anywhere between 50,000-70,000 thoughts a day. That’s a typical hour for me in my solitude. Too many thoughts to write out. Almost too many thoughts to survive.

Thursday, July 28, 2016

More of the same today, except less thought of death.  More thoughts of hopelessness and emptiness. 

My mother suggested a counselor. I said no. I have been through this before. This feeling is impossible to fix by anyone on this planet. No doctor, pill, counselor, friend, or family member can do or say anything to ease this misery. I don’t have thoughts of suicide, rather, feeling of sadness. I am very sad. And it hurts.

I grab my head. Hold it like I can pry the thoughts from my brain. I can’t. They are in there. I don’t want to talk to anyone except one person. I am not being rude, I am depressed. I don’t want to speak to anyone. Not because I am ungrateful or stupid, because there is absolutely nothing anyone can do for me when I feel like this.

When I think about suicide, people can talk me out of it. Remind me that I have reasons to live. They are right and most times it helps me. This shitty feeling is the wickedest sadness possible and it was not triggered by anything- it just came over me. It is a helpless feeling. Sad, not like losing someone to death or a breakup. Sad like nothing matters. There are no tears. Silent agony. Anguish. I can’t control this emotion of dejection.

I try to offer help or support to others that suffer from Depression. I tell them I am available to talk, and I am. But now, for the first time, I realize, if they are feeling what I am right now, they don’t want to talk. I drove around tonight, thinking to myself, “What the fuck is wrong with me? Get it together T.J.” It’s just not that simple. Physical pain is nothing compared to the pain I feel right now. I can’t even describe it. Silly thought to most. Those who suffer with Depression know exactly what I am talking about. I try to think of positive things. They get blocked. I don’t know why.

Then your day continues to be the longest day ever. You thoughts are tormenting. Your feelings are all over the place. You are almost certain nothing can help put a smile on your face. Until you hear that one person who makes it all seem to go away. Even if it is for a few short minutes. I am so grateful to for those few minutes because during that time, it made me forget the pain. The conversation didn’t last long, but it made a difference in my mood. Just like that. That’s the power some people have. During our quick conversation, nothing else in the world existed. Just us. It is hard to explain why. I am not even going to begin to explain it. It’s just one of those things that can’t be explained by words. It feels so right. You feel safe and connected. Is it the definition of love? I have no idea, but some people are special.

What a day. The emotions are on a roller coaster. Down and down and down and now, up. That’s why I have faith in people. Special people. People that make you feel better. People that take away the pain. People that understand you to a certain degree. People who are unconditionally there for you. People who make you smile. Those are the special people. Wow! I cannot believe the smile on my face right now. Minutes ago I was writing that nobody can help me in this mood except that one person. You are proof that my theory is accurate. 

It's people like you that are a constant reminder to find that strength within. You help give me that strength. The words are forever tattooed on me. 'Hope' and 'Strength'. You give me both. The third word is 'Inspiration'. Along with my son, you inspire me. 

I used to believe happiness is a choice. That you and only you can decide to be happy. I am wrong. Other people can make you happy. Depression prevented me from knowing what happiness is.

These past few days have been torture for me. I somehow endured them. Last night I didn't fall asleep until 4:00 a.m. That's with a sleeping pill. Sometimes I amaze myself. "How the fuck am I still here?" I was reading something today, a story actually. There was a description of how someone killed themselves. I thought to myself, "T.J., you can definitely do that." I erased the thought immediately. I guess I am getting better at the suicide thoughts. I fucking hope so.

You make me happy. 

Thank you.

"Happiness is like a kiss. You must share it to enjoy it."
                                                         
                                        -Bernard Meltzer

Yours Truly, 

T.J. Smith

Depression Tells Me....

I have been up and down the past few weeks. The lows haven’t been too bad, but enough to make me feel bad or sad or whatever. I guess they have been manageable. Prior to getting the necessary help, I probably wouldn’t have been able to cope with those “moments”. I was going to refer to it as “moments of weakness”, but I am not experiencing weakness. I am sick. I am having trouble finding the joys in things. I am not sure what is triggering these momentarily lapses of feelings and thoughts. I cannot pinpoint the problem. Therefore, I cannot work towards a solution.

This is what I know. Essentially, what I am being told.

Depression tells me I am not good enough. I wish it was a whisper. Rather, it is a loud booming noise. “You are not good enough to get a job. No one wants to hire you because of your sickness. There are too many uncertainties around your illness. You will show up to work depressed, therefore you will not be able to complete your work. Why would anyone take a chance with you? You have a Mental Illness. You are not adequately suited for any work.”

Depression tells me I am a failure of a father. “How often do you see your son? Where are you when he needs his daddy? How are you supporting him without a job? What kind of role model are you for him?” Not really questions I have answers for. The best reply I can come up with is, ‘I am doing my best given my illness and situation in my life.’ Trying to be a good parent and being a good parent are two different things. I know my son loves me and I him, but does he understand where daddy is? I try to fight the thoughts that my illness pollutes my mind with, but it is tough some days.

