This will be one of those posts where experts will poo-poo my amateur approach and those suffering themselves, or with loved ones who suffer, taking note of my writing and shedding a tear.
Whether or not you are willing to admit it you have someone in your life that suffers from serious mental health issues. It may be you, your husband, your sister, your aunt, your boss, your coworker, your best friend in the church choir, or just that nice man who bakes the croissants at the bakery and always smiles when you come in to get a few.
Human beings are very fragile. We break from falling on the ice, we don’t tolerate automobile accidents very well, and our minds are the same. Some things just break them no matter how strong we are in this life.
I have been blessed to be tough both physically and mentally. As I age both are on the down-slope but I’m still bigger than the average bear and tough in ways that most people never were in their lives. Especially mentally.
People that have known me for years will probably laugh derisively at that last statement. They’ll wonder if my bad temper and my foul mouth aren’t signs of mental illness. They might wonder about some of the twisted thoughts I’ve expressed over the past five decades as well.
In response I’d have to say that the temper and foul mouth are partly my fault and partly a product of my environment growing up. I won’t make any excuse for them continuing but I don’t hit people. Yes, I vent. Probably shouldn’t but I do. As to the twisted thoughts… that’s probably what makes me a fairly good author – thinking outside the box. I’ve never done any of the really crazy stuff I’ve talked about or written about but just being able to express those thoughts helps me to expand my universe.
What I am talking about is my ability to deal with the truly ugly things in life without succumbing to depression, substance abuse, or suicide. I don’t need to self-medicate. I haven’t been on any prescriptions for any of my bad days. And my bad days are really more like bad minutes. Even when Maisie died I got out of bed the next day and went to work. I was sad, but it was not the focus of my world. In short, I am not prone to serious psychiatric problems. And I truly thank God for that each time the thought occurs to me.
What about the others? The one who live in that dark place 24×7? I know about that place, have loved ones and friends who live there. The ones who cannot get out of the door because the world beyond the living room is too dangerous and frightening. The ones who hear voices – and the voices take time to detail every failure and flaw in them each time they speak. The voices that encourage them to kill themselves and make it easier for the ones left behind. A falsehood that I know comes right from Satan. Suicide makes nothing better for the ones left behind. It leaves a wake of tragedy and loss that can never be completely healed.
And there are others with mental health problems. The ones who seem perfectly normal until the conversation derails and goes off on some freakish tangent. That conversation where you stop for a moment and wonder, “What are we talking about? Did I black out for a minute?” Nope, you’re just fine. But that lovely person whom you’ve known and loved for all these years is not quite right. They understand what they’re talking about. The internal monologue they are having filled in all the blanks that you couldn’t. They aren’t dangerous, they aren’t mean, they’re just not on the wavelength where most of us live our lives.
And while it’s a horrible thing for the people who are depressed, suicidal, delusional, or simply confused it’s often even harder on their family and friends. Because if you love that person you cannot walk away. The “crazies” on the street who button-hole you and want to talk about “George Wallace actually being a Catholic Nun” can be ignored. (That was one of the first conversations I ever had with a street person. I was 16 years old and it was at the Greyhound depot in Minneapolis. I remember it vividly.) You can just walk on by and go your way.
But if you have a wedding ring and they’re your spouse that’s not possible. I was privy to a conversation recently where two of the people involved had spouses with serious mental health issues. Both had been married for a long period of time and both truly loved their spouse. The pain and effort of sustaining those relationships was showing on both of their faces. As the conversation grew in length I was amazed at the common experiences they had in their married lives. One was a man and one a woman – both talked about how they’d faced the loss of their partner through suicide attempts and had taken time to plan the funeral that they would hopefully never have to witness. How they’d thought about what would happen to them in the wake of that tragedy. How they’d come home at night and when the house was quiet gone looking for the body of their loved one, sure that they’d killed themselves. It was just so matter of fact – because for them it was a fact.
And they discussed how difficult it was to deal with the raft of other issues that their spouse had brought to the table. Both had common experiences. Just like Pancreatic Cancer manifests itself in similar ways in most patients, mental health problems like major depression look very similar in people of the same age and background.
Both of them also had a weary sadness and sense of hopelessness about them. They’d both been through so much. They’d both been there for their ill spouse for decades and made sure that they were at the doctor when they needed to be seen, had been the cheerleader during the dark times, and sometimes simply held the other’s hand to let them know they were loved. One of the two had been in pain from the mental abuse dished out by their spouse when they were on the bottom of the cycle. It was palpable.
Yet neither one of them cried. It was just a frank discussion of what life was like. And it’s a conversation I imagine takes place millions of times each week around the country. Today the conversation is with you, my reader.
I would ask that you take a few minutes right now and think about your circle of friends and family. Think about who among them might have mental health problems, or be taking care of that person. And take time to pray for them. Take time to reach out to them and let them know you love them. Let them know you are there for them. Just a simple invitation to have a cup of coffee or go to a movie means more to them than you can imagine.
I’m not asking you to be the therapist they need. They may have one of those already. I’m asking you to reach out to them like Jesus would if he were walking next to them. That simple, kind word that you express may lift the burden for just long enough to get them through the current crisis. The chance to talk to someone and get outside of themselves for a while is an amazing tonic. And it applies equally to the person with the illness and the caretaker.
We stigmatize the mentally ill by our careful avoidance of the topic. It’s an illness just like cancer, diabetes, or gout. On rare occasions it’s brought on by the person’s actions (severe chemical or alcohol abuse) but that’s often transitory. In most people it can be treated medically. But it is an illness. Let’s treat them with the kindness that is required.
What will you do today to reach out to the caregiver of a mentally ill person? Will you take the time to let your friend with depression know that you are available to just hang out with them? To take a walk, watch a movie? And will you leave a comment for me if you need someone to pray for you in your struggle with mental illness. Either as a care giver or as a victim of the illness. I’d be glad to do it, and the comment will not be published if you merely indicate that it’s private.
No keyword bingo today. Just a request that you contemplate what I’ve written and act on it in your own life.
