Ch. 5: Mental Health and Me

It was early 2015. January.

It’s funny, because I said that I would never forget the exact day that it happened. That it would always be etched in my memory; the significance of that day. And now…unless I looked at medical records, I wouldn’t be able to remember. Because it’s not the date that matters but the why.

What do I remember?

Feeling hopeless–helpless. Feeling unremarkable. Feeling as if no one would care whether I lived or died.

I decided to test that theory out.

At this time, I was married for a little over a year. My son wasn’t quite yet a year old. But the pain I felt…it had to have been years in the making; only to be exacerbated by the hurt I experienced during my young and hardly thriving marriage.

After yet another blowout argument with my husband for God-knows-why, I sat in the garage; stoic and unmoving. I wore my military fatigue uniform and I could tell you every single detail of that terrible, digital sage green fit. I stared a hole in the back wall of my garage. Just staring. And I remember wanting nothing more than to just disappear. To simply fade into the abyss and never return.

My husband was leaving the house with my son to go somewhere. And as I sat in my car, inside the garage with the engine idling, I thought about all of the ways this could work. The military insurance wouldn’t pay out if I committed suicide, right? Or would it? I researched it because I needed to make sure that I was taking care of my son even if I wasn’t there for him physically. He would get over the loss eventually. He was young enough.

That’s what I told myself.

Tears flooded my face and I looked in the rearview mirror as the tail end of my husband’s car pulled off from in front of the house and I thought he certainly wouldn’t care.

As I saw his car disappear from my view, I thought why not?

I hit the garage button without a second thought. I heard the rattling of the garage door. The sound amplified by my own anxiety. I didn’t even watch it as it closed. I just sat there. I heard it halt to a stop and I thought this is it, this is when all of my pain and suffering comes to an end. There was a brief moment where I wondered if I would continue to go through with it. Wondering if I would suffer. Wondering if I wouldn’t, at the last minute come to my senses, press that button, and take myself onto work as I should have been doing in the first place.

No sooner than I could finish that thought, did the garage door come rumbling back open again. I felt a relief. It didn’t have to be me who “chickened out”. But, I also felt sadness because here I was, still in my same predicament and hating the life I lived.

I saw my husband’s car as he reversed. He had opened the garage door from his car. He saw the garage door close at some point. Maybe he thought that he accidentally pressed the button. Maybe he thought I made a mistake and didn’t realize it. He didn’t stay to ask. I asked him later what was it that made him come back to the house. He said he didn’t know. But I know why. Or who, rather.

Sometimes I ask myself did I do it as he was leaving so he could see; so he could care. Or so that I would feel as though he cared enough about me to stop causing me so much pain. I’m pretty sure I know the answer to that. But the pain I felt wasn’t entirely on him. As I said before, the pain and issues I felt were years in the making. This wasn’t my first bout with mental health problems. This was the first time I acted on them.

You see, in addition to my unhappy home life, I was dealing with a terrible work schedule and environment. I had a flight commander that was hellbent on ruining my career (and she was so successful in so many ways even until this very day). I worked hours that no human being should have ever been forced to! But also, I wasn’t completely healed from every other form of insecurity I housed. I didn’t like what I saw when I looked in the mirror. I felt worthless. I never learned to leave those insecurities I held and love who I truly was. And if anybody knows anything, they’ll know that is a recipe for disaster when entering a marriage. I was basically a home for unresolved issues. And as I said, my current estate (at the time) only did more to make everything worse.

And instead of talking about it, I dealt with it on my own. And I wouldn’t exactly call what I was doing “dealing with it”, but you get the point. I didn’t want to be that girl. You know the one that always has something going on with them. The one who is always depressed. A real-life Debbie Downer. I didn’t want to be a burden on my family or friends. I felt like I had done enough. I clearly hadn’t.

What happened after that garage door opened back up is exactly what most of us who deal with mental health issues do. We go on. We don’t tell anyone. We keep a smile on our face. We act as though nothing happened. We stuff the oh so terrible feeling away and hide it as if it won’t find a way to rear it’s ugly, self-satisfying head yet again.

I drove to work still in a trance.

I don’t know what made me open up and tell my supervisor how I was feeling. But, I did and I was forced to report. I hated them in the moment for making me check in to the ER. I hated them for caring so much about me that they didn’t care if the mission was being met or that we were now a man short for the night shift. I hated them so much in that moment. But, now as I look back I am so grateful that they forced me to report; that they sent me to Portsmouth Naval that night and checked me in for mental health reasons.

Now.

Because when my son and husband had to visit me in that awful place, I realized this was a place I never wanted to be again. When I woke up the next morning, I only wondered what in the world was I thinking. And I knew I didn’t want to be in this dark place again.

I started attending therapy regularly. It’s mandated after an event like that. But wow, it was so necessary. I didn’t realize how many things from my childhood that still affected me. Mainly because I never talked about them. I just found other coping mechanisms. I didn’t realize how many things I had stuffed down that was waiting to just come out in the most unhealthy of ways.

