Friday 3 February 2017

My Experience With Depression, Suicidality, and Mental Illness


Hey! Thank you for coming to read this piece. I’m really hoping you can get something out of it. I’ve divided it into 6 parts; that way, you can pick and choose what to read if you don’t feel like reading everything. (May 1st, 2017 edit: if you read this article and wanted to get in touch with me for any reason, feel free to email me at philipsmith8@hotmail.com, or look me up on Facebook using the same email address in the search bar).



  • Purpose: this section clarifies what my purpose is in writing this piece.
  • Timeline: here, I tell you my story, in detail.
  • My experience: in this section, I try to describe how I personally experienced/felt depression & suicidality.
  • Resources: this section gives you some resources you can use to get help for yourself, or for someone you know.
  • What truly matters: here, I explain what I learned through my experience, and how you can live a better life.
  • Call to action: this is the real purpose of this piece, which is to encourage people to seek help for themselves or someone they know, if they need it.



I sincerely hope you enjoy reading this, and get something useful out of it!!



Purpose


Quite simply: I am writing this piece with a service mindset. I want to use my personal story to demonstrate how pervasive (and often silent) mental illness is, and what it’s capable of. I want to emphasize the notion that so many people suffer in silence, and that many others are in denial about either their own illness, or the pervasiveness of mental illness in general. Everyone has either had some form of mental illness themselves, or knows someone who has. Despite initiatives like Let’s Talk, there’s still a ton of stigma, and not much education on how to handle mental illness.

I have to stress: this is not self-promotional. I am writing this to serve others, exploiting my personal story to help normalize the idea of mental illness. Even something as common as depression is often seen with a “them, not me” mentality, which simply isn’t valid. Hopefully by telling my story, it’ll seem closer to home for some people.

I will also mention here that I am 100% an open book on the matter. Anyone can ask me any question about my story or experience, and I will give them a completely candid response, publicly or privately. I also will talk to anyone who has any personal concerns (in complete privacy), if they want advice, information, just someone to talk to, etc.

We tend to hide behind façades and social superficialities, pretending to be fine, or not wanting to appear weak or abnormal. Our pride and ego often get in the way of opening up, so I hope that by stripping everything back from my darkest time, maybe you’ll feel that you can too.


Timeline


Preamble: 2012 - 2014


I graduated from McGill in the spring of 2011. Up to that point, I had been in school my entire life and always felt like I had a purpose. This being the first time I didn’t have that safety blanket, it was a rough transition. I first started getting depressed in early 2012. I saw a therapist for 3 months that winter, but I didn’t stick with it. Over the next 4 years, that depression never quite went away; however, I never really realized (or admitted to myself) that I was depressed. I thought I was just unhappy with my job. It was insidious.

From the summer of 2012 until Christmas of 2014, I worked in engineering; I never really wanted to, but I felt as though I had to at least give it a shot, rather than “waste” my degree. Predictably, I was generally unhappy and “comfortably” depressed throughout. That last bit might sound strange to some people, but that’s why depression is dangerous; it seems benign until it’s not. Occasionally through this period, I had very subtle suicidal thoughts, mostly contemplative (e.g. “I wonder what would happen if I died”; “how would I be remembered if I died”, “what would it take to go through with it”).


Post-engineering: 2015


At the end of 2014, I had finally decided to quit my engineering career. It was a terrifying decision to make, because you can’t easily go back after that. However, I was miserable enough to justify it, and wanted to pursue a career in music instead. I took 2 months off, then went traveling in New Zealand for around 2 months. When I got back at the end of April, I got a job as a busboy at an Irish pub downtown. I worked pretty hard over the summer, then in August I dislocated my shoulder playing hockey. That was a bummer because I couldn’t really get anything done for 2 months (besides my physio exercises). By the time I was back to work, it was October. So basically, all of 2015 was a waste when it came to advancing a music career in any way. That feeling of failure didn’t help my mindset, and neither did the very late nights at work.

