It's the third of February, 2018 as I type this up. While out doing chores and listening to music a song came on, and it hit me like a brick. Josh died a year ago. Well, the 10th will be one year ago. My heart is heavy. It's been one year and he is still always in my mind. I think about him often, I remember him, and I carry him with me everywhere I go.
Josh was a classmate from grade school. We were part of some experimental group of "advanced placement" students, which is the nice way of saying that our small group of classmates was selected based on testing done in kindergarten that showed us to be a little more advanced and able to pick up on things faster than other kids our age. We were a relatively small group, and I think we all felt like outcasts sometimes, but really that doesn't matter.
My very first crush as a kid was Josh. He was someone special. He was way out of my league. He was popular, everyone wanted to be his friend. He never spoke to me, and I was too shy to talk to him. But I adored him from afar.
One year in fourth or fifth grade our class did a Secret Santa gift exchange. When you opened your last gift, you were supposed to guess who your Secret Santa was. I guessed Josh. It was possibly the only time I mustered the courage to say his name out loud within his earshot. He wasn't my secret santa, but really I think that's as close as I ever came to actually speaking to him. But I loved him, nonetheless.
In middle school and high school we never shared any classes. I rarely saw him in the hallways, and when I did, as always, I'd admire him from down the hall, never actually braving face-to-face interactions. But even then, I knew. Josh was someone special. He was meant for something much bigger than I could ever do. He was talented. He would draw cartoons in grade school that looked like they belonged in the newspaper. He was smart, picking up on things faster, even than the rest of the class. I just knew he was special... that being near him was like passing a celebrity. I could just "feel" the energy that he put off.
After high school I never saw him again. I thought of him from time to time, wondering what he was doing, and if he was achieving some fantastic milestones in his life. I tried to look him up online a few times, but always came up empty. Once I was able to find his Facebook profile through a mutual friend (it didn't come up on a search), but I wasn't brave enough to send a friend request. He probably wouldn't remember me anyway.
Then last year, on the eleventh of February, I saw a post on Facebook from another person who was in our elementary class. He posted about loosing a good friend from long ago... My heart sank. My very first thought that popped into my mind? "Oh, God... Please don't be Josh..."
I sent the classmate a private message and he confirmed, yes, it was Josh. He'd taken his own life the day before. I sobbed uncontrollably for three days solid. On the fourth day, I forced myself to go to the funeral home. I signed the guest log, I stood in the room for a few minutes. It hurt to see some of my school-time bullies mulling around. Josh wasn't there. There was no casket, no urn. I don't know the details, but I knew he wasn't there. I chickened out, and left before any of my old classmates saw me.
A few months later, my husband and kids were watching the new re-boot of Mystery Science Theater 3000. MST3K was one of Josh's favorites. Even the promise of a remake coming wasn't enough to stop him. I watched a few episodes, just to feel like I was honoring him somehow.
Months passed, and we celebrated Thanksgiving. A time when we all look back on the past year and think of all the things we are thankful for. And while my list is long, as I have much to be thankful for, my heart still broke. Josh's family was having their first Thanksgiving, trying to find something to be thankful for while he wasn't there to celebrate with them.
Coming up on Christmas, as I wrapped gifts, I wept. Josh's family will be missing him. His birthday was just before Christmas, which means the holidays will be that much harder for them.
Josh's dad was our gym teacher throughout elementary school. Josh's mom was a teacher too at a different school. She was a teacher for my two oldest kids when they were in elementary school. Josh has a younger sister, who has never known a life without him. His family are good people. My heart breaks for them.
And now, we're closing in on one year. I have strange dreams where he visits me with odd cryptic messages with no meaning. I think of him almost daily. Certain things remind me of him, but mostly, I think of how dark his world had to be for him to end it. How his family has to go on without him now. How friends closer to him than I ever hoped to be are coping with his loss.
One year later, I still cry. I'm crying now as I type this. Josh was an amazing guy. Everyone loved him. He had so many friends, and a supportive family. He had a successful career. He was talented, smart, he had it all. Or at least from my perspective he did. Again, I'm on the outside looking in here.
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If you are struggling with depression, if the world feels too heavy to bear, if you are having a hard time finding a reason to keep going, please - please don't give up! Hold on to just one happy thought. One thing, anything, just one - and hold on to it. There's always a reason to keep fighting. Even if it seems small. Please don't end it all.
I've been there. I have. I don't like to talk about it, but if it saves someone - I'll go there. I spent years feeling too exhausted to get out of bed. I've been so low that it physically hurt to breathe, and I just prayed I'd die in my sleep to make it end. I've been so deeply engulfed in depression that I couldn't see a way out. I couldn't tell what direction to go in to even start making things better. I have struggled with depression for two decades.
When I first moved out of my parents' house and in with my new husband and our small family, I struggled. I fought hard every day just to get out of bed - sometimes I lost that battle. Some days that was my biggest success - getting out of bed. I celebrated those small successes. Despite having a husband and two young kids, you know what my happy thought was then? I had a cat that lived with my parents, and I knew she was difficult... She was special needs, and she wasn't my parents' favorite pet, but they kept her because I loved her and she wasn't fond of kids, so I couldn't take her. I knew that if I died, they'd probably take my kids - and the cat would get dumped in a shelter and probably put down. So I fought, every day. It was hard, and some days - a lot of days - I didn't know how I was going to get through the next hour, let alone the next day, week, month...
