A little black book bound in
leather sits on my bedside table. In it are
dozens of handwritten quotes, verses and lyrics. From Tecumseh and the Apostle
Paul to Allison Krauss and Eleanor Roosevelt, it is chock full of uplifting
words.
My little black book is one
of my most cherished possessions, given to me by a special friend during my
darkest hour.
The words have lifted me up
when I was down. They have reminded me that we can lose everything but everything
will be okay. At least long as we have friends.
Ever since we shared my
struggles with the world, friends have inspired us. They have taken care of us.
They have loved us and they have helped us.
I had been at the Menninger
Clinic for a day or two when anxiety overwhelmed me. I worried about my wife and
children and felt guilty for the pain I’d caused them. The thought I would be
away from them and from home for weeks was torture.
It was hard to focus on my
recovery until I heard the excitement in the voices of my children about their
upcoming trip. They were to leave the following week for a 7-day Disney cruise.
Some dear friends who
wouldn’t take no for an answer insisted on an all-expense paid trip for my wife
and children. It turned out to be the trip of a lifetime. More thoughtful
friends brought gift cards for restaurants along the drive to the port. Still
others brought gifts, care packages and hugs. It didn’t cost us a penny.
It was like Christmas
morning for my children, only better.
Their trip lifted my spirits
more than anything had in a long time. Knowing they were embarking on the trip
of a lifetime gave me peace and helped me focus on my recovery.
Countless other friends
showed their love and support too. They fed us for a month with casseroles and
gift cards. They cleaned our house while my family was sailing toward Mexico.
They cut our grass. They brought breakfast—Pop Tarts, waffles and cereal—so
mornings would be a little easier for my wife.
They sent notes of
encouragement and prayed for us daily.
When I had a chance to
reflect on all our friends have done for us, it made me smile. It also made me
think about so many who suffer in silence with little support.
They suffer in silence
because of the stigma of mental illness. They feel ashamed. They feel scared to
ask for help, and they don’t. So they suffer alone.
Soon after my overdose, I
felt God calling me to tell my story. I hoped it would help me cope and give
others hope.
What I didn’t understand at
the time is telling our story is the best medicine of all. Shame loses its
power when we drag our problems into the light.
And it does so much more
than that. It lets those who love us care for us and pray for us. When we are
not ashamed to admit we are hurting, it lets our friends shower us with love
and hold us up when we can’t stand on our own.
Maybe the best thing about
the support of friends and family is what it does for our loved ones who suffer
as much as we do, just in a different way. They need hope and encouragement
too, something friends can only provide if they know mental illness is choking
the life out of a family.
I hope someone who is alone
and in agony will find the courage to share his or her story. You don’t have to
start a blog and share your pain with the whole world. But tell a friend. Tell
a family member. Tell a coworker. Tell somebody.
I know it isn’t easy. When
we are depressed, we want to withdraw. We want to isolate. We didn’t even feel
like answering the phone or returning a text.
But knowing we aren’t alone
makes the struggle against mental illness a little bit easier. For me, it has
made all the difference in the world.