Depression tells me no can love me. Another valid point by the sickness. Depression seems to be a perfect three for three right now. “It will take a special person to deal with someone with a chronic illness. Not knowing what days will be good or bad, or how bad the bad days could be. Why would someone take a chance with you? Let’s be real here. You are poor. You don’t have a job. You have nothing. You cannot be loved. Just give up, T.J.” So, do I hide the fact that I suffer from Depression? Not a chance. I am what I am, but I am not my illness. It is apart of me and I have accepted that. It used to impair my ability to feel, think, and express myself. I would hide and bury my thoughts and feelings and emotions deep inside with my demons. Those days are now behind me because I have come to terms with my Depression. It has hindered me for years. It still tries to stop me from showing any emotions at all. It’s a game of tug-o-war.

Depressions tells me I am eventually going to lose. “Why do you keep fighting? You know I am going to get you. It’s a lost cause. You’re not strong enough to withstand the pain and torture. You’re just going round and around in circles. Remember, wherever you go, I am right there with you. You can’t hide from me. You can’t run from me. You have yet to fully get rid of me. It’s like a marriage, T.J.- until death do us part. And even then, there is no guarantee that the pain will be over.”

Depression tells me I am inadequate, stupid, out of shape, and ugly. “You have no confidence. You’re wasting your time with things. None of it matters. You’re not allowed to go to sleep and you’re not allowed to get out of bed in the morning. There is nothing for you outside of your bedroom. You are not allowed to have a life. No one cares if they see you again. Not your friends. Not your son. Not your family. No one cares T.J. You are nothing.”

Depression tells me a lot of things.

So, what do I tell Depression?

I tell Depression I am good enough. Not too sure what I am good at, but I am worthy of it. I will get a job and will not let my illness affect it. There may be some uncertainties, but I can control a lot of other things. I can control my attitude. I can control my work ethic. I can control my desire and passion. I am capable of working and wherever I land, they are going to be damn lucky to have me because I am determined to be the very best I can be. I tell Depression that the sky is the limit, and even then, I am prepared and willing to go beyond.

I tell Depression I am a good father. Check that. I am a great father. I may not spend all my time with my son given the current circumstances, but for us, it is about the quality of the time spent together, not the quantity. I may not be able to buy him all the things he wants, though I can teach him things money can’t buy. I can teach him about respect for others and respecting himself. I can teach him about manners and politeness. I can teach him about the importance of having a good, positive attitude. I can teach him how to get along with others. I can teach him how to share happiness with others. The last time I checked, these are all life ‘items’ you cannot buy at the toy store, or any store for that matter. Those are the ‘items’ that make up a person. There is a lot of unconditional love between us and everything else will develop as we grow.

I tell Depression that even though I am not the most desirable man right now, someone will love me again. I don’t have a dime and I don’t have a job. That being said, I don’t want a partner that is interested in my bank account or my job title. Those things are not required to love. Understanding. Compassion. Empathy. Character. Charisma. Laughter. Happiness. That’s what I can do. Those are the attributes I possess. Whoever my next girlfriend is will be my queen and treated as such. We may not have a castle, but there will be a special bond. I will look at her while she sleeps, smile to myself, and think, “Wow! I am the luckiest guy in the world.” Depression, you plagued my feelings and emotions before. Unable to love. That will not happen again.

I tell Depression I will not lose. I cannot lose. It is not an option. Of course, there are moments when you ‘think’ you got me or make interesting points about suicide, but you haven’t got me yet. I am strong enough. As your earlier point Depression, you are right- you are always with me. I cannot run. I cannot hide. But you know what I can do? I can fight. In a way, I have been fighting my whole life. I am going to continue to fight. I have taken some of your punches and blows. But, I am still here. I will endure the pain and torture you infect me with. You can keep trying, and I know you will. But every time you do so, there I will be, standing strong, awaiting your next attack. You have hit me pretty hard a few times, but we are still in the early rounds and I plan on going the full fifteen.

I tell Depression I am not stupid, I am getting in shape, and I may not be pretty, but I am not that ugly. I am slowly gaining my confidence. You may control, or perceive to control some aspects of my life- though; you don’t have all the control. Something inside me keeps reminding me, “T.J., you can and will do this.” There is a whole world for me outside of my bedroom. Yeah, I’ll admit, some days you lock me in my unguarded cell. Funny thing is, I have the key. Just some days I seem to misplace it. People do care about me. My family cares. My son cares. My friends care. I bet even some strangers care.

In closing Depression, I know this will not be our last encounter. I anticipate more and because you are sneaky, I won’t see you coming. I mean, rightfully so, I should be dead. I lost pretty much everything in a short period of time, and it was a great opportunity for you to blitz attack me. And you did. Masterful, even. I can admire your timing. You just about made me a statistic.

I am not dead. You threw everything, including the kitchen sink at me. I took it all on the chin. I am still here. I am going to stay for awhile. I reflect back on everything you and I have been through. I honestly should be gone from this Earth. I have the attitude and tenacity to try to handle you. I am not kidding myself and thinking you are gone. I know you are right around the corner from me, perhaps even closer. You have made many attempts on me. Your success rate is not good. Instead of me being afraid of you, maybe it is time for you to begin to fear me.

Your move, Depression.

