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

That Lonely Feeling - August 2, 2016

Lonely is defined by “causing a depressing feeling of being alone”. I look up the definitions of words more these days. Supposedly, simple words. The meaning is simple to read. Complications arise in the feeling aspect of words. At times, I could be in a crowded room and be the loneliest man on Earth. How does one rid me of that?

Am I lonely 24/7? Do I like it? Am I used to it by now? Have I accepted it as a part of my life?

I have been sleeping a lot lately. Well, when I get to sleep. The dreams and nightmares have ranged from complete terrors to slightly enjoyable experiences.

I find myself often with thoughts. More riddled than understood. I feel and think, some days I got a good solid grasp on this Depression. I feel I understand myself more as a person and identifying areas I need to improve on. I feel I can come to terms with what I am. Am I at peace with myself? No. Not yet. That area of the highway is still, shall we say, under construction.

As an advocate for Mental Health, I feel and think I can do more. Maybe I can’t, but I don’t agree with that. Something keeps motivating me to strive to do more. I am not suggesting people aren’t doing their jobs to advocate. Personally, I feel I can reach people. I feel I can help people. I feel I potentially save someone’s life. It could be a close friend. It could be a stranger. I am going to help save their life. Just as someone helped save my life. My son will thank you when he is older.

I am paying it forward.

Here’s a thought that crossed my mind; when I hear of someone committing suicide because of a Mental Illness, I feel responsible for not doing more. In a weird, possibly twisted way, suicide is a death we can prevent to a certain degree. It bothers me when I hear of a suicide across Canada, but really hits me hard when I hear of them in Nova Scotia and Newfoundland and Labrador. It is close to my heart. Am I trying to prevent the unpreventable? I like to think I can and believe it is possible to help others. The moment I don’t believe help is possible, is the moment I fail as an advocate. I am not afraid of failure. Failure is like the old quote; “Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.” I do that with my failures so I can learn from them and not let it happen the second time. Why do I have this mindset? My answer to that is HOPE.

Since the word is forever tattooed on my arm, I should know the meaning of it. Hope means, “The feeling that what is wanted can be had or that events will turn out for the best”. Another rendition is, “To believe, desire, or trust”. Personally, I think it is fitting that is comes ‘of unknown origin’. What I mean, a lot of words have origins. Hope doesn’t. Hope cannot be bought. Hope cannot be fake. Hope is one of the feelings that connect us all as human beings. There are over seven billion people on this planet. Anyone and everyone can have hope. Rich and poor. Christian and Jewish. Canadian and Swedish. Young and old. Hope does not discriminate. That’s how hope is connected to Depression. Like hope, Depression doesn’t discriminate.

I have no money in my bank account, well, not very much. I hope to win the lottery this weekend. I could win $60 million this Friday. I could go to bed being a millionaire. But guess what? I still wake up as a person suffering from Depression. I could wake up a very rich man, but still have thoughts of tying a noose to use as my personal assassin. Do I know why I want to kill myself, other than it is because the demonic puppeteer within says so? Effortless, pulling the strings that I sometimes cannot reach to cut the connection to my mind. My point is simple. Just because one life event that is positive or perceived to be positive, it doesn’t magically solve my illness. I could win $60 million and eight hours later think up a new way on how to kill myself. “That’s dreadfully warped, T.J.,” I hear within. “You have no idea,” I reply.

I hear the phrase, “He/she couldn’t handle it anymore, that’s why they killed themselves.” I am not sure where I stand on that statement. It’s 1:29 a.m. I am going to sleep. I will discuss this statement tomorrow…

Sorry for going to sleep.

I couldn’t handle it. I almost lost it. I almost lost myself.

“Couldn’t handle it anymore?” I can see some justification in this. I will remind you of this, though; if you do not suffer from a Mental Illness, you have no idea how much someone “can handle”.

When the Depression sets in like the fog on the bay, the feeling is the same. Throughout the body, it is a common and familiar feeling. Much like being in the fog, I have no sight or sense of where things are. I stand alone in my boat on the abnormally steady water. The fog is heavy now. The sounds are feint and confusing. Why is the boat not rocking? How come I am not moving? I can’t see. I can’t move. I am restricted. All my senses are temporarily paralyzed. Except my hearing. The only sense I wish that was non-existent sometimes. I can’t see any lighthouses. Are there rocks nearby? When the Depression rolls in, I am alone on my boat.

I am alone and in the fog. I can’t understand why the boat isn’t moving. I cannot feel any waves. I just hear things. Noises coming at me from every angle. Since I am on a boat on the water, there is nowhere for me to escape. The motor is broken. I don’t have a life-jacket on. If I fall in the water, I am done. I can’t swim. I could use the oars. Mysteriously, I cannot figure out how to use them.

How far is land? Are there any other boats on this water? If I get to land, what or who will be there for me? I am not a sailor. Jumping in can be so easy. If a storm is imminent, I am unaware. The silent attack. I am scared.

"If I want to believe that life is lonely and nobody loves me, then that is what I will find in my world."

                                                              - Louise L. Hay

Yours Truly, 

T.J. Smith

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