I saw therapists that were useless. I took medications that made me a zombie. I lost years of my life because my choice was A) Be so depressed you can't get out of bed and want to die or B) Take these pills every day that make you a zombie, completely unaware of time or space - you're upright and conscious, but you can't think of anything and can't remember anything... you could sit and stare at a wall for hours and not even be aware of it.
I'd go in roller coaster cycles. I'd be so depressed I couldn't function at all. Then I'd somehow break through, and I'd feel better. I'd start working on hobbies, I'd clean the house, I'd interact with people. I'd go for walks and go outside. And then I'd hit some kind of invisible barrier and spiral out of control again. I was diagnosed as bipolar after some anti-depressant medications made me manic for three days straight (no sleep, cleaned the house top to bottom, and was still wide awake and full of energy).
Turns out I don't have bi-polar. I have Asperger's. But that's irrelevant. Except maybe to say that just because one (or two, or six, or a dozen) therapists diagnose you as something - if that doesn't feel like the whole picture, maybe it isn't. It also is a wake up call that "getting help" isn't as easy as calling a suicide prevention hotline, or making an appointment to see a therapist. Sometimes that's not enough.
And it's hard to see that from the bottom. It's hard to think clearly when your brain is fogged by such a deep sadness that your heart feels like it's literally cracking with every beat. I've been there. I know.
So, what's the alternative you ask? If a phone call and a therapist aren't working, what else is there? I'd like to tell you about how I've taken the leads on my depression, and how I keep it in check 99% of the time.
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POSITIVE THINKING.
Yeah, right - I hear you saying it. I know, hard to believe. What's to be positive about when you're at the rock bottom? Believe me, there is always *something* - no matter how small it is. Find it. Be thankful for every little thing. EVERYTHING... ALL THE TIME!
For me it started with flowers. Weeds to be more exact. In walking to the car through my overgrown yard on my way to some drudgery somewhere I don't even remember, I saw a weed in bloom, and I thought... Even in the overgrown yard, this flower is there. It's pretty. Overlooked with the weeds, something other people might pour chemicals on to kill... But there it is. Bright and yellow and standing tall. A spot of color in a drab weedy yard.
From there it was every flower. Every weed, every potted plant, garden flower, wildflower, the flowers in the planters at gas stations, and outside of restaurants. They're pretty. Each a little different than the others, but they're like a little reminder that even if you can't keep your chin up, there's beauty to be found on the ground too.
From this, it expanded to "at least it's not" thinking. Let me explain. Every time I was facing what I would consider to be a bad experience, I'd come up with a way it could be worse, so I could be thankful that the experience wasn't as bad as it could be. For example, a summer storm takes the power out. At least it's not winter, so we won't be cold! Every time I struggled with my kids (they also have Asperger's and sometimes there are some pretty big meltdowns), I would (and still do) always think - At least I have my babies here. There are so many people out there who've lost a child and would give their last breath to have a minute with their child again...
It didn't occur to me just how much I defaulted to this thought process until a friend of mine bumped in to me while I was at work and she said something about how she had a hard time recently, and I replied with "oh, well at least it wasn't....." and she looked at me funny, and I realized it had become the dominant thought every time any kind of negative came into my space.
I still struggled at this point. I'll admit it. This positive thought process is not an instant fix. It takes years, and sometimes I still slip or have bad days.
It wasn't really until we moved to the homestead that it really felt like I was more in control than ever before. Being able to get outside, breathe fresh air, put my bare feet in the dirt, lay in the grass and stare up at the sky, hear the birds and the breeze through the tree leaves, feeling the sun on my skin. That's when I felt better. I think it's important for everyone to "reconnect to nature" but the combination with positive thinking is what finally made everything click for me.
Maybe your happy though is something else. Maybe you can't get out into nature right now. That's OK too. Just remember - just because you can't do it right now, doesn't mean you won't be able to do it someday.
If you are facing something big and difficult, don't do it alone. Call the suicide helpline. Call and make an appointment to see a therapist. If that therapist isn't a good fit, keep looking until you find one that you can get along with. Talk to your friends. Talk to your family. Reach out. And you know what? Even if they can't support you, keep reaching! There's got to be someone. Your neighbor, your mailman, your doctor, your old school friends, extended family, coworkers, or old sports teammates. Don't give up.
No matter how hard it gets, no matter how low you feel, no matter how heavy the world is on your shoulders. You matter. You are worth it. You are stronger than you could ever imagine. It might not feel like it right now, but you got this. And when you come through the other side of it, hold that experience and use it to your advantage. Hold on. It will get better. Even if it gets worse before it gets better... there is light at the end of the tunnel, even if you can't see it right now.
The ripple effect goes a lot further than you realize. Hold on. Keep fighting. Every day, every hour... keep fighting for your life. Please don't give up.
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline - 1-800-273-8255