“According to the World Health Organization, 350 million people suffer from depression, yet at any given time, we can feel alone.” That’s the opening line for the Giving Voice to Depression podcast. And it’s true. At times, those of us who live with mental illness, feel like we are suffering all alone. It was true […]
It seems that sucky days are a universal experience. We can’t survive on an island. Isolation is miserable, especially for someone who struggles with depression or anxiety or self-esteem issues. Finding the guts to say, “Today sucks. Can we talk?” sometimes changes everything.
I hate when I feel this way. I hate the semi-permanent knot in the back of my throat, the avoiding eye contact with co-workers and the constant urge to go home. But the feelings persist. I hate the shame that comes along with it, whispering, “What a loser. Get your shit together. What’s wrong with you?” I hate the shame that comes from years of being raised as a religious kid, the lies that tell me I’m not a real Christian or I wouldn’t have these struggles.
But then I remember the words our pastor spoke Sunday…
As the nurse wheeled me down the long and lonely corridor and through the locked doors of that ward, I felt hopeless and humiliated. But after coming to the end of myself, I see how the church and the psych ward have several similarities and benefits.
Knott’s Berry Farm in California has launched a psychiatric hospital-themed Halloween attraction at their theme park. Earlier this week, I was interviewed for an article by The Mighty and I will expand my response here. Keep reading to see why I think this is ignorant, hurtful, and just plain stupid.
It took me three days to realize I’m building toward a panic attack. I think of it like a simmering pot that begs for days to boil. Eventually it may. Or it may finally run out of steam, still piping hot, producing nothing but exhaustion, confusion, frustration, and sticky sweat.
It reminds me of dingy socks.
43,000 is a really big number. I would certainly lose count, trying to count that high. I’m not a mathematician, but know that 1 is much smaller than 43,000. The number 1 isn’t nearly as impressive. One, compared to 43,000 isn’t earth-shattering. Until it’s the one person you love…
My wife spent a week on a psych ward following the birth of our first son. She had a miserable fight with postpartum depression and sleep deprivation. One year later, nearly to the day, I landed in ICU and then a psych ward following a suicide attempt.
After living through it, here’s my take on what to do when you decide to stay married to someone with mental illness.