1,321 Days Ago

I don’t necessarily recall the exact moment I realized I suffered from mental illness, but I know it was many years ago.  I do recall, however, the exact moment that I learned I needed to do something different to save my life from my own mental illness.

According to my blog that moment came 1,321 days ago.  The night I decided to write, and to talk about this fight I had endured every day. The fight that I was succumbing too.

About four years prior that moment, I thought I had a good grip on my depression, enough that I was able to move away from home, and attend my first year of university.  But that spring, shortly after exams, I was at home hanging out with some friends planning a house boating trip, and my phone rang.  My uncle, who never calls me, was quite urgently telling me to get my ass home.  Confusion ensued.  I had no idea what was going on.  I couldn’t have even guessed.

When I got home, I saw my mom walk through the door and drop to her knees, sobbing, with her head in her hands.

What the hell was going on?

“Your sister killed herself.”

What… I sat there on the couch, completely shocked.  No.

I remember that very moment as if it were yesterday.  I know the exact clothes I was wearing, where I was sitting-everything about it.  The victim services lady from the RCMP that came over afterwards to talk.  The gut-wrenching hopeless sadness on my father’s face. The confusion on my little 8-year-old brother’s face.

I remember that moment, as the single worst moment I have ever encountered in my entire life, and I truly hope nothing will ever top that.

From that moment, my life completely flipped upside down, and began sputtering out of control.

I was losing, but on the surface I thought, and convinced myself, that I was doing OK

For years, I struggled, and I fought.  I fell deeper, and deeper into depression.  My life spiralled dangerously out of control.  I isolated myself; I drank, I partied, I slept for days and I stayed awake for days. I even sat in my room for days like a mute, not saying a single word.  I had turned into a total zombie.  I failed classes at university; hell, I couldn’t even attend most classes. School felt too far away even though I lived maybe eight minutes from campus. I was too stubborn to take a semester off, and to proud to admit defeat.  Hell, I was coaching AAA hockey, and I could hardly make it to some practices and games.  Sometimes when I did, I could hardly get myself to even speak.  I was losing, but on the surface I thought, and convinced myself, that I was doing OK.

Then a miracle or something of the like happened.  I was coming home from one of those terrible practices.  Driving on the two-lane highway back to my condo, I was done.  I fell apart.  I was ashamed, I was humiliated, and I was exhausted.  I was certain I had lost, and this time… I was OK to accept defeat.  I closed my eyes, and I let go of the wheel.

5…4…3…2…1…

I opened my eyes.  My car hadn’t moved left, or right.  It continued straight down the dark highway.  You might think, well, maybe he was driving a brand new car, and with the wheels perfectly aligned, it should stay straight.  But no. I had this 2002 Lancer sedan that often times was an arm workout in itself just to keep the thing straight.  But, for some greater reason, some miracle… for those five seconds, the car stayed straight and narrow.

As soon as I opened my eyes and grabbed the wheel, I knew exactly what happened.  Jen had taken the wheel, and took over.  At that very moment, I remember clear as day seeing her, and hearing her tell me “Blair, No.  You aren’t done yet brother.  You’ve got some amazing stuff to do. Nice try.” She had kicked me swift in the ass.

I went home that evening, and I felt incredible, like a new person. I finally felt like I had some kind of direction, and some kind of purpose.  It wasn’t time.

I grabbed a beer out of the fridge, I lit some incense candles, and I opened my computer, and I wrote.

At that very moment, I decided I wasn’t going to let my mental illness take over anymore.  I was going to fight like hell, and I was going to tell everyone about it. I would uncover the beautiful truth about mental illness-the truth that, it is just that-an illness. It’s not a weakness, nor is it something to hide from, and fall silent too.

Sure, it hasn’t been all roses in my 1,321 days since that miraculous night.  But, I won’t quit.  I will not.  I will fight, I will talk, and I will do the best that I can do normalize everything there is about mental illness.  Because…  It is OK.  We are not weak.  We are not different.

We are #SickNotWeak