All of these elements built up over time, and set me up for the major depression that hit me at the start of 2016. Now, usually something significant has to happen to trigger a major depression; it doesn’t just come out of nowhere. And in my case, that’s true, something significant did happen. Something that meant a lot to me, the consequences of which triggered some deeply engrained self-hate and regret. However, I’m not going to get into the details of what happened, because it simply isn’t relevant. Why? Because the cause of my depression was my own mindset, habits, and self-talk, not the external event. The external event simply forced me to examine everything I had avoided most of my life, all at the same time, and I just couldn’t handle it. So the trigger was just that, and only that.

Towards the end of 2015, and into the start of 2016, I quickly spiralled out of control. I was barely eating (I lost about 20 pounds in a month), I was barely sleeping, and I wasn’t getting any exercise. I could barely make it through a shift at work, I couldn’t focus or concentrate on anything, I couldn’t get anything done (including small things like doing dishes), and I lost all sense of enjoyment. I didn’t know it at the time, but those are all common symptoms of depression.


Going down – January 2016


On January 6th, I decided to stay the night at my sister’s apartment. The next day, I quickly realized I couldn’t go back home. There are good reasons for that, but again they’re irrelevant to the story so I’ll move on. I stayed with my sister for a little bit, but things were getting worse very quickly. My memory is a bit fuzzy of this entire period to be honest, but I can say that my self-destructive ruminations were uncontrollable and constant. I tried to distract myself, but nothing worked. Eventually I tried moving back into my apartment, but I couldn’t handle it, so I ended up going to live at my dad’s condo indefinitely. I was a complete wreck at this point; I had absolutely no sense of hope, and felt like I had no reason to continue fighting.

Mid-January, I had started seeing a therapist who specialized in CBT (cognitive-behavioral therapy). Really, all he was doing at this point was damage control, because I wasn’t able to respond to any kind of therapy whatsoever. He was trying to keep me from slipping past the event horizon, so to speak. He got me on antidepressant medication (Zoloft, or Sertraline, which is an SSRI), but was unable to do much else to help. I was incredibly desperate and terrified for what was happening; I didn’t understand. Every moment of every day was hell, as I was tortured by my own ruminations, self-hate, regret, and sense of helplessness. The lack of sleep, eating, and exercise didn’t help either, further loosening whatever amount of control I had over my mental state. I didn’t feel there was any way out of my situation and, honestly, I felt that I was fucked.

Around mid to late January, I started getting increasingly real thoughts of hurting myself, and ultimately killing myself. It wasn’t like a few years before, where it was merely a cynical contemplation. The urge was real, and strong. I felt compelled to run as fast as I could towards a wall and smash my head into it as hard as possible. I just wanted the thinking to stop; I felt like if I split my head open, all the thoughts would pour out and give me some measure of relief. At the same time, I was hyper-aware of every other potential device in my environment, including the 13th floor balcony outside the bedroom, my car in the basement garage, or the knives in the kitchen.

Resisting all these urges was nearly impossible, and made me want to explode from the inside. I spent almost all day desperately messaging or calling friends, just to have some sort of mild distraction for a short period; it was like a sedative. When I couldn’t talk to friends, I called hotlines, like Suicide Action Montreal, or a crisis center. I was 100% in survival mode, and I was losing.


Hospital – February 3rd – 8th


On February 3rd, I had driven across town for something, and on the way home I was having very strong urges to do something harmful. At this point, I didn’t feel like I would be able to control myself, so I pulled over and called my sister, explaining that I felt I had to go to the hospital. I didn’t feel safe anymore. I eventually managed to drive back to my dad’s condo. My sister and dad had a serious discussion about whether or not they should take me to the hospital, knowing that once I was admitted, you can’t really turn back. Eventually, we all decided to go.

My dad drove us to the Montreal General, and my sister waited with me in the emergency room. I saw the nurse and explained why I was there; she said a psychiatrist would evaluate me later. We waited hours but eventually got transferred. The psychiatrist took detailed notes on everything, then discussed our options. After some back & forth, it was decided that I would be admitted to the psychiatric ward there, until they deemed it safe for me to be released. At the time, that’s what I really wanted; I had a childish hope that somehow it might save me, or that they could “fix” me. In some ways it did, but in other ways it was also a horrible experience.

