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