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls; the most massive characters are seared with scars”

-Khalil Gibran

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

Sunday's and Gratitude - Sunday, July 17, 2016

Today is Sunday. I didn’t get out of the bed until 1:00 pm. Even then, it felt like a chore. I am starting to recognize a pattern. Or, it may be a coincidence. Sunday’s, for whatever reason, seem to be my worst day of the week.

Do I have a reason for this conclusion? No. Not really. It is the day of the week that I feel I am the most bored or have less things to do. I am jobless. What the hell do I have to do any other day? Maybe I perceive it as a day of emptiness, therefore accept it as such. About a month ago, it was another Sunday; I stayed in bed until 8:00 pm.

When I drank, Sunday’s would be the worst. A hangover from the two previous nights of drinking would be the cause. They were the most depressing days ever. I guess in a twisted way, that’s when thoughts of suicide slowly began to enter my reality. I have heard people joke the day after drinking they wish they were dead. I reflect back and to be honest, I don’t think it was a joke for me. I sincerely hated myself, and thus wanted to end it.

I was distant from people today. Short with them. Not in a rude way, but in the sense of, “just leave me to be alone, please.” It took a conversation with a friend in the later part of the afternoon to help improve my mood. That’s what friends are for; to help you when you are down. After the conversation, I garnered the energy to go to Tim Horton’s to have a coffee and do some reading. The reading, coffee, but most of all, the conversation motivated me to realize I don’t need to let Sunday’s get me down.

If you asked me at 1:00 pm how I felt on the Sickter Scale, I would say about a 3, which is very low. At about 6:30 pm, the same question would have got an answer of 6, which is good. Instead of being miserable and feeling sorry for myself, and with the help of a friend, my mood got better. After some reading, I realized I need to do something more often in my life.

I need to be more grateful.

I used to have a sense of entitlement- the sense or feeling that I deserved extra or better just because. I used to think I didn’t need to work hard and I should be rewarded for that. I used to think, because of who I am (which I realize now, is a nobody), I should get certain merits or advantages in life. I understand now, that entitlement, in my opinion, is something that I want to create a distance from my name as much as I can. In order to do that, I have to change a few things in my life. Atop of that list, as far as I am concern, is gratitude.

“Thank you” may be the simplest, yet, most invigorating phrase we can say to another human being or beings. I am currently reading a book and just reading a chapter on Gratitude. One line that stood out to me was, “Gratitude is many things to many people.” Again, not my words, something I read. It is so true. I used to be terrible for being grateful and not showing my appreciation for things in life. Maybe my ‘sense of entitlement’ was a huge reason for that flaw. Who am I kidding? It was. I was a self-righteous shit, that felt I didn’t have to work hard for anything and I should be handed things. I don’t know when and where I developed that attitude, but I am glad just as I learned it somewhere, I can unlearn it now. And I have.

Since coming to terms with my illness and facing it head on, I have done a lot of growing as a person. I am trying to improve as a human being and become a better person. Happiness is something I am on the search for. Some days I believe I have found it. Other days, I want to eat a bullet. There are peaks and valleys. I have grasped the concept of expressing my gratitude to show my appreciation and what I am grateful for in my life. Showing gratitude to others is helping me find happiness. Whatever the situation, experience, or dilemma, gratitude has helped me climb out of the trenches.

I suffer from Major Depression and it sucks. In my eyes, it is very-well a chronic illness. I don’t see an end near. What I mean, I can’t see a day in the future when I won’t have Depression. Maybe that day will come when I am Depression-free. Maybe it won’t. As of today, it is a chronic illness and I am enduring it best I can. I choose how I handle my disease. I am trying to tackle it head on, with an open mind and heart. I am trying to be positive. I am trying to find the happiness in my life. Being grateful has helped me find some of that happiness.

Before speaking about my illness and beginning this epic war, I didn’t appreciate things in life. Obviously, my illness prevented me from being grateful because I had no emotions and didn’t care about anything. I wasn’t grateful to my ex-girlfriend who moved three or four times so I could try to pursue a career in coaching. I wasn’t grateful to people that had helped me out with things along the way. I wasn’t grateful when I got my dream job of coaching. I wasn’t grateful to my parents for all the support they have given me in my life. I wasn’t grateful to my friends for being there in times of need. I just wasn’t grateful for anything. Saying ‘thank-you’ seemed far-fetched for me.

Now, as I matured and done some soul-searching, I realize how grateful I am. I am grateful that I have a beautiful, healthy son that I still get to see even though his mother and I are no longer together. I am grateful for talking to my parents every day and for being with me every step of the way with my battle. They haven’t left my side once. I am grateful for my sister for letting me live with her and her boyfriend. I am grateful for my friends that still consider me a friend after all these years of being an ungrateful fuck. I am grateful for friends, like the one today, that doesn’t mind talking to me when I am not having the greatest of days. I am grateful I get to continue coaching this coming fall. I am grateful for the Mental Health staff at the Yarmouth Regional Hospital for taking care of me since January. Most of all, I am grateful I am still alive and I have everybody that I mentioned above to thank for that.

