Let’s Talk Mental Health

For years, talking about one’s mental health was taboo. People would label you as “crazy” or “nuts.” If someone was suffering with mental health issues, they kept it to themselves, or they were the ones that were self medicating and no one felt they had the right to ask if they needed help. Perhaps that is because if you did, you were looked at as interfering or perhaps you didn’t ask because maybe you didn’t know what to do to help. Thankfully, we have come a very long way since then, but there is still work to do.

I will start with full disclosure. I have lived with depression for the better part of my life. It typically surfaced once a month, and I could tell when it was creeping in. For the most part, I could battle my way through it, partly because I was cognizant of the fact that it was rearing its ugly head. It would last for about 4 or 5 days, and then I would feel “normal” again. I know that dealing with it the way I did was not, by any stretch of the imagination, “normal” but I felt it worked for me, so I would just keep doing what I was doing. Looking back, I managed my depression this way for about 40 years. I never discussed it with my doctor and I never tried to get any outside help. I thought I was actually moving along really well, until Noah died.

Before October 4th, 2018, I never knew how debilitating mental health could be. Like I said, I was managing, coping. Even right after his death, I thought I was doing okay, all things considered. Hell, I gave a TV interview about him and his accident, the day after he died! I must have been coping. I was anything but coping, but I was surviving. The next couple of weeks are honestly a blur in my memory now. There are some memories of that time that are vivid, but other times and events, I don’t remember.

I remember a few days after he passed, my husband and I decided to try to get out of the house, just for a bit. He needed a haircut and I needed a bangs trim, so out we go. As I am sitting here now, I can vividly recall how vulnerable I felt, and I was sure that everyone was looking at me and thinking “that is the lady who’s son just died playing hockey.” I felt like they were seeing right into my soul. I had my first anxiety attack.

The feeling of that attack was frightening! My hands were sweaty, my heart was pounding out of my chest, I felt like I couldn’t breathe, and I was sure I was going to pass out. I needed to get home. I needed to be inside my 4 walls, where I felt safe and sheltered. That was my first attack, but it certainly was not my last. They could happen anytime, anywhere. I suffered these attacks for the better part of the first year after Noah passed.

Along with the anxiety attacks, I was suffering from flashbacks. Not unlike the anxiety attacks, flashbacks could and would come at any time. They typically involved any period of time between when Matthew first received the text that Noah was unconscious on the ice to when I saw him lifeless on the bed in the emergency ward, and they announced his time of death, 12:34am on October 4th, 2018. So many snippets of moments that can flash before your eyes, and you can’t “unsee” them. They haunted me for at least the entire first year after he died. I was told it I was suffering from PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder.)

So here I was. A grieving mother with depression, anxiety and now PTSD. It was much too much for me to carry on my own. Lord knows I tried, but eventually the mental health trauma I was dealing with was taking over. I needed help. I reached out to my family doctor, and she prescribed medications for all the above. I take medication daily to help me cope. Do I feel like I am a less valued individual because I take medication for mental health? No I don’t. Many people ask if I have “seen” anyone yet. That is a polite way to ask if I am seeing a therapist. So far, I haven’t but maybe one day I will. I am still at a point in my grief that I feel like talking with someone who hasn’t lost a child, just won’t understand. Honestly, I am just not there yet, but today I feel like a survivor.

It is now just over 2 years since my boy died. Not a second of a day goes by that he is not in my thoughts. He is my first conversation in the morning and the last one before I go to sleep. I do have these conversations in my head, with myself, but I am not crazy. I am a mom who’s son died, and I am doing my best everyday to cope with the loss. If that means having conversations with myself, then so be it. It seems to be working to keep me sane.

This is just my story of mental health, but I know that I am not alone. I know of many people within my circle of family and friends that also struggle daily with mental health. I see the pain it causes them. I see them trying to cope on their own. I often hear “I am okay”, when I can see in their eyes that they are not. I am at a point where I will come out and ask someone if their mental health is causing them health issues. As a society, we need to continue to have the conversations. Sometimes we need to ask those we love, the really hard questions and we need to let them know that it comes from a place of love, concern and caring. None of us have the right to judge others, but we all have the ability to help and support. It may be a simple act of kindness, like bringing that mom a few prepared meals so she can breathe a bit, or asking your buddy if he wants to go shoot some hoops or go fishing. You don’t have to carry the load, but you could easily lighten it, and that one act could make all the difference in that persons day, or even their life. Let people know you care, that you love them, that you support them, and that you want to help them get healthy. Isn’t that what every person deserves? Be that person.