Mental Health Is My Blessing In Disguise

Mental Health Is My Blessing In Disguise

As a man, “staying stubborn” in the face of depression is expected. It also wears me down emotionally and physically - what little energy I have is spent on “keeping up appearances”. It is highly draining, and it’s extremely unhealthy. 

This blog is about my story of battling depression, which I find is my blessing or even my awakening - a revelation which will shock many of those close to me. This is my story about how I realized “manning up” didn’t mean burying or hiding my depression. It meant, instead of being man enough to ask for help and discuss my mental health.

This story is my own, but my lessons may help many. This is not a roadmap to curing depression, rather, it is a brutally honest version of what so many of us feel deep inside, yet never speak about. I think we can begin to realize that problems hidden within are not solved anytime soon but it is more life progression to happiness.

Talking about my depression is hard. But not talking about it is harder.

People think those who suffer from mental health issues are fearful, and can even be angry but inside screaming for people to understand. That has been me for so long, years, I would even go back all the way to my childhood (I am now 28 years of age).

I never really knew what was wrong with me as a child. I would say my mental health through childhood was much worse and the reason for that is because I no clue of depression, anxiety and other mental health structures. I made completely different decisions to what I would have now. I turned to drugs and alcohol, I chose violence and much more, in order to shadow what was really going on. 

My childhood was not the greatest in my eyes. It was rough - very rough. People saw me as a go-getter, a child socially fine and will be fine moving into adulthood yet deep down this was not true at all! I was bullied, I couldn't fit in as hard as I tried. I had a violent father who was in Narcotics Anonymous, constantly in halfway homes and attending meetings, a mother dealing with domestic violence, cancer, working three jobs while attending university as well.

My understanding of depression that there is a trigger from childhood that has not been dealt with properly. It is hidden within the brain like a “Where's Wally” book. 

It's hard to find Wally in the books as a child and sometime's we need help but in the end, Wally is found, or we just move on to the next search. Much like depression. If we just give up on the search, Wally is still lost - but we can always come back to the search at later date… Right?

I feel that I have found my hardest 'Wally' search yet. I have given up on this hard search for so long, and dealt with pages which were much simpler - but that hard page is the one that key. I feel I have found it. The cause of my depression as a child and now could be my father.  

I never understood how a person could be so selfish, not paying child support, a man who would constantly beat my mother and his children. I understood partly what Narcotics Anonymous meant at a young age, but I chose not to have a full understanding - the times spent in these halfway homes and meetings were kinda like Disneyland for a child. So many caring people, ping pong tables and it was the times my father actually cared and treated his children the best ways possible.

Once I was old enough to make my own decisions, and I chose not to have him in my life anymore. The let downs overpowered the good times. I remember looking over my shoulder in sporting grand finals as he promised he would be there, I remember my mother, brother and I pushing against the bedroom door while he was trying to barge it down, and the three of us with it. I had to call the police so we had to let the door open as it was only landlines in those times. I called the police but I was that young I didn't even know our address, as I ran back into my mother's room to get my brother to tell the police our address I remember him sitting on top of my mom on her bed with his hands tight around her throat.

I always hated my father and when I was told "you're just like your father”, I would go off the rails. It was my trigger to drugs, to booze, and to violence.  Aged from 13. 

I rebuilt a relationship with my father later on in life after my grandmother (his mother) passed away. We connected with what I would now call the ‘wrong' things - namely drugs and alcohol. At the time it was something to connect us. I felt that connection, however, wrong it might have been. 

Not long had passed before I received a call at work advising my father has passed away. This is something I dreamt of as a child. I would imagine the negative things I would say at his funeral. Upon the call, I was simply in shock, but I was fine in a way. I had to be strong for my family and I was - until he was walked down the church aisle. I finally broke. I shed tears with weak knees, to the point my aunt and little cousin ran down and just hold me in this emotional breakdown. I could not speak at his funeral. I was lost in what to say. I had so many mixed emotions from anger and this newly built relationship between father and son.

Once again I turned to drugs and alcohol. I treated everyone around like they were nothing, and used hard drugs such as ice to release this new pain. I lost very special women at the time, jobs, friends, and family were all lost with my actions.

I thought for many years how selfish this act was of my father. His overdose was incredibly selfish. How could you do this to me when we were rebuilding what we didn't have for so many years?

Through my own depression, I now understand my father's actions. His fear that he could never really face head on. His mental health. 

I remembered things like my father being rushed to hospital but getting picked up by ambulance at the end of the street so we wouldn't see. I had no idea why as he looked physically fine. My understanding of illness at the time was you need to have a fever or be throwing up to be sick. Once again I didn't see my father for months or maybe years. I know now this was mental health and he needed help, but I still don't know what help he received from this…

I feel now that he could not cope after his mother passed away, and I now understand why he may have taken his life even if  it was unintentional. If I lost my mother I have no clue of what I would do, nor who I would become. 
I feel he was lost, and in his head, this was the only way out.

Now through my own darkness, I see his. I forgive him which is something I have never done and never thought I would, but I feel warm inside now that I have this understanding.

I have a strong belief that my father had to face his demons in the afterlife, and he had a long road to face. I feel he is finally in a good place and looking down upon me, giving me the strength I need to get through my darkness. It may be odd but I can feel him and sometimes even hear him saying "you are better than I was and you can beat this"

(RIP DAD)

Now that I have an understanding of mental health, and that I can forgive but not forget, I feel like I have the strength to overcome this illness. 

I have learned so much about myself, others, and mental health, through life lessons and progressions, and I plan to share my movements with others. It might be two steps forward, it might be one step backward, but it doesn’t matter - I’m still moving in the right direction.

Welcome to 'My Depression Progression'