I ended up being in that ward for 5 days & 5 nights. It’s pretty difficult to explain what it’s like to have your freedom stripped away from you. Not just because your dignity is taken away, but also because you feel caged. The psychiatric ward had about 8 rooms, with 40 feet of corridor in a U-shape. In the middle of the U was the office the doctors and nurses stayed in. They observed everything through the glass (and on camera), and only came out to see us when needed. That separation made me feel even more isolated.

The corridor was harshly lit, and everything was painted a pale, supposedly calming color. My room was fairly large, with a second bed on the other side. The room itself wasn’t well lit, and the bed was uncomfortable. I wasn’t allowed to have any of my things, besides my cell phone or a book, and only during visiting hours. Apart from that, everything was kept from you, for safety reasons. In fact, everything in the psych ward is designed with total safety in mind; rounded corners, a push-button shower with no curtain, etc. Of course the doors were all locked, and so the only place you could move around was either in your room, or in the corridor.

Most of the people in the ward were in worse condition than me; often at night they would either talk loudly to themselves or moan. It was very upsetting to see and hear these people from down the corridor. Many of the nurses I dealt with seemed to lack empathy and treated the patients very coldly. The meals were small and unappetizing, and if you hadn’t eaten it within 30 minutes or so, they would take it away. I didn’t eat much at all during the 5 days in hospital. I also didn’t get much sleep; partly because of the depression, but also because of the light coming in from the corridor, the uncomfortable bed, the nurses coming to check on you at night, and the unfamiliarity of the environment. The doctors had increased the dose of my medication, and were also giving me Ativan to quell my anxiety. Ativan is effective but causes dependency, so it’s not healthy to take for more than a few weeks. I was taking 4mg a day, which is quite a bit. But I needed it the second I woke up.

Every day there was a psychological evaluation, for the doctors to determine whether or not to keep me in the ward. The worst part was having nothing to do all day; being left with my thoughts was the worst thing for me. I am insanely fortunate to have such a loving family & group of friends. Visiting hours were from 9AM to 9PM, and I had someone there basically the entire 12 hours all 5 days. My parents, my sister, and some very loyal friends. None of the other patients had anywhere near that level of support. Most of them were alone.

Even in the hospital, I was thinking of potential ways to hurt or kill myself; as much as they safety-proofed everything, you can be pretty creative when you’re feeling determined. For instance, the door to my room was large and quite heavy; I realized I could swing it closed as hard as possible, with my head in the doorframe to smash my skull (not sure why that’s my go-to idea!). The first 3 days I was there, I was still going downhill; I couldn’t eat, drink, talk, or do anything. The last 2 days I stabilized a little; eventually, after the 5th night, they felt it was relatively safe to discharge me. We had made arrangements for me to go stay at a crisis center. So they discharged me with prescriptions for anti-depressants & Ativan.


Crisis Center – February 8th – 18th


After leaving the hospital, I went straight to the Le Transit crisis center, near Parc Lafontaine. I stayed there for the maximum allowable time: 10 days. If the hospital was my darkest moment, the crisis center was just behind it. Not only did they make me feel like a child (e.g. mandatory wakeup at 8AM, mandatory “tasks” throughout the day such as cooking & groceries, mandatory bedtime, curfew, limited visiting hours), I also felt extremely uncared for, as did the others staying there. During those 10 days, I felt more isolated than ever, because the employees at this crisis center made virtually no effort to socialize or communicate with us. Once a day, we had a short session with someone, mostly to determine if I still needed to be there, but other than that they just stayed in their office with the door closed. I never really felt welcome.

I am grateful for the visitors I did have, and I spent about 3 hours every day playing guitar, since there was nothing else to do. The mornings were always the worst; I would have to take Ativan immediately when I woke up. Since they controlled our medication, I had to walk into their office and sheepishly ask for it. After 10 days, I left the center not knowing what I was going to do next.


