16: Happy Mother's Day
The sixthteenth installment in the "semi-colon" series.
“semi-colon” contains a discussion of mental health struggles. It may not be appropriate for younger readers or those sensitive to candid descriptions of suicidal ideation or other depressive symptoms.
A therapist once told me writing was “like having a conversation with yourself.” Writing has changed my life. Maybe it could change yours. Over the last few months, there has been incredible support for semi-colon. During most of these conversations, individuals share a portion of their lives with me. A piece of their pain. After sharing, readers often tell me how they feel a little better. Sharing has the profound ability to release a sense of freedom. In a world often filled with fakeness, I hope to use semi-colon to create a space for real stories. A space for vulnerability.
Beginning this week, I hope the community will share their stories in the comment section below. I will ask some weekly questions as a guide. Comments can be a full essay or just a sentence. Simply put, more stories equals more de-stigmatization of mental health, and that is why we are here.
Somewhat perfectly, the website has an anonymous option for leaving comments. Include your name or stay anonymous, whatever gives you the ability to share. You will feel that special sense of freedom after you click your last period. And if you want to hit post, you will certainly be giving another soul some hope.
Have you ever felt like you did not deserve to be depressed or anxious? Have you ever just wanted to feel normal? Talk to yourself. The question-to-answer method, shown below, always works well for me.
If you are hesitant, please consider an anonymous comment. Share your story to not only help yourself – but to help others.
For those who have ever shared their pain, thank you.
Last week my Uncle Billy and his family were in town from Dallas. On the first day of their visit, I got to spend a lot of time with Fenn, my five-year-old cousin. Fenn and I have a lot in common. We share the same first name. Fenn’s father is my namesake and godfather. We are both only sons with lively sisters.
As we bounced on the trampoline last Thursday, Fenn asked me a question.
“Are you a grown-up, William?”
“Feels like it,” I responded mid-jump.
The time we spent together got me thinking. What would I like Fenn to know about mental health? What does almost 19-year-old William wish he could tell his five-year-old self about mental health?
There are many answers to those questions. The one that kept coming to the surface for me was: don’t wait to ask for help.
When I started to feel the hope of true recovery, part of me was frustrated. Why did I not tell my people sooner? Why did I let it get this bad? Why was I hesitant to take medication?
After a family dinner last week, I decided to journal about why. Why did I wait?
When journaling, I usually start with asking myself some pessimistic questions. I try to let some negativity show. Then, I accept it and try to answer those questions using the other half of my brain. As you will see, I just talk to myself. I know it sounds a little odd. But it works for me. Also, I am a little profane in my personal writing. A transcript is below.
Little White Pills: Depression and medication were not expectations. Not the dream. I was supposed to be happy when I was finally a “grown-up” – but then shit. I wasn't. Depression ruined my supposedly perfect little plan. Why ignore wishing to never wake up every time I went to sleep? Why let so many people down? I had an awesome life and the resources to get help, why did I wait? Why did I even want to die so much? All I could think about was resting. Obsessed with my bed because sleeping was the closest thing I could get to death. Why the hell was I so skeptical of medication?
There is a common theme amongst people who battle in silence. Always “supposed” to be doing something else. I was supposed to be a senior in high school. Blue was supposed to start a new job. Robin was supposed to be at his daughter’s graduation. Holly and Oliver were supposed to be in college. Pam was supposed to be taking care of her mom. The list goes on. None of us were supposed to be in emergency rooms. This was not part of our perfect plans, not part of our childhood expectations. Telling your parents how you couldn’t open the gun safe? No one expects that. I wanted the perfect life. Wanted to be happy. So, I ignored all of the negatives. I did not accept the necessity for those little white pills. I just wanted to be normal. For a while, I think my perception of “normal” meant not taking antidepressants and mood stabilizers. That's a fair thought to have. I can't beat myself up for that. As I begged to fulfill the expectations of normalcy, I slowly fell out of time. But then all of the sudden, helping myself became normal. Medication became part of the plan. Such a weird time. Such a dream. Oh, to enjoy life again. Feels pretty good.
Please consider leaving a comment. Share your story to not only help yourself – but to help others. Have you ever felt like you did not deserve to be depressed or anxious? Have you ever just wanted to feel normal?
“Happy Mother’s Day” is the sixteenth in a planned series about my journey of pain, diagnosis, and healing. To join the nearly 4,000 followers of semi-colon and automatically receive the next installment please subscribe:
Mission 34 is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization whose goal is to eliminate the stigma surrounding mental illness through awareness, education, and communication. It aims to do this by providing speakers and education to high school and college-aged students about the signs of depression, increasing awareness for suicide prevention and overall mental wellness.
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I struggle with anxiety every day and your journey has helped your Mom more than you know. I got my own medicine….following your lead. I love you more than anything and am so proud of you for shining your LIGHT. God blessed me so much with you as my son….and most importantly my friend. I love you always and forever.
William, the question posed is one that I not only immediately noticed and remembered that you mentioned in an earlier post but a question I think about almost daily. As someone who relates to this series in such a deep way it is a question that I’m so thankful I have the outlet to answer. Feeling as though I don’t deserve to be depressed feels like my life. I have a beautiful life with people I know love me. I know that I have wonderful opportunities and I know that I’m incredibly lucky, which is exactly why I feel like telling someone how I really feel, will not only seem selfish but will also feel extreme defeat. I feel like I have a wonderful life and compared to many people- who am I to feel so sad and want to die? Who am I to get too caught up thinking about my own life and sadness that I need to ask for help navigating my own mind? Who am I compared to someone who has lost everything to be so discontent with life? There are people who have lost everything and I don’t deserve to need help for being so depressed. This feeling is part of what fills my mind daily. Will people judge when they see how depressed and sad I am even though I have no reason to be? I feel like I have no reason to be depressed. None. No there has been no major life issues in my life so it feels like I have no reason to be as sad as I am. I yearn to just feel normal. To be genuinely happy and have joyful thoughts filling my brain rather than dark ones contemplating what it would be like if I just wasn’t here. William thank you for this. Thank you. thank you. thank you. For giving me and so many others an outlet to say how we feel and see others do the same. To say you are a light in this world would be a tremendous understatement. You are so special and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for choosing to live. ❤️
- D
& happy Mother’s Day to your wonderful mother! I hope she feels love and peace from all over knowing she raised the kindest heart and she too changed so many lives.