Asking For Help- October 4, 2016

Asking for Help

Some days I walk around happy. Some days I walk around sad, but I fake the smile if I can. I have a programmed reply in my head for when people ask how I am. “Hi T.J., how are you today?” I quickly reply, without thinking, “Not bad. You?” I am not really evaluating how I am. I am just giving the answer that keeps me from getting into a lengthy conversation about how depressed I am and how it affects me daily. It’s my burden to bear. Not yours. Not anyone else’s. Just mine. I have major depression. Not you. You can’t possibly understand.

I am in a coffee shop. There are people all around. Reading, chatting with friends, feeding their newborn, and working on a laptop. Some of these people are affected by a mental illness. Whether they know it or not is another question. One way or another, someone within earshot of me has or had their life affected by a mental illness. I want to help them, if they want help.

Help, by definition, is ‘rendering assistance to’. I was ashamed to ask for help. I thought asking for help was a flaw in my design. An attribute of the weak. I felt weak. I didn’t have it in me to share my secret. It was a secret I kept from everybody. This is how depression, for me anyways, works with regards to help.

The feeling of guilt is a part of my depression. I am a well-educated gentleman. I know there are services and doctors and nurses that work to help people, whatever the sickness may be. It’s like I was chasing my tail. I knew I was depressed for years. I didn’t trouble anyone with my problem. I felt guilty asking for help. I felt and thought I was adding unneeded circumstances into their lives. I believed it was easier, sorry, and not easier; accommodating to not inconvenience others.

Depression makes me think that committing suicide is the answer to the help I require. If I am gone, well, I don’t need to ask for help- or anything for that matter. I couldn’t even ask the people that brought me into this world for help. I was ashamed to ask them for help. My memory is hit and miss, but I can’t remember when or how or why they came to Nova Scotia in early January, when shit was really hitting the fan. I remember two things from them coming to my aide; 1) I was sitting on the couch while everyone was eating and I just broke down and cried. I cried because I exhausted all options. I got hugs from my parents and my son’s mother. I was 29 years and I cried for my mom and dad to hold me. 2) I remember them bringing me to the hospital the day I was first admitted. We were at the hospital so I could get blood work done. They were persistent that I go to outpatients and see the doctor. I was against the idea. That’s what depression does- it clouds your vision of anything that is right. If they were not there to help me that day, who knows what would have happen? Well, I know.

What makes asking for help so vigorous? Asking for help invokes a guilty conscience within. Bothering people is not something I was willing to do. Who in their right mind would help someone who is “crazy”? As I said before, depression is like having a little devil on your shoulder, only difference is that he is on both shoulders. Depression beats me down and blames everything on me. I wish it wasn’t real. The doubts build up in my head. “T.J., go hang yourself. No one wants to help you. Life will be easier with you dead”. I needed help. I still need help. Help, keeps me alive. I thank you for that help.

I know depression is a liar. Depression creates a manifestation of fabrications inside my head and in my heart. I reflect back through the past ten years. I often wonder how I survived. I had help. Alcohol and gambling helped. No point in lying. If it wasn’t for those two things, who knows if I would be dust or not. I know now alcohol and gambling may have helped, but was not the answer. It’s like a boat taking on water. The boat can still stay afloat with taking on some amount of water. But too much sinks the boat, and the captain must go down with the ship. I was the captain and my ship was sunk. The salvage crew, my parents, family, friends, and professionals got my ship back to the surface. Without their unconditional help, my ship would still be on the ocean’s floor, slowly deteriorating until nothing was left to resurface. Now the ship is floating, slow of course, but the captain is at the helm and ready to fight any impeding storms.

Navigating my life through this illness is not a solo-mission. It will require assistance from others. I do not know how much, but it is necessary. Where the help comes from doesn’t faze me anymore. I realize there are people in my life that care and want to help, in any way possible. I am learning that I am not a nuisance. I need help. I can say it freely now. Do I rely on my family still to help? How else does a ship sail? A ship is only as good as its crew. I break it down to a simple question; do I want help and live or not get help and die? The way I see it, if death was better than being alive, someone would have already come back from beyond the grave to endorse it.

When I write, sometimes I go off on a tangent. The point of this blog entry is to let people know that asking for help or getting help is mandatory to fight depression, or any other mental illness. It would have been impossible for me to fight it on my own. Those who try to fight it on their own usually lose. When they lose, so does their friends and family. So, if you can take anything from my own experience, ask for help. Ask your parents, siblings, partners, doctors, nurses, me, someone or anyone. Yes, I know and understand that asking for help is not easy and is stressful. I get it. I was there. But asking for help is better than dying. If I didn’t ask for help, I wouldn’t have got to see my son play hockey for the very first time last weekend. If I didn’t ask for help I wouldn’t have reached the age of 30. Don’t feel ashamed or perceive it as being weak-minded. That is the furthest thing from the truth. Depression lied to me and tried to guide me down the wrong road. Trust me when I say it is OK to ask someone for help. If you don’t want to ask anyone you know, ask me. I am the olive branch to depression. I can help guide you through difficult times.

I needed help. I need help. I will continue to get help. Past, present, and future.

I am still alive. I am here for you. How can I help?

“When a person is down in the world, an ounce of help is better than a pound of preaching.”

                                                                               - Edward G. Bulwer-Lytton

Yours Truly,

T.J. Smith