I'm lucky.   Others aren't as lucky.  

Mental health isn't something people talk about a lot.  But it should be. 

Many of us struggle with it everyday. We keep it hidden and we pretend everything is okay. It's not.  That's how our struggles become too much for us.  The strength we need doesn't surround us because no one knows we need it, or because they don't know how to give it.  

I want to change that. 

Let's talk about the struggles we face.  Let's remember that depression is something we see each day when we walk out our doors, or look in the mirror.  It tells us we aren't good enough, we can't, we shouldn't, we aren't worthy.  We are. Depression takes the light and color from the world.  Let's bring it back. 

The summer I graduated college, I sank into the dark pit.  I stopped going places, doing things, and talking to people.  I shuttered myself into a world of books and television where I didn't have to think, didn't have to feel, didn't have to remember that was happening in my life.  Things that happen to most people, but they happened all at once, and I wasn't ready, or willing to accept them.  I read 35 books in 10 weeks. I watched entire television series and bought enough movies to put a serious dent in my bank account. When I did see people, I didn't talk to them.  We just sat together.  

It took a long time for me to take a step forward and begin to work through my darkness.  Some of it was just luck and circumstance.  I was forced to change my living situation, and my work situation, which allowed me to gain a new perspective. The rest was conversations with my support system, my family and friends.  They provided love, support, help, and understanding that let me move forward and begin to heal. There are still moments, days or weeks, when I find myself back in a place with little light. I still lean on the people around me and the things I have learned about myself to make sure I don't get stuck there. 

In 2016, I lost my friend Nate.  He was bright and shining, and full of life and laughter.  We were closer before I moved to Grand Rapids, but I knew that if I needed him, all I needed to do was call.  

Unfortunately, I didn't get one from him.  I got one from our mutual friend instead.  I can still remember that moment. I was grocery shopping. I had glanced at Facebook while browsing the aisles with my spouse. My friend Dylan had posted that he was grieving the sudden loss of a friend. I told him I was so sorry and that I hoped he would be able find some sort of comfort in the future. I didn't know. I didn't know that a beautiful shining light who wore a baby blue tux next to my bright orange prom dress would make no more jokes. Would no longer argue with us over adjusted rules in Risk. Wouldn't visit the cabin with us again. I didn't know.

Just a few moments later, Dylan called me. "I thought you should know. It's Nate."

Everything stopped.  

One heartbeat, then two. Sound became muted and distant, and the world began to blur. Hearing the heartbreak in Dylan's voice rooted me to the spot in the middle of the aisle as I tried to process this unbelievable, impossible fact. I lost many of the tiny pieces of my heart right there in the aisle of the grocery store. 

We gathered a few times to remember the giant teddy bear of a man that was Nate. It never got any easier. 

The ghost of Nate's laugh still haunts me in the smallest of moments.  A comment about a high school mascot, a discussion about philosophy, the smell of my soap, sitting on the dock at the lake. Sometimes I look at the bin of returnable cans and remember that he could go through 10 Diet Cokes in one game night without blinking. In the time since his death, there have been many moments when my body and brain have shut down, for hours, minutes, or just a moment, the grief overwhelming. I have sat and cried, knowing I cannot change the past, cannot remind him that I am always here to listen. 

I cannot change the past. I WILL change the future.  I will continue to share his love with the world.  I will use it to help others.   

I'm walking in the Out of the Darkness Grand Rapids Walk to fight suicide and support AFSP.

Please help me reach my goal by clicking the "Donate" button on this page. All donations are 100% tax deductible and benefit the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP), funding research, education, advocacy, and support for those affected by suicide.

Thank you for your support!