Message in a Bottle

When I accidentally knocked a large butcher knife off the kitchen counter and sliced the top of my foot open, I went to the ER to get it stitched up. When I got smacked in the eye by a softball on a line drive to second base, I went to the doctor to make sure there was no permanent damage. When I tore my rotator cuff, I went to physical therapy to regain the strength in my arm. When I got dehydrated because of a nasty stomach virus, I went to the hospital for IV fluids. And when I was diagnosed with diabetes, I took the medication that would help my body to process insulin correctly. I didn't try to stitch up my own sliced foot or see inside my own blackened eye or regain the strength in my own weak arm or rehydrate my own fluid-depleted body or heal my own broken pancreas. You know why I didn't try to do any of those things? I didn't try because I knew I couldn't fix what was wrong with me on my own. Hold onto that last thought ... I'll come back to it in a bit.

When I lost interest in things I had once enjoyed, I told myself my interests were just changing. When I struggled to get out of bed every day, I told myself I was just tired. When I sat alone in the dark crying until I could barely breathe, I told myself I was just having a bad day. When I didn't leave my house except to go to work, I told myself I just needed a break from the busyness of life. When I distanced myself from the people I love most in the world, I told myself I just needed some time alone. When I was never hungry, I told myself I was just in a rut because of my diabetic diet. When my mind was filled with thoughts of suicide, I told myself I was just going through a rough patch. What I didn't tell myself was that there was something wrong inside my brain. You know why I didn't tell myself that? I didn't tell myself that because I truly believed that if there was something wrong with me, I could fix it on my own.

I get a lot of messages from people asking me ... no, they aren't asking me, they're begging me ... to help them find their way out of the pit of depression. I get even more messages from people begging me to tell them how to help someone they love who is battling depression or some other type of mental illness. I don't know the folks who write to me, but my heart aches for them nonetheless. But when I see that pain firsthand in someone I know and love ... when I see that struggle against the mind being played out in self-destructive behavior in someone I care for deeply ... when I see depression and mental illness threatening to destroy the life of a young person who's the age of my own children ... when I see that, I want to do whatever I can possibly do to help them find their way out of the darkness.

Over the last few days, I've been humbled and blessed to be included in various conversations among the family members of a young man who has tried on several occasions to end his life. This young man has without question one of the sweetest, kindest, most gentle and loving hearts of anyone I've ever known. I watched one evening as he offered what little he had to a beggar on the street ... this kid has a giant heart that is filled to overflowing with love for everyone he meets. As kind and loving as his heart may be, this young man has struggled against bipolar disorder for most of his young life, and my guess is that he may very well have other as yet undiagnosed mental issues as well, though I'm sure if he were sitting here in my living room this evening, he would tell you that he's "just fine." He's not with me tonight, however ... he's in a hospital where he is hopefully getting the help and care he so desperately needs.

Remember that thought in my opening paragraph that I asked you to hold onto? See here's the thing, friends ... when I'm physically injured or ill, I go to the doctor and ask for help. That's a no-brainer to me ... if I'm sick or hurt, I want to feel better. I don't hesitate to trot to the doctor's office and say, "There's something wrong with me, and I need you to help me get well." But when my mind is sick or injured, I dig my heels into the dirt like a stubborn mule and refuse to even admit that I'm ill. I had to be dragged ... kicking and screaming all the way, I might add ... to a mental health professional when I was quite literally within 10 minutes of swallowing a handful of pills and ending my life before I would wake up and understand that my brain was ill and that I needed help. Read that part again ... I seek out help when I'm physically ill, but when my mind is sick, I try everything to convince myself and everyone else that I'm "just fine."

So why did I title tonight's post "Message in a Bottle"? Because I take my pills every single day, friends ... every single day for the last three years, I've seen a message in a bottle. Actually, it's not just one bottle that holds the same message for me but more like 20 or so. It's a message I can't ever forget ... it's a message I absolutely must remember every moment of every day for the rest of my life. The message has just a few short words, but they're important ones ... really, really, really important ones indeed. You might even say they are words to live by ... hmmmm ... words to live by ... I think those words deserve a post all their own. Yep, I do ... I surely, surely do.