Yes, you can have a body to die for, a perfect job,
bathe in money, and be in the perfect relationship. In fact, you can have it
all, and still be a mental mess. You shouldn’t feel guilty for feeling ‘low’
when out there a hell of a lot of people apparently seem to be doing much worse
than you do. Who knows what it took to get you where you are right now?
Our
private life is an intricate labyrinth. You can easily lose your way in there,
especially if your story is not as straightforward as it appears to be, or if
this is simply the way you are, from birth. Believe me; if you find life an
uphill struggle, you are not alone, and it is ok, it is fine to talk about it.
There is a shelf in my heart where a single container stands, in
isolation. It is made of see-through glass and its label reads simply “do not
open” in capital letters. Years ago, when at my lowest, somehow I had managed
to find the strength to compress and bottle up the darkness within myself and
virtually seal it away in what I eventually filed in my brain as ‘Jar of hearts’.
I have always identified my condition with the ability to FEEL life, and the
world, in ways only people who experience depression can understand.
I remember crying the first time I saw a clown in a circus. I was eleven
years old. Seeing the man behind the make-up and immediately identifying with
him and his concealed desperation gave me nightmares for weeks. Even at that
age, I had a subconscious understanding of the way we all try to hide hellish
realities behind the mask we are all very likely to wear as soon as we wake up
in the morning.
Perhaps, pre-puberty attraction to my male friends played a
part in this. Having realized I was gay, I considered the environment around
and decided to not only hide, but also that something was wrong with me, something
unspeakable, a curse, in fact. This is not surprising. Research suggests that young gay and bisexual men are at a significantly greater risk of poor mental health than older men because the
young experience more homophobic abuse and assault. Research also suggests that
the network of social support interventions for young LGBTQ people in the UK is
insufficient.
Nine years ago, I underwent an initial training for a new job. After six
weeks, my fellow classmates elected me the “funniest” of the group. I won
easily, without even trying. I actually thought I was keeping a low profile. As
it turns out, stand-up comedy would be my talent if I ever decide to enter a
beauty pageant and embrace love & world peace. It is telling that creative people in general and comedians, in particular, are very likely to dive into depression. In a way, Robin Williams
death, back in 2014, did not surprise me at all. The man was a genius in his
field. As such, he was bound to question more than your average Joe his mission
in life and, as I know too well, questions can be deadly.
To keep the darkness at bay there is only so much you can do, so many
projects you can take on and strategically place between yourself and the
moment you come to realize that waking up in the morning no longer holds any
meaning.
Human beings who take their life do not do it lightly. If you are one of
those people, who perceive suicide as a selfish act, you should reconsider your
angle. The thinking process, the weighing up of the pros and cons takes place
over a very long period. The anguish and guilt often involved during this time,
shows that individuals who commit suicide have not one single selfish bone in
their bodies. In truth, committing suicide is an extremely intimate and lonely
act, devastatingly tragic and hopeless in its finality.
Selfish is what we do to soothe the pain generated by something
inconceivable. We cannot imagine that someone we love dearly may commit such an
act and then leave us to deal with the horror left behind. Therefore, we blame
it on selfishness. As always, acceptance is an elusive concept, when it comes
to feelings and matters of the heart.
I have lost count of the times I have debated the impact of my unnatural
death on the important people in my life. Above all, I picture my mum by my
coffin, her face reduced to stone, crazed with unimaginable pain. All I feel is
remorse for considering such atrocity, coupled with the awareness of not
knowing how dark tomorrow could be, and the day after tomorrow, and then the
next, on repeat for the foreseeable future, as the shadows stretch and cover my
heart.
Although for the time being green grass covers my land of reason, the
“Jar of Hearts” is still there, stored deep inside me, a reminder that I will
be forever a work in progress, and that sanity is as fragile as a jar of glass.
This is not a call for help. I am in a place where I cherish my good
days, which at times stretch into good months, even good years. Yes, I
experience strings of bad days. Yes, at times, I find it difficult to get out
of bed, but I do get up, because I make a conscious effort to keep living, one
day at a time, doing the things that ultimately make me feel alive and worthy.
Above all, I do not hold any shame in admitting I am not perfect. In a way,
this is what gives me strength.
#WorldMentalHealthDay