Sister’s place – end of February


I still couldn’t go live by myself at my apartment, so I decided to go and live with my sister again. I was there for about 2 weeks. Things were still extremely difficult; I was taking Ativan every day, and had no energy, strength, or motivation. My sister was amazing and basically force-fed me every morning. I spent a lot of time playing guitar there, and went for a walk every day. I was more stable than a few weeks prior, but I was still in an essentially vegetative state. The best way to describe it is that I didn’t feel like I was a person. I was consumed with self-hate, regret, and rumination all day. My depression was very much self-directed, self-destructive. After 2 weeks at my sister’s place, I went to go live with my dad again.


Dad’s place - March


I stayed with my dad for all of March. At this point, I was looking for another therapist, because I hadn’t been getting anywhere with the one I was seeing. I understood the importance of finding the right person, especially for a situation like this. Soon enough I found someone who was incredible; his talent was second to none. The fact that CBT involves “homework” to do between sessions gave me a basic level of motivation; a goal to strive for, something to be held accountable to.

The first few weeks were very basic; my only task was to exercise. In other words, go for a walk and get my heart rate up a bit. My dad had a gym in his condo building, and I eventually managed to get myself down there every morning. At this point (partly because of the exercise), I was beginning to eat a bit more as well. Another aspect of my homework was exposure therapy, specifically going back to my apartment. It started gradually, where I would spend an hour there, 2 hours the next week, etc. Some of it was fairly easy, while other times were excruciating; but part of the goal involved forcing yourself to ride out the anxiety.

After about a month staying with my dad, I decided to try staying a night at my apartment, which was terrifying. However, I managed to do it. Although I had told my dad I would probably be back the next day, I ended up staying at my apartment from then on, which was a big step at the time. It wasn’t easy or comfortable, but I felt enough self-control to be able to do it. With the CBT & the homework, I was making slow but steady progress.


Spring & Summer


Around March, I started taking improv classes. The entire goal of doing it was for the CBT; it was an experiment to throw myself in an anxiety-provoking situation, and to deal with it. For the first little while, that’s all it was to me; but slowly we bonded as a group and I realized I actually really enjoyed it. That group of friends doesn’t know this story until now, but their friendship and support was at the core of my ability to recover.

Over the next few months, I slowly started to get back into shape. I was eating somewhat normally, and getting a bit more sleep. Eventually, I went back to work. These basic elements slowly built up to give me some things I could enjoy doing. The medication obviously helped, as did the onset of summer.

I ended up doing 14 or 15 sessions with my therapist, ending in July. By that point, I understood CBT, and had put into place just about every tool I had learned. I knew I didn’t want to continue living in my old apartment, and I didn’t want to keep working at the Irish pub, so I decided to change both of those things. I found an apartment in Verdun (where I live now), and a job in NDG, both of which I enjoy thoroughly.


Since then


Since last summer, it’s basically been a grind of trying to stay on track with everything. I still take medication every morning, and actively use my tools from CBT. There have been some trying times, and I definitely still have some down days. But the key is, I feel strong and I know what to do in order to bounce back. A huge amount has changed not just in my life, but in the lives of my parents and my sister. I work a job I enjoy, I volunteer once a week, I work out 3 times a week, I take saxophone lessons, singing lessons, improv classes, and dance classes. Also, since September, I’ve studied 31 books related to music & the industry, in order to strategize the advancement of my career.

I feel like I have value, and that I am doing things of value. I am working towards valid, respectable goals, and have found some measure of inner strength. Every day is still a grind; the motivation is tough to find, and sometimes the stress and fatigue get to me. I still have shitty days from time to time, and sometimes succumb to my thoughts. But I know how to handle it, and I find the strength to keep pushing through. Starting in April, I’ll be slowly decreasing the dose of medication until I’m off it entirely. From there, we’ll see where life takes me… or where I take life.


