They didn’t want May to end without acknowledging it was Mental Health Awareness Month. It should be an opportunity to shed light on the invisible. For me, this month is more than just a spotlight. It’s a mirror. It reflects the past I ran over and over again. To be exact, three times.
Keep up with the latest LGBTQ+News and politics. Sign up for our supporters email newsletter.
I tried to die Suicide three times. All three of us landed me in the hospital. Finally, I was sent to the mental ward, scared, embarrassed, and angry. But that stay might have saved my life. It opened my eyes to everything I had to thank. Many people are worse than me.
People sometimes tell me they’re proud of me Please listen to me. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s complicated. Because I couldn’t survive like I did. I survived as three different versions of myself. For most of my life, I was running out of them all because I was never recognized.
The first life I tried to outrun was a wounded boy. I lost my father when I was 12 years old. It broke something inside me. I didn’t know how to fix it. I was behind Abused by the priestignored by her mother, unable to love things she didn’t understand, and abandoned by the God I once trusted.
The boy grew up to be a teenager who felt unworthy and became a man he believed he should not go past 50. My father passed away at the age of 50.
Then there was what I called a bogeyman in my life, the fact that I was gay. It felt more like a curse than a blessing, and it bothered me. Even as I approached middle age, my sexuality was on me like an inappropriate suit.
So when I was 50 and didn’t die, I was not relieved. Instead, I felt confused. It was as if I lived longer than my own story. I had a successful career, a partner, a friend, a life that I could look envious to the outside. But inside, I was falling apart.
Then came the second life I was trying to end. He’s a man tired of wearing a mask. By early 2015, everything fell apart. One night, I sobbed out of control after an event in the back of a taxi in New York City. The next day I tried to continue as if nothing had happened. But I was empty so I fell apart in my office. I turned to the doctor. I diagnosed my own depression and anxiety and placed me on a temporary disorder.
That night I did what always paralyzed me. I was very drunk. And I tried to end my life.
I barely survived and returned to work. But the world did not pause. People avoided me. I was broken publicly and silently ignored. I spiraled again, coming and going with suicidal thoughts. I was once again a hindrance for the rest of 2015, and I tried to get my life back on track like hell.
To some extent, I did, but for the next six years I have never mastered the art of continuing to drink and understanding how to survive or organize my life. I began acting again with dangerous behavior while being wasted. I tried to take my life twice. The final attempt was to land me in the ICU and then in the mental ward, in the drunken stray.
And for the first time I stopped running away and started running hard towards a real recovery.
Staying in the mental ward was not the punishment I was afraid of. It was breathing. Pause. Flickering. I’ve calmed down. I started treatment. I took my medicine seriously. I lace up my running shoes. This was once a doctor told me years ago to stop it as a way to minimize the effects of Meniere’s disease.
I will turn 61 next month. I’ve been calm for three and a half years. I’m grateful. I have the best physical form of my life mentally, but it’s always soothing. I’m looking at that black cloud sky, but I don’t live under it anymore. I stopped obsessing and stopped the catastrophe. I’m finally learning how to live today.
I now have a fourth life. This is not a ghost. It’s not perfect. But it’s mine. I will not deny the past. It holds gently. I’m not afraid of depression because I’ve been to the bottom before and have a reasonable confidence that I can avoid it. For the first time in my life, I feel that I am rooted in purpose. I run towards it every day.
Unless you’re going there, it’s impossible to explain the whole body fear of severe depression. It’s not sadness. It’s not sadness. It is cancer of the soul and heart. In 2005, I almost died of a physical illness that hospitalized me for several months. The pain was unbearable, but the pain of depression got worse.
In my darkest moments, I searched for stories like me everywhere and tried to find evidence that someone else felt like I had done it. I’ll tell my story because somewhere someone is looking for the same evidence. Someone who needs to know that they want to live again.
It’s uncomfortable to talk about suicide. “I tried to kill myself,” and people move to their seats. But I keep saying it because silence kills. Because someone there feels invisible right now. And they may need to hear that it is still possible to be seen. Its survival is messy, non-linear and beautiful.
So, while you may recognize mental health, these issues need to be recognized every day. That means paying attention. If someone in your life appears to be disappearing physically or emotionally, say something. Even if it feels awkward. Especially if that’s the case. Sometimes it’s all that needs to be something someone realizes. That act of sighting could be the first thread someone will use to go back together and sew themselves.
You don’t need to understand depression to show up for someone who has it. But you need to give it a try.
Have I been “healed”? Honestly, I really don’t know. I feel that the words are too pretty for something so jagged. But I know I’m living a different life now. I’m not waiting to die. I’m not terrifying. I’m not running away from the ghosts. And I’m not wasted trying to wash away all the pain.
I’m running towards something. I didn’t think it was me.
If you or someone you know needs mental health resources and support, call, text, or chat with 988 Suide & Crisis Lifeline or visit 988 Suide & Crisis Lifeline988lifeline.org 24/7 access to free and confidential services. Designed Trans Lifeline Transgender Or genderless people can be accessed at (877) 565-8860. Lifeline also provides resources to support other crises, such as domestic violence situations. Trevor Project Lifeline, for LGBTQ+Youth (under 24), (866) 488-7386. Users can also access the chat service thetrevorproject.org/help Or text will start until 678678.
The voice is dedicated to characterizing a wide range of moving personal stories and impactful opinions from LGBTQ+ Communities and their allies. visit advocate.com/submit For more information about submission guidelines. The views expressed in the voice story belong to guest writers, columnists and editors, and do not directly represent views of Supporters or parent company, EqualPride.
Source: Advocate.com – www.advocate.com