This is what I want to do to express my gratitude. It is an idea. I don’t know if it would ever fly or even get off the ground. I only came up with it today, so it is still in its infancy. I want to make care packages and send them to patients in Mental Health hospitals/units that suffer from Depression. As a former patient, there are a lot of unknowns and fears when going to a hospital for the first time. I think a care package can help alleviate or lessen the original fear, sadness, confusion, or anger of being admitted to the hospital for Depression. I went into the Mental Health unit full of confusion and fear and had no idea what to expect. I think a care package would be a great thing to comfort patients and hopefully ease the negativity behind the stigma and experience of being in the hospital. It is just a small gesture from my end to show how thankful I am for being alive, but to also show people that there is hope, even though it may not seem like it at that very moment of being in the hospital. I don’t know what I would name it. T.J.’s Depression Packs or T.J.’s Depression Survival Kit, or something along those lines. Anyways, it is just a thought I have.

“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend”

                                                                                    - Melody Beattie

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

The "Pop-In" - July 10, 2016

Today I had...On second thought, maybe still have, a little episode going on. How do I know? Well, when I was driving on the highway, a voice in my head made many suicidal suggestions. A few were pretty good.I somehow fought them off. Secondly, for the first hour of my drive, I cried 6-8 times. I have been doing so well too. 

Seinfeld is one of my favourite sitcoms of all-time. They refer to "the pop-in" frequently. The 'pop-in' is a visit without invitation. Depression 'pops-in' all the time. Much like the main character, Jerry Seinfeld, I hate the 'pop-in'.

I came across this article recently. I read it, of course. So, I hi-lighted a few sentences and key points. I will elaborate on the areas I can. I wrote my piece after each hi-lighted areas in bold. Still trying to help others understand what it is like to have Depression. 

What It’s Like Inside a Depressed Person’s Head

While not everyone’s experience is the same, when people have a major depressive episode, generally the world looks, feels, and is understood completely differently than before and after the episode. During a major depressive episode, the world can literally seem like a dark place. What was beautiful may look ugly, flat, or even sinister. The depressed person may believe loved ones, even their own children, are better off without them. Nothing seems comforting, pleasurable, or worth living for. There’s no apparent hope for things ever feeling better, and history is rewritten and experienced as confirmation that everything has always been miserable, and always will be. (This is very true. I don't know why this thought crosses my mind. My son will be fine, my friends will mourn and move on, my parents will continue on. So killing myself seems like the only option. A seductive option. There seems to be nothing in this life for me. Basically, the world is better off with T.J. Smith not in it. Hope doesn't exist. I guess that's why Wednesday I am getting that word tattooed on my body so I will never forget it)

What was challenging feels overwhelming; what was sad feels unbearable; what felt joyful feels pleasure-less.

When this reality shift happens, it’s difficult to remember or believe what seemed normal before the episode. What the person believes during the episode seems absolutely real, and anything that conflicts with it is as unbelievable as a memory or message telling him or her that the sky is purple. For example, if the person is unable to feel love for a spouse, and someone reminds the person that he or she used to feel that love, the person may firmly believe he or she had been pretending to himself/herself and others—though at the time he or she really felt it. The person can’t remember feeling the love, and can’t feel it during the episode, and thus concludes he or she never felt it. The same process happens with happiness and pleasure. Attempts to tell the person that he or she used to be happy, and will feel happy again, can cause the person to feel more misunderstood and isolated because he or she is convinced it’s not true.

Even if nothing was wrong before the episode, everything seems wrong when it descends. Suddenly, no one seems loving or lovable. Everything is irritating. Work is boring and unbearable. Any activity takes many times more effort, as if every movement requires displacing quicksand to make it. What was challenging feels overwhelming; what was sad feels unbearable; what felt joyful feels pleasureless—or, at best, a fleeting drop of pleasure in an ocean of pain.

Major depression feels like intense pain that can’t be identified in any particular part of the body. The most (normally) pleasant and comforting touch can feel painful to the point of tears. People seem far away—on the other side of a glass bubble. No one seems to understand or care, and people seem insincere. Depression is utterly isolating. ( It is a pain. A wound that cannot be stitched up. It leaves a emotional and mental scar. There is nothing to ease the pain. It is the most lonely place on the planet. You could be in an arena full of people, but you still feel like the loneliest person on the world. People could be banging into you. Talking to you. You don't see them or hear them. The demons and monsters inside have your full attention)

There is terrible shame about the actions depression dictates, such as not accomplishing anything or snapping at people. Everything seems meaningless, including previous accomplishments and what had given life meaning. Anything that had given the person a sense of value or self-esteem vanishes. These assets or accomplishments no longer matter, no longer seem genuine, or are overshadowed by negative self-images. Anything that ever caused the person to feel shame, guilt, or regret grows to take up most of his or her psychic space. That and being in this state causes the person to feel irredeemably unlovable, and sure everyone has abandoned or will abandon him or her. (I feel no one can love me. I am unlovable. Abandoned, at times. The negativity takes control of your body like a puppeteer. Someone else is pulling the strings. You're just an act. Not loved by anyone)

