My
post about my Funeral was dark. I wasn't scared writing it. To me, that picture
of my funeral was describing my Depression. That's how lonely Depression can
make someone feel. It's not my fault, or anyone's for that matter. It is what
it is. How you tackle it, that is up to each individual. In life, we must worry
about the controllable factors, not the external things. I can control what I
eat, if I exercise, who I hang out with, what I read, what I wear, and where I
go for a trip. Those things are easy to control. What I can't control and two
powerful entities; my thoughts and my feelings. Most people, not suffering from
a Mental Illness can control their thoughts. I am one of millions that needs to
be medicated to help with my thoughts, just like a cane helps someone with a bad
leg, or a puffer helps someone with asthma. Seven pills a day are my cane and
puffer. But why is it with Mental Health, people tend to be afraid to talk
about it? What is there to fear? I spent three weeks in a hospital. I am not
ashamed. It saved my life. I am not sure, but it is possible I may have to go
back at some point. Who knows? I had thoughts of suicide. Nothing I could do
about that, other than seek help. My thoughts, right now, are being medicated,
just as if I had cancer or diabetes or a bad leg. Someone said to me, and he's
a very smart man that I have lots of respect for, " Mental illness is a
medical illness." Very true, indeed.
I
was never a good writer. Couldn't organize my thoughts. But that's the problem.
I used to write with my thoughts. While I was hospitalized, I did a lot of
reflecting and reading. And in the time, I learned to write with my feelings.
Happiness, anger, jealousy, sadness, etc. When I got an overwhelming feeling, I
grabbed my pen and notepad, and just let my feelings take over. Such a
difficult thing for some people to share. Here is an excerpt I wrote on
Thursday, January 28th, 2016 while I sat in the cafeteria at the hospital
eating a pork chop.
During
the first part of my illness, I was scared, terrified really, to come to the
cafeteria for lunch or supper. The past ten days or so, I haven't really felt
that way. For lunch, I sit alone and quietly eat my meal. I like food in general
and yet to have a real bad lunch here. I sit in the middle of the room, hoping
I may see someone I know. But I don't. I scan the room and make observations.
It "appears" most people sit with their fellow employees from their department.
I think what I am really looking for are the other people that are suffering in
silence. I want to develop an ability to see if I can identify people that I
can help. Mental illness has physical signs, but I believe it has more behavioral clues. My lunch was good. Pork chop with mashed potato and squash. The
chocolate milk fills me up. I have a chocolate cupcake for dessert. Looks good,
but looks can be deceiving
We
are taught to trust our eyes. Believe what we see and none of what we hear. One
thing that you can't see is Mental Illness. That needs to be heard, because it
needs to be spoken or communicated. No x-ray will diagnose Depression. That's
why it needs to be talked about more. I saw a stat once that said 1 in 5 suffer
some type of mental illness. (Don't quote me on that). So, according to my
Grade 4 math education, that means, if there are 20 people in a room, four
people are suffering, and sixteen others have no idea. I wonder who is hiding
the illness? I wonder who understands what Mental Illness is?
I
now look at people differently, I mean, I take time to perceive them. Before, I
would just look through people, or make some prior judgement or stereotype
thought about them based on what I 'see'. Well, what do I 'see' now? I don't
'see' in the traditional definition. I perceive with my senses and feel with my
emotions. Thoughts are now obsolete when it comes to 'seeing' people. If I
could hide my illness for all these years, how many more can? I felt like I was some
kind of magician, and everyday I put on a show. Pulling rabbits out of my hat to hide the tears. Colours, smells, touch, taste, and sounds- all of it, I have
more appreciation for. It all means something now. Before, objects, people, or
whatever that case- it all seemed dull to me. Nothing could excite me. Nothing
impressed me. I didn't have a heartbeat. Someone used to tell me I was
heartless. Physically speaking, no- but emotionally, psychologically, and
spiritually that person was 100% right. Feeling anything was impossible. I
staggered through life just wishing time away and to "get through"
the days. I looked forward to sleep, but hated it at the same time. It meant I
can suppress the pain for a few hours. But it also meant morning was coming;
something I did not look forward too. That's no way to live.
My
illness has to be my best friend now. I am going to use it to help others. It
has to be my gift to others, in hope it helps someone else. I am committed to
that.
I
now see things with my heart and not with my eyes. Your eyes can deceive you or
play tricks on you. Your heart is true and powerful. The heart is just and it
cannot lie. It doesn't think or have thoughts. It feels. It doesn't
discriminate or stereotype. It loves. The heart is the purest muscle we have.
We, as human beings, tend to forget that. We are scared to be emotional because
someone may deem you weak or soft. We are afraid to cry because society. as a
whole, does not approve. Tears do not mean you are weak or vulnerable. Tears
mean you have a heart and you can feel. I used to be like that, have no
feelings. I would hold back the tears, worried what people would think, But I
no longer will "see" with my eyes. I look at my son and I don't see,
rather, I love with my heart. When I "look" at her, I don't see the
beauty. I feel the beauty! The true beauty in her very life. How she smiles. How she talks. How she cries. How she is her, in her most natural form.
I now see her and her beauty. I feel connected to that beauty, as with her
heart because I feel her beauty. They say "beauty is in the eye of the
beholder." Being beautiful isn't as much as a physical thing as it is an
emotional, spiritual, and psychological thing. It's a being thing. And it is so
real and true. She is truly beautiful for everything she does, or doesn't do.
She saved my life. She does not understand this yet. It is a lot to comprehend.
Being beautiful is an emotional thing, a spiritual things, a wonderful thing.
Physical attributes come last. Beauty is truly inside of us as people. To me, you
are the most beautiful person I have ever got the privilege to meet. You are
the most beautiful person ever. I love you. Thank you.
Yours Truly,
T.J. Smith
