Tour Guide of Hell - September 27, 2016

I haven’t written in a while. I am lying to myself again. Well, something is lying to me from within. I am not crazy. I understand what’s going on. I don’t expect you to.

My feelings are real. There are no lies. Just truth. Feelings hurt more than thoughts. I cannot run or hide from them. Whatever comes about, I have to deal with. I may not face them immediately, but eventually I have to play the cards I am dealt.

My thoughts create images. My thoughts create lies. Tell me things I don’t want to hear. I want to write something inspiring. I can’t find the words.

I had a thought today. Actually, what would be a frightening image to most is a blessing in disguise for me. My brain is a weapon that can kill at any moment if I let my guard down.

I am afraid of myself and the imagery I can construct. I close my eyes. My teeth are chipped because the gun that I hold in my mouth is vibrating from my anxious, but uncertain hand. I never held a hand gun before. Sadistically, I have a gut feeling I know how to pull the trigger. I have tears departing my blue eyes. The taste of steel is brutal. “You can do this”, I hear.

I open my eyes. There is no gun. My teeth are still whole. My hand still shakes. I notice it shakes a lot now. I don’t want to blink again because the next time I close my eyes, I may form another daunting image.

I don’t want anyone to understand. How can anyone understand that? Comprehension of depression is not possible. I don’t understand it 100%, and may never. I have accepted it as a part of my life. Some people don’t believe it is an illness. I invite you into my head for 2 minutes. You will then know it is an illness.

I am not in search of sympathy. I want reality. Pretentious people can leave me alone. I don’t need them in my life. All I am really looking for is support. Not understanding. I cannot and do not believe it is possible for people without depression to understand it. Your own child may suffer from depression, and you could not even know. You will not understand it. Never will. Much like I don’t understand life without depression. That’s why I say to others who suffer, “I understand”, because I do. It’s like our own language. I can speak all I want about it, but unless you know it, you can never understand it.

I am scared, but I tend to hide it. I hide it around my son. I hide it at the hockey rink. I hide it when I talk to friends and my parents. I am scared of my next step. I am scared of my next suicidal thought. What am I supposed to do? Walk around crying the whole day? Everything I am scared of is internal. In my opinion, when you overcome the fear of death, the next part is the scariest; how am I going to do it? Maybe I haven’t come up with a satisfying death sentence. “It will be special”, I confide in myself.

Those are the thoughts and lies I wrestle every day. I know my family wants me alive. I know my son needs his daddy. I know my friends want me around. I know these things, but I am told otherwise. The advice I am given can outweigh the truth some days.

The fight with the lies is on again tonight. I won’t hide anything; I am financially stressed the fuck out. I am not sharing my problems for sympathy. Remember, I am not looking for that. It’s my reality. It’s my situation and my life at the moment. I have to face it and deal with it head on. I know I need a job in the very near future. It worries me, but learned to not let the anxiety get the better of me. I know what has happened is behind me, whether it happened years ago or just a second ago. I may not be able to control everything that happens next, but I can undoubtedly control my attitude towards it. Some days I think being 30 is like being the oldest person ever and I am ready to be done. Some other days I feel 30 is great and I have 70 more years to live. I mean, I look at my friends; they seem successful and happy in their life. I don’t envy that. It is one of the few things that bring me joy. I am proud of them. More than they will know.

This personal battle is self-enhancing. Each time I get up after a devastating blow, I grow stronger. I learn more about myself. I learn I am unbelievably strong to still be getting to my feet in a fight with depression. This illness has humbled me. It has made me grateful. I think of the many that have fallen before me. I fight with them in mind. And for those that suffer, I cannot and will not quit, or let them do so, if I can help it.

The more I talk with individuals, the more I realize I am like a lighthouse. I can be the guiding light on the dark, foggy nights. When the seas are rough and tossing them around, I can be the beacon of hope that lets them know they are not alone and close to safety. My voice can be like the foghorn. The dangerous rocks are nearby, but so am I. Actually; my next tattoo is going to be a lighthouse. Ironically, I wasn’t a fisherman. I grew up on the coast, but I was always on land, like the lighthouse.

I have been to hell many times. I know the smells, sights, and sounds. I keep going back there when I least expect it. But by being there, it has taught me how to survive it. I do know the smells and where they come from. I have seen a lot there, and know what to believe. I heard most everything that goes on there. In a weird way, I am the Tour Guide of Hell. Let me show you around, but we are not staying for long.

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”

                                    - Winston Churchill

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

I Just Don't Know- September 8, 2016

I am tired, but I cannot sleep. I am thirsty, but I cannot drink. I am hungry, but I cannot eat. I have been here before. You would think my past experiences would help me this time around. They have not. I know this feeling. I know these thoughts.

I have looked this demon in the face before. Virtually, I am willing to give in. I have seen it play play out in my mind. Everything from the suicide note to apologizing to my son. How bad is my life that suicide seems to be the smartest decision?

I am lonely and no one is here. I am sad and have been for years. I am angry and I do not know why. Tonight, an incredible amount of anger has overcome me. Out of nowhere, I have become pissed off. If someone was with me, they would see it physically in my body language and more so, from my facial expressions. If I had company with me, and they made me more mad, I would snap. There is a ferocious feeling inside of me. I never felt it before. It's nothing I have ever felt before. Not even close. The only thing I fear is what is inside of me. Tonight, in this moment, I am the most fearful I have ever been.