It’s difficult to describe all of this in a way that someone who’s never experienced it can make sense of it. I can’t emphasize enough that when this happens, what I am describing is absolutely the depressed person’s reality. When people try to get the person to look on the bright side, be grateful, change his or her thoughts, or meditate, or they minimize or try to disprove the person’s reality, they are very unlikely to succeed. Instead, they and the depressed person are likely to feel frustrated and alienated from one another. I do believe cognitive therapy has an important place, but generally not in the throes of a major depressive episode. (What are you going to tell me that is going to make me feel better about my Depression? Do you know what I feel? Can you empathize with me and my feelings? Do you know what triggered it? Do you know what I feel? Thanks for caring. You know fuck all. Leave me be)

Support for People with Depression

So what does a person whose reality has shifted in this way need? Please keep in mind that I am talking about a major depressive episode—severe depression that has lasted more than two weeks. I would take a different approach for someone with milder depression, or one that is a response to a terrible loss.

For some people in a major depression, psychotropic medication works and is the only thing that works. The same could be said for electroshock treatment, though it’s not for everyone. Many people will emerge from major depression in time, though episodes seem to make more episodes more likely, so if medication works to end the episode, it’s usually prudent to take it. Nutrition, acupuncture, and other body-based treatments as well as therapy can help without the side effects of medication.

What Loved Ones Can Do

Loved ones can gently hold and show love and commitment to the depressed person, try not to take on the person’s reality, but also not argue with him or her about it. They can also gently remind the person that depression causes his or her perspective on everything to change, and he or she is unable to think outside of depression mode at the moment. It is a time for the person to avoid making decisions, or avoid doing anything significant that requires a nondepressed perspective. If this is a repeated experience for this person, it can be helpful to discuss all of this between episodes so he or she is more prepared when caught in the quicksand.

As someone who loves a person with depression, it can be emotionally difficult or stressful at times to support that person. It can be beneficial to focus on your own needs and self-care, and to reach out for help if you need it such as seeking the support of a counselor or therapist. (No idea what it is like being on the other side on this point, but I don't believe it is easy at all. People that deal with Depression through their partners should be applauded. It isn't easy. I have seen what it has done to relationships. I was a loveless, ungrateful, disrespectful coward. My illness ate away at my very being and anything good inside of me and left the bad. At least some people have loved ones to lean on. This is what makes my journey more difficult. I don't go to bed next to someone and whisper to them "I love you and thank you". I go to bed with tears, and whisper "At least I have you.")

© Copyright 2013 GoodTherapy.org. All rights reserved. Permission to publish granted by Cynthia W. Lubow, MS, MFT, therapist in El Cerrito, California

"I've cried, and you'd think I'd be better for it, but the sadness just sleeps, and it stays in my spine the rest of my life."

                                                                                          - Conor Oberst

Yours Truly, 

T.J.Smith

My Eulogy- July 4, 2016

I am there but I am not. Will I be able to see and hear? Why am I even having this thought? Oh, that’s right- the Depression. It can make you have the darkest of dark imagery.

My mother is in the front row. She cannot hide the tears, nor should she have too. My father holds her and condoles her. It doesn’t matter at this point. The pain is unbearable. My sister is there. She is in disbelief. My son, he is present, but confused to as why he can never see his daddy again. He will grow up fatherless. Someday he will know that an illness got the better of him, but will never understand why. My close friends are there. This image is blurred because I do not know who will show. Someone will show, I assume.

“Troy, better known as T.J. to us all, was a troubled young man that lost a fight with demons and monsters”, someone will read as the opening line. What a great way to start my Eulogy. A speech about the deceased starts with the very thing that killed him. My legacy will be the disease that conquered me. I would be known for a disease rather than a person, a human being.

“T.J. was a great athlete and good son”, continues whoever is trying to honour me. “He was also a wonderful father to his son.” Three lines can really sum up the positive things in my life. Shortest eulogy in history. What a piece of shit that lived a poor life. A dreadful life.

My Depression makes me believe there is nothing good in my life. Nothing worth living for. Nothing worth fighting for. I am an anchor dragging my parent’s to the bottom of the ocean. A disappointment as a son. An useless brother to a great sister. A dad to the greatest treasure in ones’ life. Altogether, I am a failure. The equation sums it up quite easily and nasty. There is no positive product here.

My Depression takes away my confidence, if I had any at all. I have zero confidence to speak to the opposite sex. Alcohol gave me liquid courage to speak to women. I look in the mirror and ask a simple question with a complex response; “Who can ever love this?” My Depression tells me I am not good enough. And if I was, no one could love me because my life is a disaster and I am a Mental Patient. “You will be lonely for life T.J.,” it whispers to me. “I still have you”, I reply.

My Depression makes me doubt life. I don’t have my own place. I don’t have my own car. I don’t have a job. I don’t have a credit card. I don’t have any money. I have a son. How can I provide for that young man? Depression tells me I am a huge letdown as a father. Depression reminds me every second of everyday.

My Depression tells me no one likes me. Go figure. How can anyone like someone that has an illness and needs to be spoken to like a baby to prevent him from ‘tripping’ out? And making new friends? Good luck. “Hi, I am T.J. and I have Major Depression. Want to be friends?” Depression tells me no one wants to be my friend because they don’t want to deal with me or my problems. Fair enough. I don’t want to inconvenient someone else.