I learned so many things about myself through this event. Do I wish that I could have learned them in a different way? Absolutely. But we can’t go back. Only forward.

I learned my triggers. I learned healthy coping mechanisms. I learned. And I’m still learning.

Because, unfortunately, I can’t say that day back in 2015 was the last attempt I took to take my own life. It’s probably the one that most people know about. But, it happened at least three more times.

Are you’re surprised? Don’t be. Mental health and the struggle with it is a journey. There is no finish line. I have learned to take every day as a new day and move forward with it.

But what I learned most of all–and this was the most important piece–was that as Christian as I was. As saved as I may have been…prayer was not enough. Christian counsel was not enough. I was not enough. Going to church was not enough.

I needed to put action toward my betterment. I needed to seek help from someone who had years of experience with this. Someone who had a degree. I went through several psychologists, psychiatrists and counselors before I found my right fit. I thank God I did because I grew leaps and bounds.

Now, I am in no way saying that prayer doesn’t work. It does. I am a living witness and testament to this fact. What I am saying, however, is that it is okay to do more than pray. It is okay to seek help that is not your pastor or in your church. It is okay to talk to someone.

We think that we have to have everything together in order to preach. We think that our lives must be in pristine shape before we pray. We think that we have to had perfected a certain thing before we can advocate for it. And that couldn’t be further from the truth.

What we need is transparency.

Because when other’s see that you’re not perfect but that you are striving just like they are, they will want to be more open with their own struggles! They will see that Christianity is not, and has never been, for the perfect and holier than thou saints. Because no one is perfect. He just wants us to put our trust in Him and find our way through this tedious journey each day. Pressing forward toward that mark!

No one that God has ever called was perfect! He never wanted us to be. He just wants us to be willing.

I can say that this day and age of social media has blinded us to that fact.

It is time we stop the airbrushing. It’s time to remove the filters. It’s time to stop trying to write and say the perfect thing and just be real.

Not just with God but also ourselves and everyone else. You don’t have to tell all of your business. You don’t even have to do like I am and share your story through writing or blogging. But, just practicing transparency with yourself is the biggest step you can achieve.

Take the mask off.

You’re okay if you’re not perfect.

You’re okay if you missed the mark this time. Pick yourself up. Dust yourself off and keep pushing.

You’re okay if you fell short. There’s always NEXT time.

You’re okay if you’re not okay! Everyone has their moments. And no one said that you’re not allowed to have yours. Take your time, but don’t wallow. Get yourself together and GET BACK UP!

And if you are in a place–a dark place–like I was those times, I’m here to tell you that you matter. Your purpose is only just being realized. And if you took the time to think about how you feel and why you feel that way, you would realize that the enemy realizes he can’t touch you so he plays with your mind to try to get you to do his job for him. Don’t give him that satisfaction! Find someone that can help you pray and find someone that can help you heal!!

I wanted to have it all together. I wanted to do it all on my own. But I never needed that. I just needed the strength from God to seek help and keep pushing. And I needed to HEAL.

If I could go back to those days, I would look myself in the mirror and say, “Stop!”

Stop trying to be perfect for everyone. Stop trying to have the perfect marriage. Stop trying to be the perfect mother. Stop trying to have the perfect career. Stop trying to look perfect.

Perfect is a mirage! And that mirage almost took my own life. But now, I embrace my flaws. I embrace my mistakes. And instead of pretending I have it all together, I take the things I do not like and I give them to the ONLY one who is capable of changing them–God! Now…

“I no longer desire to be perfect but to be perfected in Jesus.”

God,

Thank You for loving me in spite of. Now, Lord, do Your perfect work in and through me. My marriage doesn’t need to look like “relationship goals”. My success doesn’t need to look like what other’s think is true success. How I love, parent, or take care of my children does not need to be how anyone else takes care of their own. My walk of salvation does not need to be held under the microscope of comparison to another’s. I do not need to look like society’s image of perfection. That isn’t real and neither is it attainable. But, when I accept myself as You have and allow You to have Your way in my life, I will find a peace that is only attained though my walk with You. Have Your way in me. Help me to take the mask off and be real. Help me to accept myself. And when I am falling short, open my eyes to see myself the way that You see me. Lord, when I place unrealistic expectations on myself, I pray that You would help me to see my shortcomings. Help me to be contented in who You have called me to be. You knew me before I was formed in my mother’s womb and You loved me still. Knowing everything that I would do, every mistake that I would make, and every time that I would miss the mark; yet You love me, still. You have made me wonderful in perfect in all my ways. When I realize that my life is not my own, I will cherish it and respect it that much more. Lord, I no longer desire to be perfect but perfected in You. More like You, is my prayer. More like You. In Jesus’ name.

Amen.