May 7, 2025 May You Be Aware

 May is Mental Health Awareness month, hand in hand with Suicide Awareness.

I have, like so many others, had suicide touch my life, with the loss of friends, friends' children, and family. Whether it was with the loss of life, or recognizing the threat, it's a sobering, sad experience. Trying to imagine the abject hopelessness that one must be feeling is heartbreaking. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't had thoughts of whether the world would be better off without me when my anxiety and depression was ramped up, complicated by self-medicating with alcohol.

To go back to where it all began would be confusing and hard to pinpoint. Looking back, as hindsight is always 20/20, I think it was always part of my makeup. Having a traumatic event in my life brought this monster alive, making it hard for me to eat, sleep, and some days, even getting myself to go through the motions of the day almost impossible. That long ago, though, there was such an onus attached to being on medication that I didn't consider it, mainly due to not recognizing what was actually wrong.

I lost a noticeable amount of weight, much to the delight of my family. What still amazes me is that no one asked why. Clearly, to me at least, I was not myself. There was actually that time when being thin didn't feel good. A life change for us helped put me in a better place, with Randy as my rock. I thought I was fine.

Over the years, whenever any kind of life's trauma would arise, I would struggle. Through encouraging words from a friend, a nurse and someone who also has issues, I talked to my PCP, who immediately put me on medication. I was lucky in that the first drug worked. Some go through many before hitting on the one that is effective. I took it for years following.

Anxiety added a new wrinkle, requiring me to change up the initial antidepressant as well as additional help for the anxiety. 

But, drugs alone are not the answer. Oh, they help but they don't eliminate it. I became reckless when I failed to worry about how alcohol was affecting the efficacy of the meds. I withdrew from social situations, anytime there were crowds, even just going out to eat. I hid at home. And when I removed myself from the public, when I did venture out, all I heard was "I never see you anymore", or "where have you been". In my head all I could think was that if they really cared, why haven't they checked on me?

I have gone through my share of therapists. Some helpful to a point, others more concerned with just getting paid. I know many who swear by it; I'm not sold.

It wasn't until a close friend died suddenly, I felt I'd just had enough. My PCP and I analyzed my medication, making necessary changes. I made up my mind to stop drinking. With a clear mind, I am being much more successful in coping, prioritizing self-care when needed. Is every day a joy? Of course not. But, I can deal either way. I find that diving into my home is therapeutic. Baking, organizing, mowing (my favorite), cleaning neglected areas, sorting...you get it.

Mental health struggles are not always noticeable, but there can be signs. Are we all wacked out crazies? Internally, maybe. Outwardly, it's easy to hide, or avoid.

This is not a "poor me" post. It's just a first hand account of one mental health battle, the facts of my experience in broad strokes.

The next time you see the suggestion "Be kind; you don't know what someone may be going through", please take it seriously.

Hopefully, I'll have a more lighthearted post coming soon!

Thanks for your tolerance. ☘