My Depression tells me to kill myself. “No one will miss you.” “Not like you were contributing to society in a constructive manner.” “One last financial burden to your family.” “Your son will be fine without you.”

My Depression also suggests ways how to end my life. There are ways that may do it. There are ways that will definitely do it. Hell, my Depression even gets creative to the point where the topic of discussion is, “What is the most creative way to kill us that no one has ever tried?” Yeah, we are trailblazers. Setting the bar at new heights.

If I am willing to guess, someone reading this that know or don’t know that they have Depression, have similar thoughts. It’s an internal conversation. It’s a back and forth of ideas, with one side of the coin more persuasive than the other.

I used to have these thoughts daily and nightly. It was like having a checklist of speaking points with the devil within. A recap of the day.

“Did we touch on how you would kill yourself today?”

“Yeah, we did”, I reply.

“Ok, good. Just making sure you think about that again today. Let’s move on to how shitty of a father you are.”

“Ok.”

That’s the mystery of Depression that people that do not have, can never really understand. These are the daily thoughts that we choose not to have, but instead, have to suffer. It’s not easy hearing those same philosophies being brought to the forefront of your attention every day. How the hell is someone supposed to complete a task at work when they have an ‘internal boss’ suggesting new ways to kill themselves? Or how can a partner express love to someone else when they cannot feel anything other than sadness? Why would someone leave the perceived safety of their bed to have a meeting with their blood-thirsty demons?

It’s not easy to explain that to someone else. It’s very hard to talk about. Some of you are reading this, and nodding your head. “Yup. That’s me.” You’re not alone. For those of you that do not suffer from Depression or other Mental Illnesses, you are doing your best to understand, but still unsure how the fuck to understand any of this. If you think it is messed up, you’re right, but try living with it.  

But remember this; it’s not the person having those thoughts. It’s the illness creating those thoughts. Someone suffering from Depression is not crazy. They are ill.

But my glass is half full. and it is half full with hope...

For all of those thoughts and feelings Depression has put on me or made me think, I have endured them. I won’t say I ‘defeated’ Depression. The game is not over, but I am ensuring it is far from over. Giving up is not an option. Quit is not a word in my vocabulary. 

My hope tells me I am worthy of living. There are things in this world that I should be hopeful about. Each breath I take. Every conversation with someone. Meeting someone new. Teaching my son how to shoot a hockey puck or to swing a baseball bat. I am hopeful and optimistic about life. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring, but I do not fear it anymore and I live with happiness instead of anguish and misery.

My hope gives me confidence. I am a good father. I am becoming a better brother. I am not a complete useless son. I am helping others. I can still play sports at a high level. I am getting stronger physically by going to the gym. I am getting tougher mentally through reading, writing, mindfulness, and meditation. I know what I am capable of and my potential is boundless and inspirational. I still lack some confidence talking to the ladies, but I got to find courage to come out of my shell.

My hope leaves no doubt. I may not be able to provide my son with materialistic items and spoil him with toys or money, but I can teach him about love, respect, being humble, kindness, hard work, laughter, and manners. I can teach him things money cannot buy. I can and will be there for him when he encounters struggles. I can guide him through the hard-hitting setbacks in life. I will support him in every way I can. I will not live his life, or live mine through him, rather, live it together, as father and son.

My hope tells me people do like me and they like me for me. They sure as hell don’t like me because I am rich or live in a mansion. They like me because they are my friends and they decided to stand by me when the going has gotten tough for me. Those are the people I want to surround myself with in my life. They make me happy and in turn, I hope I can do what they have done for me.

My hope encourages me not to commit suicide. That’s the easy way out. Hope has told me I am stronger than ever and I have a purpose. I purpose is to be a mentor, leader, and role model for others to help overcome their Mental Illness. My purpose is to be a great father, like mine was to me. My purpose is to inspire and create hope in others. My purpose is to live my life.

In closing, Depression is a life-sucking bitch. But it is an enemy we can fight. I say ‘we’ instead of ‘I’, because 'we' are in this together. Without help, ‘I’ would be dead and someone would have read my Eulogy already. ‘We’ are battling this illness together and 'we' are doing great. How do I know? I just took another breath. Hence, I am alive. I understand how terrible Depression can be. I was at the very bottom of the lifeless pit for 10+ years. I know others were and are there, I just can’t see who you are because you are still wearing a mask. I know how hard life is behind that mask. I also know how much better life is when you remove the mask and accept that you are not an illness and you are a person. I am here for anyone that needs guidance. I am here to listen. I am here to cry with you. I am here to smile with you. I am here to hold your hand. I am here to walk through the dark with you. I am here to help save your life. 

We are in this together and I will never give up. 

Neither will you.

“It’s easier to go down a hill than up it but the view is much better at the top”

                                                                                    - Henry Ward Beecher

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

Feedback on Some Other Thoughts- July 1, 2016: Canada Day

Most of the blogs or writings I do are my own opinions, thoughts, and feelings. This one will be no different. Since breaking the silence of my Depression, it is safe to say, my life has been drastically different. It has been good and bad. No different than most people.