My Experience


I want to try to explain what depression and suicidality felt like for me; how I experienced all of it. The point of this is to give some insight to people who have never experienced it, or to give some point of comparison for those who have. Depression & suicidality are very intertwined, but I will describe them separately.

Depression


To me, depression was just a slow, grinding process (as it is for most people). As I mentioned above, it started in 2012, and was insidious from that point on. It stayed with me, often in the background. I was basically in complete denial about it, until 2016 when I had no choice but to face it. The problem is, you can’t point to depression like you can point to a broken arm and say “there it is”. You feel shitty, but eventually that shittiness becomes your version of normal, so you aren’t sure what you’re dealing with. You’re floating at sea without any bearings. So many people live with that kind of depression for years, or their entire lives, because they don’t even know it’s happening to them (and yes, TO them).

At lower levels, it feels more like an annoyance, a bit like a perpetual cold. You lack energy and motivation, but are still able to function relatively normally. You feel generally unhappy, and at a disadvantage. At higher levels, you know something definitely isn’t right, because you can’t sleep properly, you can’t eat properly, you can’t focus or concentrate, you lose motivation to do things you enjoy, and you lose the will to get anything done, because what’s the fucking point anyway. At this level, the contemplations of self-harm and suicidality can creep in… Like I had, where you play around with the idea, just as a mental exercise. At an even higher level, you start becoming incapacitated, relying on other people for basics like cooking & doing chores (which is how I was when living with my sister and dad). In some ways, although this is way more painful than lower levels of depression, it can be a blessing in disguise, because at least it forces you to acknowledge it, and realize you need help.


Suicidality


I feel like this is an area where everyone’s experience is unique. The experience of depression is much more relatable in general. For me, though, suicidality was more about losing control over the dark side of my mind, than it was about a conscious will to die. The best way I can describe it is that it’s as if inside my head, there was me, and there was some other entity, the depression, trying to destroy me. As it gained control (and I lost control), it was giving me the urges to smash my head into the wall, giving me ideas of jumping off the balcony or sitting in my car in the garage with the windows up. I was absolutely terrified, because at my core, I didn’t want to die. I had a survival instinct, like any other animal. But I felt like I had a terminal illness, something external that was going to kill me, despite what I wanted to happen. Only in this case it wasn’t cancer or some other disease, it was depression.

Then, there was the part of suicidality that managed to creep into my conscious mind, the actual “me”. Really all that was, was me not having the strength anymore to put up with the constant rumination and self-hate that was running on a loop in my mind. I wanted to give up and collapse, sleep forever. At that point, all you want is to end your own suffering, and there doesn’t seem to be any other way out. I can tell you that it absolutely isn’t the only way, but I thought it was at one time, too. It’s as if someone forced you to run on a treadmill, and when you just couldn’t run anymore, they insisted you keep going. You don’t want to give up and let yourself fall off, but you can only run for so long before you collapse.

So I don’t know what other people’s experience is with suicidality, but for me it was more about a lack of control, and the feeling that something “else” was trying to kill me, as opposed to me consciously wanting to kill myself. If that makes sense! Hopefully this gives you some insight as to what it’s like.

Resources

This section is extremely important for everyone, but particularly for anyone who has suffered with depression, who may be suffering now, or for anyone who knows someone who is suffering. It’s important to do your best to take a step back & evaluate how you’re truly feeling, and put your ego & pride to the side for a minute, to figure out if you need help. Don’t be afraid of people mocking you or thinking you’re weak, or of someone telling you your anxiety or depression aren’t valid in some way. If you thought maybe you broke a finger but weren’t sure, you’d probably go to the doctor to get it checked out. If it was just sprained, they wouldn’t mock you for wanting to check it out. Well, it’s the same with mental illness. If you’re not sure, but you feel like something may be wrong, take action. Do something about it. Realize first & foremost that no one can help you unless you are open to getting & accepting help. When things are serious, use every resource you can get your hands on and don’t be shy. With that said, here are some important resources you can use if you feel you need it:


