Breaking your feet free

For as long as I can remember I’ve always felt this way. Growing up in the late 80s and early 90s, depression was something that simply wasn’t diagnosed. You either had ADD, ADHD, or were a child acting out. Doctors would tell your parents that you would eventually grow out of it. Your parents were told to discipline you more, and to be tougher on you.

Boy were they wrong.

Throughout my life I’ve had long periods of time filled with sadness. For those of you reading this dealing with depression you know the feeling I’m describing. This isn’t a sadness you associate when a relationship ends. Or with a pet or loved one passing away. It’s a sadness that digs down to the deepest part of your soul. A sadness that overcomes every single thought that enters your mind. It makes the most mundane, simple tasks feel unachievable. It consumes absolutely everything that you do. From the moment your eyes open it’s there. It’s debilitating. It’s exhausting. It’s awful.

During my teenage years and into my early twenties I struggled with depression a lot. I was incredibly unhappy. I sought help from a psychiatrist but I didn’t find it overly helpful. I wasn’t ready to openly talk about my emotions. So I did what most of us do – I suffered in silence.

Everything about me changed as a person.

For the last 6 or 7 years I’ve been happy. I was driven. I was optimistic. I was me. Until one weekend in April 2015 everything changed. On a Thursday night my grandfather passed away from cancer. On Sunday morning I lost my job. I was undoubtedly upset. I thought maybe after a few days of grieving I would start to feel better and do what I always did: figure it out.

But I didn’t.

Days turned to a week, which turned to a month, which then turned to months. I lost my drive. I lost my purpose. I had nothing to motivate me, nothing to make me wake up every day. I was totally lost. I self medicated more than I ever did before. Everything about me changed as a person. My friends and family noticed. They tried to help me. But they were talking to a shell. I was alive, but I wasn’t living.

Throughout the summer things got worse. Way worse. I slept for 10, 12, 14 hours a day. I would wake up, move to the couch and then go back to bed and do it all over again. I was fighting a war inside of my head and I wasn’t winning. I was fighting for my life and I was slowly, painfully losing. Many nights before going to sleep I would be in so much pain I would tell myself I was at peace with not waking up. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to so badly live. But I couldn’t stand the pain I was in. It was unbearable.

Throughout the last year I’ve been so incredibly lucky to have had the best support group. My family and friends are amazing. Not once did I ever feel like I didn’t have support. They were always there. They care so much about me and I’m forever grateful. Without a doubt their support saved my life. Some of them may not even realize it. But the calls, the texts, the pop in visits to make me get out of bed at 2, 3 in the afternoon were instrumental in helping me recover.

Things slowly started to turn around in the fall. I knew I had to change or I was going to die. But I didn’t know how. One day while on twitter I saw a tweet from Michael Landsberg. I don’t remember the exact context of the tweet but he was describing how he was feeling that day. I have been a Michael Landsberg fan for a long, long time. My parents will angrily tell you how I would wake up on weekends, watch Sportsdesk for an hour, and then turn the volume off and enthusiastically announce my own highlights. Here was someone I’ve looked up to for many years feeling just as shitty as I was. His honesty and openness was infectious. I was hooked. I told myself that day that I would give this an honest shot. To not hold back and do anything and everything to make myself happier.

I reminded myself every day that I matter.

So I did what most of us do when we have questions – I went to the library (just kidding.) I googled: dealing with depression. And I read. I fucking read the shit out of the Internet. I read anything and everything I could get my eyes on.

I started talking. I started being open and honest about my emotions. I reminded myself every day that I matter. That I was important. That I deserved to find happiness. I’ve slowly started let go of the resentment of things and people and situations that have hurt me in the past. I set goals. First it was small goals, like taking a shower, and going outside. Then big goals, like finding a job, changing my diet, and going to bed at a normal time.

Slowly things changed. I was optimistic. I was determined. I was motivated. I was trying everything I could possibly do to better myself. I was starting to be me again. I’m nowhere near where I want to be. I’m not at the peak of the mountain of happiness. I’m not even close. But I’m far away from the valley of hell. This is a long, exhausting process and I’m okay with that.

Mental health needs to be talked about as much as cancer, and the economy.

I’ve decided to share my experience for two reasons. The stigma around mental illness has come a long way. #BellLetsTalk really opened the door for mental health discussion and has raised a lot of money for mental illness initiatives. But most of us forget about it the other 364 days of the year. It disappears into the back of our minds until we see the hashtags pop up on twitter and facebook. We need to talk about mental health all the time.

All day everyday.

We need to talk about mental health like we talk about the Leafs and their rebuild, or the Kardashians and whatever it is that they do. Mental health needs to be talked about as much as cancer, and the economy. Michael and all those at #SickNotWeak have really started a movement. They’ve created a forum, a home for us to come to and talk. I’d be incredibly honored if I could contribute to that in some small way.

More importantly I wanted to share my story incase there is someone out there suffering like I was. Someone who has no hope. No drive, no determination to live. Someone who isn’t as fortunate as I am to have an amazing support system. If that person is you, please read this over and over and over again: â€¨YOU MATTER. YOU ARE IMPORTANT. Seek help. Talk to a family member or friend. Make an appointment with your doctor. Contact your local Mental Health Association. Visit the #SickNotWeak chat section of this website. Making that first step will be the hardest. Breaking your feet free from the cement of depression is hard. But believe me when I say this: the 2nd, 3rd, 4th steps will become slightly easier.