I am a huge advocate for Mental Health. That is a given. So, when I can read an article about it, I do. I am always learning about it. I have learnt so much in six months. I am excited to continue my learning and helping others along the way.

Today, I saw an article on Twitter. It caught my attention. So, of course, I read it. I thought after I read it, “This could be used for my next Blog.” What I did was copied and paste the article, since I didn’t write it. After each point, in bold print, I added some feedback, good or bad, to the foregoing point. It is from the U.K. It is fascinating to see how other parts of the world view Mental Health. So, here I go.

Whether we want to admit it or not, we all wear masks in our public lives.

If we want to succeed in our careers we put on civilized, friendly, efficient faces.

If we want to keep the peace with our friends over Brexit we laugh at their jokes, focus on their good points and ignore the things we disagree with.

If we want an easy life with our families we tell relatives what they want to hear and present the version of ourselves we know they want to see.

When it comes to mental illness, it can be hard to challenge the prejudice, ignorance and fear associated with it because everyone’s so busy being polite.

Or maybe you’re too afraid to let your own mask drop and be honest about your mental illness because you’re afraid of the stigma.

Because, make no mistake, stigma is real and it’s like a weight.

Here are 10 things I wish people understood about mental illness and stigma.

1. People are still afraid of those with mental illness

It’s bad enough that horror films and TV shows are still filled with plots in which the explanation for why someone is murdered is simply ‘they were killed by a madman’.

What’s worse is that, in real life, mental illness is also suggested as an explanation for someone’s actions.

Newspapers may have stopped dubbing people with mental illness ‘crazy,’ or ‘lunatics’ but now some still replace these terms with a mental health condition.

Would you do this with a physical condition? Would you say ‘diabetic goes on a rampage’? No.

And that is relevant because…

This may come across rude or ignorant, but if you ever refer to me as a ‘madman’, ‘crazy’, and/or ‘lunatic’ in a non-joking manner, I will punch you square in the face. And I have been working on my punch too. Those words really hit home with me, and others who suffer from Mental Illness. Be respectful, though you may never understand. I believe the last line says it all. I suffer from Major Depression. I am not ‘crazy’ because I spent time in a Psychiatric Unit, where the staff treated me as a person and not as an illness and helped save my life. Be mindful of the words you use. They can be disrespectful and hurtful.   

2. People with mental illnesses are no more violent than anyone else

The majority of people who kill other people are perfectly sane.

Some people may feel safer in their beds at night if the ‘crazies’ were locked away but the truth is you’re more likely to be killed by someone without a mental illness than with one.

In fact, people with mental illnesses are about 10 times more likely to be the victims of violence than ‘sane’ perpetrators.

Got to love the United Kingdom was of writing. They didn’t hold anything back with this point. I am not violent, even though I said I would punch someone earlier. I am actually the furthest thing from violent. The only time I ever fought or hit someone, and trust me, this was a rarity, was in hockey. I never was in a physical bar fight or anything of that nature. I have shot my mouth off drunk in a bar before, being a hero et al. That was just me being a stupid drunk. My experience is, Major Depression hasn’t caused me to be violent. The only person I wanted to hurt was I. No one else.

3. Talking to your employer about your mental health can be a lottery

Workplace discrimination is illegal. However, 48 per cent of people with a mental health problem still say they would not be comfortable telling their employer about their illness.

Why? I would think this is probably because really you don’t know how sympathetic or knowledgeable your boss and colleagues will (or won’t) be until you’ve done it.

Very true statement and something I have somewhat experienced personally. There is no secret. I got fired from my job. I have had Depression for years, but no one knew until January 2016. Every morning I left my house, instead of putting on my coat, I put on my mask. I had everyone fooled. No one could tell. I was scared to tell people because I was fearful of the ramifications. I am smarter now. I am no longer fearful of people’s opinions or thoughts. I can guarantee some of you reading this have yet to tell your boss or anyone at your workplace. Some of you work with people that have a Mental Illness. It is real and all around us.

4. Even the most well-meaning of friends can put their foot in it

If you’ve talked to a friend about your illness and they’re supportive, great. But even the kindest can misunderstand, or make assumptions, or say things that hurt unintentionally.

But it works both ways – asking them not to joke about something or use a certain word should work.

Again, an excellent observation and to the point. My friends have been super supportive. I have surrounded myself with caring, supportive, and understanding people. Communication is key. I cannot expect my friends to understand what I am dealing with if I do not speak to them about it. I find myself every day or second day, telling someone about my experiences with Depression or my medications, or about my ECT’s. You cannot expect your friends to understand if you don’t talk about it with them. And don’t lie to them- they care.

5. Some people will use your illness as a stick to beat you with

It’s that playground thing of picking a perceived weakness (weight, nose size, skin colour, hair do).

It can happen at work, with ‘friends’ or in relationships.

Still, on the plus side, you soon find out who the decent people are.

This hasn’t happened to me yet. Again, I have the people in my life that I need to survive and care genuinely about me and my health. If someone feels they need to make fun of me and my illness, I guess that just demonstrates who they really are as a person and those are the people that are ignorant and have zero respect. Those are people I do not want in my life. I am sure most of you feel the same.