Am I winning this battle? How will I know if I ever win? Is it about winning, or is surviving considered a victory with this illness? I may be still alive, but I am tortured. I don't fake my smile anymore. I am real about my illness. I have opened up to it. Faced it. Accepted it. Maybe I expected it to be easier, as I seemed to get better. Then these nights occur and bring my back to planet Earth and my reality. Perhaps it is false hope. I don't know. I never know.

Sometimes I daydream. I catch myself planning my own funeral. Wondering where I will have the service. Who will come pay their last respects. Sadly, these thoughts do not scare me. Maybe I already have it written down somewhere. If not, maybe I should. Put the thoughts down on paper. I know they are real. Perhaps I should record it for the record.

Am I desperate? Do I know what that word means? What am I desperate about? I could be desperate to die. That may be the only way to end these internal monsters. I could be desperate to end the noise, feelings, and thoughts. At some points, it doesn't even matter.

Seconds seem like minutes. Minutes like hours. And the hours seem endless. If clocks didn't exist, would I even care or notice? During my dark nights, I am told everyone dies. It is suggested to me that since everyone dies, I should take matters into my own hands and beat everyone to the finish line. I try to lie to myself and tell me that I am fine. Fine has no meaning in my world. I lie to myself more than anyone else. I am so alone and sad, the only company I have are my demons. They talk to me more than anyone. Sometimes, like a smooth-talking politician, they make very valid points. I begin to listen to them. I do not know why, they seem right and even worse, they have my attention.

If I didn't write or express myself, this would be the kind of misery and pain I would have to deal with bottled up. No one to speak to. I don't think about what i am going to say. I just let it out. 100% truth. 100% scary. If the board members inside me hear or are persuaded enough, they may come to an decision and take action, I would be left powerless. I would be found dead.

"The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time."
                                                                        - Mark Twain

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith

Helping Others is Helping Myself

It was time to write again.

Personally, I have been doing well. I mean, for a guy who suffers from Major Depression. Hockey season has started. It keeps my mind busy. Therefore, it helps with hiding or preventing damaging thoughts. A positively mind is crucial to my battle against my illness.

A story was written about my Depression and me coming public with it. It was published in a few newspapers in Nova Scotia. I have a lot of positive feedback from being so honest with my story. Actually, I do not consider it a story. It's just my life and my illness. Stories are made up. My battle is real and true. Non-fiction.

Since the newspaper article, people from all over Canada has reached out to me. It's tremendously humbling. People I do not know saying my battle is inspiring. People telling me that coming 'clean' with my illness has helped them understand more and find themselves seeking help. Some share their experience with me, but still, a lot of people do not know about it.

Hearing people tell me their side of things has made me realize that speaking out about my Depression is critical for helping others. I am starting to grasp that I am helping others. I am finding purpose in my life. As brutality honest as I have been, painful at times, it helps others.

We cannot change the past. What I have been through mentally and emotionally and physically has been detrimental to my life. It has left scars on my mind, my heart, and my soul. Things I want to forget, but never will. My memory is inconsistent, but there are thoughts and feelings I will never forget. It's impossible to lose those memories.

Retaining those memories has equipped me to aid other people in their battle.

Sharing the feelings and thoughts allows me to comprehend others who suffer from Depression. It's incredible how many people have reached out to me. I am not surprised by the number of people, because as the stat indicates, 1 in 5 suffer some type of mental illness. I am not surprised people have hid their illness for years. I am not surprised that people are still uneasy to share their illness with many people. In some cases, their own family members do not even know. It is not sad or embarrassing. It is an illness and it is not an easy thing to do. I know. I honestly do.

Each day I talk to someone about Mental Health. Some people I have known for awhile. Some people I just recently got to know. Not one bad person in the bunch. Just people suffering from an illness and have concerns. I totally get what they are experiencing. I do not know if it is my calling, but helping others is something I love. I don't want it to stop.

Helping other people has given me something to look forward to each day. It motivates me. I am willing to meet people for coffee. Talk over Facebook. I would even go visit people if they are in the hospital. Why do I do this? Simple. The pain that they are going through cannot be comprehended by someone that does not suffer. I suffer everyday in different ways. I can help others battle their demons because I am winning my battle against my demons, and personally, I believe I am a winner. So far, no one can argue that because I still have air in my lungs and a beat in my chest.

My goal is clear, in my eyes. I am making a difference in people's lives. To a certain degree, I am helping to save their lives. I used to be the worse listener in the world. My mind was occupied by monsters that prevented me from being present.

The things in my life I can control, I work on. Things I cannot control, I don't get frustrated with anymore. The absolute biggest thing for me is acceptance. Accepting who I am. Accepting my illness. Accepting help. Accepting support. Accepting my past. Accepting that speaking publicly about my illness helps people. And in the very instance it helps people, it also helps me. I haven't done it yet, but I have to accept I am helping other people and with that, I have to accept it helps me.

"It is not so much our friends' help that helps us, as the confidence of their help."

                                                                                   - Epicurus

Yours Truly, 

T.J. Smith