In a Crowded Room, Feeling Lonely

Like most sons, I suppose, my dad was my rock. I was able to get advice from him, even if it was unsolicited, about all sorts of things. The best part about my dad is that he would listen. And he would listen without judgement.

No matter what situation I found myself in, most of my own doing, my dad would always listen to me. No matter how erroneous, he would listen to my point of view and in his often direct kind of way, he would respond with some wise words. What he never ever did, and what I try to never do to my girls, is minimize my feelings. Yes, the person in jail did some horrible stuff, but does that mean that he or she stops being human? That their feelings are somehow rendered meaningless?

Too often when we deal with our friends and family, we look at their behavior in terms of the impact on ourselves. We never take the time to really wonder what the root cause is. We see the surface, pass judgement and move on.

The worst feeling in the world is being in a crowded room and not feeling a connection to any person in it. When you feel like you can't share your true feelings, your true self, it's a solitary confinement that's more secure than Alcatraz.

Opening up to people doesn't usually come easy to people that have a mental illness. First, there's the stigma that is still associated with "being crazy." What's worse is trying to explain your thoughts to someone that won't or can't understand. So you're stuck with these thoughts that you can either deal with or lock away. You tell yourself you're alright and you know you're not because it's easier. It's easier to lie to yourself to get through the day. It's easier to put on a mask and be "happy" because that's the way you should be. And after you lie to yourself to fake your happiness for a long, it's much easier to lie to other people, even the ones you love.

As I continue my own journey and that dark voice tells me that no one cares, I'll probably agree... to a point. Even if no one else cares, I care enough about myself to keep fighting. Even if I'm the only person in my corner, that's enough.

2016: New Beginnings and TB 2.0

This has nothing to do with New Year's, but probably everything to do with it. It's the time for folks to make Resolutions, determined to change their lives for the better. And so I find myself sitting here at the lowest point that I've ever been. Like everyone else, I'm trying to turn my life around for the better.

2015 was a tough year. The first part of the year, I watched my dad succumb to the dementia that he had been fighting for years. He finally just got tired of fighting. Not to say that he gave up, but he reached the point where he was ok with the inevitable: there's a time for all of us to exit the stage. The night he passed away, my wife and I were in his room, trying to keep him comfortable. All at once, he sat up and looked at me before laying back down. I walked over and whispered to him that it was ok for him to go, that his baby boy would be alright. I went home to relax and within 3 hours I received that phone call that you never want to receive.

2015 was also rough because I've had to face and confront my own demons, which is never easy and never fun. After getting an official diagnosis of Clinical Depression in 2014, I've tried to beat it. Like a broken leg or the flu, I put all my effort into beating depression and moving on with my life. But that's not how this works. Not at all. Depression is an every day struggle. Depression means monitoring medications and talking to mental professionals and honest evaluation. It's not easy, but it's necessary.

I haven't been fair to a lot of people in my life, specifically my wife and my children. They've paid the biggest price for my own selfish, "I can handle it" attitude. While I can't turn back the clock and erase past mistakes (of which there are plenty),  I can work hard toward a brighter and better tomorrow. I owe it to myself, my girls and my friends and family to be better in 2016.... so, TB 2.0 it is.