6. Others will use it as an excuse to see you as an object of pity

I recently overheard a woman say she’d ‘have to be nice to me’ now she’d found out I was bipolar.

Such people aren’t worth your time, but they’re out there.

Yes, I have Major Depression and yes, I am a human being. Treat me as how you see fit. I have changed as a person; there is no doubt in that fact. But I am not looking for ‘sympathy’ or ‘pity’ because I have an illness. If you don’t want to be nice to me, so be it. You are not needed in my life. Treat me as T.J. Smith, not as ‘the guy who spoke out about his Depression’ or ‘the guy that has Depression’. So far people, you have been awesome!

7. It’s not easy to talk about mental illness

It varies from person to person. Some people feel comfortable doing this their whole lives.

Others will never tell anyone.

I wasn’t ready to start writing about being bipolar until I was in my 30s and, even now, when someone talks to me about an article or the topic it can feel disconcerting.

Because, as a society, it still isn’t done in the easy, open way we talk about physical illness.

Very accurate point. Took me ten years or so to break. Took about the same time to speak about it, or to build up the nerve. Mental Health care is not where it should be. Society still not open about it. I am trying to change that by advocating and encouraging others to speak out about it. Once you conquer the fear of speaking out about it, you completed the first step to accepting it and then accepting you need help. I feel, if I had not spoken about it, I would be in a very bad spot. I just turned 30. I have lots to tell about my past and I know the future will be intriguing as well. Speaking and writing about my thoughts and feelings have saved my life.

8. It can make you paranoid and hypersensitive

I’m using those words in the common sense not in the medical sense. When you’ve been mentally unwell, you may take things to heart more than before.

Before, if friends or colleagues forgot to invite you to the pub you’d think nothing of it.

After, you may wonder if you’d been deliberately excluded.

I have experienced this. If I did not get asked to do things by whomever, I would start questioning myself. “Do they like me?” “They don’t like me”, “I am not a good friend”, “I must be annoying”, “I am a piece of shit”, “I am probably annoying and stupid”, “Nobody likes me”, “Time to go kill yourself you worthless fuck”. Yeah, all of those thoughts have come across my mind thousands of times.

9. It can knock your confidence

You may feel like you’ve crossed over from the ‘normals’ to the outsiders. Not the cool outsiders who smoke behind the bike sheds and deliberately break the rules, the outcasts.

Or at least that’s how it felt to me, as a teenager, when I first went mad.

Confidence in my abilities, looks, and life in general was shaken dramatically.

It does return, but it takes time.

Interesting point for me. Some days, I can look in the mirror and see a reflection I am proud of. Most days, I hated the reflection. I would lose confidence in everything. Sports, which I can hold my own at anything I do, would sometimes be difficult because I questioned myself. Doubt. Doubt can be a life-sucking bastard. I still think I am ugly and unlovable. Trying to overcome that, but it is a battle. It is something that will take time- and lots of it.

10. You don’t just get better

This one can be a hard one to get your head round.

If someone is very mentally unwell, think of it like breaking a bone.

It will mend but there may still be situations they need to avoid.

For instance, if someone had broken a leg you probably wouldn’t wonder why they weren’t going to the gym every night or were running a marathon with everyone else that year.

So, you’re telling me there is no magical pill that takes all of this away? No injection that kills the demons inside of me? I am shocked. I have years of torture built up in my mind and heart. You just can’t get rid of that with a prescription, or one visit to a psychiatrist or family doctor. One thing for certain; if you are willing to admit to and fight your Mental Illness, it will require time, patience, and trust. It is a war. Not just a battle. Your attitude is in your control. Your attitude determines what and how much you want to be a warrior. Everyday will not be easy for me, but those days will no longer defer me from living my life. I have developed the skills and coping mechanisms to help with the bad days. I still eat some pills to help put the monsters to sleep at night. I still drive over seven hours, returned trip, to see a counsellor for one hour. I still drive that same amount of time, a week later, to get ECT treatments.

Similarly, don’t be surprised if someone who is recovering from a serious mental illness needs to rest more, or not take on quite as much work as they did previously. It’s different for everyone though.

Having written all this, one thing I would say to anyone who’s experienced a mental health problem is that it isn’t a scarlet letter. The upside of an invisible illness (if you can call it an upside) is that most people won’t notice.

In my experience, most people are far too busy in their own heads – who they fancy, where their careers are going, what they’re having for dinner – to spend much time thinking about or judging you.

I made a decision. I am not going to lose. Nothing can stop me. Nothing will stop me. If I have a few bad days in a row, guess what, I am going to admit myself to a Psychiatric Unit. I already checked it out in Truro. I am not too proud to seek help when needed. I’ll go back 100 times, if it keeps me alive. I am eating healthier and working out more than ever. I have a game plan. I have bought into it. I have teammates that have my back. I have developed the necessary skills and abilities to win. I know I have the character, attitude, and inspiration to defeat any oncoming challengers. I will compete for every breath in my life. I will never give up. Just try and stop me.

“Put your heart, mind, and soul into even your smallest acts. This is the secret of success.”

                                                                                                - Swami Sivananda

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith