22. A letter to the sufferer.
So tonight is the last night of the 22-day challenge I set for myself in lieu of doing the 22 Push-Up Challenge, which asks one to record 22 push-ups a day to raise awareness of those suffering from mental health challenges, particularly combat veterans. And I thought what might be a good way to bring the challenge to a conclusion is to address the sufferers directly. To anyone who might read this who suffers some form of mental trauma or anguish – any psychological illness that in some way holds you back, that prevents you from socialising with friends, from forming romantic relationships, from even getting out of bed some mornings – I have a few things I’d like to say to you.
My dear, beloved journeyer through the valley of the shadow of death:
I feel pain like yours. No-one else feels your pain – no-one can – but I, and others, feel pain similar to yours. The pain you feel is the result of an illness, not a failing. You are wonderful. You are enough. You’re simply sick. It’s okay to be sick, and being sick is not your fault. If you can’t climb out of it alone? Still not your fault. There is help available if you can reach out for it, so please hang in there until you can summon enough strength from within yourself to make that step of reaching out. Please hang in there. You are wonderful. You are so very enough. I can’t and won’t promise that the darkness will pass; nonetheless, there are things that can help to make it more bearable. Seek counselling. Talk. Whether with a counsellor, or a psychologist, or a psychiatrist, or even the lone and last friend that you can trust, talk about your feelings, your emotions, your stresses, your worries, your fears, or your emptiness. Call one of these numbers, if you have no-one else to talk to:
Military: ADF Health (in Australia) – 1800 628 036 (24 hours, free call)
Military: ADF Health – +61 2 9425 3878 (24 hours)
Military: Walking Wounded – 1300 030 364 (24 hours)
Civilian: Beyond Blue – 1300 22 4636 (24 hours)
Civilian: Diverse Voices – 1800 184 527 (3pm-midnight, free call)
Civilian: Lifeline – 13 11 14 (24 hours)
Civilian: Suicide Callback Service – 1300 659 467 (24 hours)
Do those things that do help you to feel again. Visit a friend. Give yourself a manicure. Start a journal. Watch two hours of gambolling kittens on YouTube. Take yourself out on a date. Order your favourite delivered take-away food. Soak in a hot bath for an hour. Take pleasure in something small. Make sure to take your medication, if you’ve been prescribed it – it’s not a crutch. You’re simply sick. It is okay to be sick, and being sick is still not your fault. Your life has unfathomable value, and a value perhaps most unfathomable, right now, to yourself. Taking your life is an escape, but not a solution; you are unique and your life has value because of the unique combination of gifts that you possess. The trauma, or the genetics, or the sheer accident that visited a psychological ailment on you are not your burden to carry. They are not your fault. They do not get to define you. Your past does not define you; your present will not torture you forever; your future is, even though you may not see it from the bottom of the pit, far brighter than the despair and the terror and the agony that you’ve suffered. Even if you feel you need to tell yourself so, this is not your fault, and brighter days will lie ahead, whether they be temporary – in which case, cherish them while they last – or permanent – in which case, do the same thing. Above all, find people who can be your people. They’ll help to show you the way out of the darkness, and they’ll help to take care of you when you can’t take care of yourself. They see the good and the wonder and the positive and the immeasurable value in you, because they’re outside of your mind, not obscured by the blurred, dusty, warped filter through which you judge yourself.
I tell you all this from the darkness of my own mental illness, and I hope that some small part of what I’ve suggested, and of my reflections over the course of the last twenty-one days on my own experiences with mental illness – its causes, its triggers, its symptoms, its pain, its treatment, its passing – can help to provide even a small piece of the map that will help you to find your way out of the despair. Paradoxically, this despair, the little-death of depression, reminds me sometimes of the fiercely defiant words of House Greyjoy from the novel series A Song of Ice and Fire, which I leave you with now:
What is dead may never die,
but rises again, harder and stronger.
– George R. R. Martin, A Clash of Kings
Thank you for allowing me to share these thoughts with you over the last three weeks, and much love to you, fellow traveller. I hope your days in the dark will be short, your years in the light will be long, and that you too will rise again, harder and stronger.
– A fellow journeyer