  • Friends & family. The first line of contact, and for many people the first step in getting real help. Don’t be afraid to open up to someone close to you about how you feel. That’s exactly why I’m writing this piece; by opening up to you, maybe you’ll feel like you can open up as well.
  • Family doctor. They may not be a psychiatrist or a psychologist, but doctors do have some psychiatric experience, and they can prescribe medication. They won’t be a therapist to you, but they can be an important element in your care.
  • A therapist. This is a pretty obvious one. For me, CBT was a literal life-saver, and I would recommend it very strongly to anyone. It is powerful and effective, and it’s backed scientifically by tons of research showing that it gives the best chance of long-term recovery. Now, where can you get a therapist? If you’re fortunate enough to be able to afford a private therapist, that’s the best option, because you can generally get someone who is very experienced, and find someone who really fits what you need. If you can’t afford a private therapist, there are public options, mainly through the CLSC (which I went through). It isn’t as ideal, but the CLSC is set up quite well for that kind of work. It can take a few weeks or a month to actually get access to a psychologist, but once you do, it’s free and it’s a good service.
  • Call centers. If you feel the need to talk to someone, call. It can be Suicide Action Montreal (514-723-4000), a crisis center (Le Transit 514-282-7753, Tracom 514-483-3033, etc.), or a listening service, like Tel-Aide (514-935-1101). They’re all well trained.
  • Hospital and/or 911. It may seem dramatic, but if you truly feel you are in danger, use it.

The bottom line is this: although being depressed may make you feel completely alone, hopeless, and without any recourse, there are actually many avenues of support and help. The most important first step is to talk to someone close to you about it. You may not have the strength to find help for yourself, but they will. So do it. Don’t let pride or ego get in the way, and don’t let the feeling of hopelessness convince you it’s futile.


What Truly Matters & How To Live a Better Life


Depression is a shitty thing. However, as with many things in life, the worst experiences can be the best things to happen to you. That is the case for me with depression. As horrible as everything was, I feel like I now see everything in a different light, and I’m able to approach life from a perspective of deeper understanding.

First, the boring stuff: to be in good mental health, you absolutely have to be in good physical health. The 3 pillars of your physical health are exercise, sleep, and diet. Like a tripod, without one of the 3, it all falls down. So that means getting 7-8 hours of sleep per night (on a regular sleep schedule), exercising at least 3 times a week (meaning a sustained, elevated heart rate), and eating healthily. Diet is an entire other subject, but to summarize it in one sentence, go for the Mediterranean diet: lots of fruit and vegetables, lots of lean meat and fish, whole grains, legumes, nuts, seeds, dairy, and healthy fats (e.g. avocado); avoid too much red meat, sodium, unhealthy fats, sugar, and caffeine.

The next sort of mundane but crucial piece of advice: be behaviourally active. Not just with exercise, but with friends and family, with activities you enjoy (sports, music, etc), with personal care, with small tasks (e.g. laundry, groceries), with work or school, and most importantly, with your passions, whatever they are. Always strive to be growing, and have a growth mindset; maintaining momentum is crucial. Without momentum, you can easily stagnate and fall back into a hole. That means always learn; be proactive; be bold; chase after anxiety, don’t avoid it; challenge yourself. The feeling of accomplishment after going through something uncomfortable or difficult is worth the reward. The feeling of guilt, shame, or regret that you have after avoiding something because you were scared of the discomfort, is never worth it.

The most important thing to remember here is this: THE OUTCOME OF ANYTHING YOU TRY IS IRRELEVANT. WHAT MATTERS IS THE FACT THAT YOU TRIED AND FACED YOUR ANXIETY, AND GAINED EXPERIENCE. EVEN NEGATIVE EXPERIENCES HELP YOU GROW. THINK OF EVERYTHING YOU DO AS AN EXPERIMENT, AND YOU ARE SIMPLY COLLECTING DATA, NOT JUDGING THE OUTCOME. As cliché as it is, think about you on your deathbed. Will you really care about the fact that you failed something? Likely not. The vast majority of people reading this piece are lucky enough to live in a first world country where a few dozen safety nets are in place in case they fail. So if you have a passion you want to follow, do it; the worst that can happen is you fail and end up broke. So what? You won’t die. Just do it and don’t look back.

One of the other fundamental aspects of living a good life is to live with a service mindset. Now I want to be clear: I don’t mean that you should live to be subordinate to everyone else. But what brings true happiness to people (and this is backed up by research) is connecting with others, and helping others. So always ask yourself how you can serve or elevate others in any situation. Strive to make every situation you’re a part of better by the time you leave. Strive to empower others who may not have the confidence to empower themselves. And above all, use your personal experience as an example to connect with others, to show them they’re not alone.

Another very important thing I learned: you are in control of your life. People don’t want to face that truth because it’s scary; it means you are responsible, that you have choices to make, that maybe you have to face some of your regrets or fears. Now of course, there are obviously circumstances where this isn’t true, like in the case of people who have a serious mental illness. But for the majority of us who are in a relatively healthy place, we have control. Playing the part of the victim is easy. Shedding responsibility is easy. Pinning things on other people or external factors is easy. All of these strategies remove the burden of guilt, and ease our regrets. But personally I would rather live in a world where I have to face uncomfortable truths, but give myself the opportunity to grow, than to live in a world where I bury my head in the sand claiming to be a victim to all external factors. Comfortable? Yes. Healthy? No. Once you let go of that ideal, and get used to being in discomfort, you will see the value of growth. Empower yourself; no one else will do it for you. In the same way that you can’t be helped if you won’t accept help, you can’t grow if you won’t accept growth. Have faith in your ability to figure things out. Will you be held down by your limitations, or will you excel despite them?


  • ACTION, NOT DISTRACTION
  • FAITH FRACTURES FEAR
  • EVERYTHING IS AN EXPERIMENT
  • FIND THE BEAUTY IN EVERY SITUATION
  • LEAVE EVERYTHING BETTER THAN BEFORE YOU ARRIVED
  • DROP YOUR EGO AND PRIDE
  • PUT YOURSELF IN SITUATIONS TO GROW
  • MAKE SOMEONE’S DAY, EVERY DAY
  • DON’T LET YOURSELF BE A VICTIM
  • WELCOME ANXIETY

Call To Action


This is the end of my story. As I said at the start, the point wasn’t to self-indulge. The point of this piece is to share my experience, to strip back the vulnerability, so that whoever you are reading this, you may be able to relate or take something from it. Although people are more aware than ever of mental illness, there is still a frustrating tendency for people to not acknowledge it or talk about it, especially if it has any personal aspect to it.

If you are suffering, I encourage you to open up to someone you’re comfortable with, and tell them everything. Be vulnerable. It’s scary but it’s worth it. If you know someone who is suffering, or you suspect someone may be suffering, do what you can to be there for them. If you have strength and they don’t, you owe it to them to share your strength. I also encourage you to help spread awareness, and to help normalize mental illness. If you have any personal experience, share your story, so that your circle of friends might feel closer to the issue.

If you happen to be in a very bad place, and you’ve taken the first few steps to get help, the most important thing to know is you have to put your head down and keep pushing forwards. It’s kind of cruel that when you’re at your weakest is when you have to work your hardest, and it will be a huge struggle, and it will take time. But it’s doable and it’s worth it, trust me. The best way to handle it is to break things down into the smallest pieces you can. Take everything one day at a time, or one hour at a time, or one minute at a time, or even one breath at a time. Literally. I did this for a few weeks last January. Fight until you figure out a way through. It’s worth it.

Last reminder: I am a completely, 100% open book on this topic, and on my personal experience. It doesn’t make me uncomfortable to talk about, and it doesn’t bug me when people ask me questions. I mean this with full sincerity: ANY question you have for me I will answer authentically. ANY topic you want to discuss with me, I will discuss with you. And if you’re struggling, and you feel like you want to open up to me about it, then please do.

Now go do what you love.

Phil