I have a confession to make.  I have been battling depression and anxiety for the past several months.  I’ve narrowed it down to a midlife crisis, the point where I sit here and wonder why I am the way I am, why I do the things I do, and why I’ve felt so conflicted about opening up to people.  I couldn’t bring myself to do it because I didn’t want others seeing just how bad I had gotten.

Back in March I had a complete mental breakdown.  I was hospitalized for a week, probably THE longest week ever that I can think of.  I sat in the psych ward trying to get the right medication to bring me back out of the darkness.  The pressure from trying to be perfectly on point at work (overloaded) while juggling a side business at home had gotten to me, to the point of not wanting to function.  I sat there numb to everything that was going on in my life.  I honestly just didn’t care.  I felt like a complete failure, like I had let my wife down because I wanted to give her what she wanted.  I didn’t care about me.  I didn’t care about much of anything.  I just did my best to try and function.

So months went by and I had started to get a grip on the kind of person I am.  I’m logical, sarcastic, humorous, musical, charming at times, and someone who likes to help people.  Just when I felt I was ready to get back out there, another tragedy struck.  So there I am, once again, in the middle of shift at work when I get the call from my wife.  She couldn’t even tell me, had to put one of our good friends on the line to do it.  And when he did, all I could say was “OK” because perfectionist me would not allow myself to lose it around anybody.  I went numb.  This was the 4^th time in 3 years that I had gotten that same call and didn’t leave post.  So as usual I shoved my feelings down.  My wife’s best friend (my former drummer and good friend as well) passed away at 35.  He was a larger man who drank too much and kept forgetting his blood pressure meds.  Luckily he passed away in his sleep.  Either way it was like a bomb was dropped.  All of us were in tears.  I sat there wishing it was me instead, that all these people who were affected by his passing wouldn’t have to be there if it were me.  My depression was starting to consume me again.  I cried at his funeral.  It was beautiful.  He was a dispatcher for Wauconda Police and Fire.  It was practically standing room only with all the officers and firemen that were there.

After that I just started shutting the world out.  It took months of therapy to realize that I don’t have to be perfect or completely on point all the time, and that honestly nobody likes a true perfectionist.  I don’t have to sit here living in fear worrying about how what I do looks to others.  I’m starting to let go.  I’m starting to find myself again.  I’m starting by telling all of you that I do care.  I just haven’t been able to be there, so I will start participating more.  The funny thing is that I’m already down to my ideal weight and with the supplements I’ve been taking, I’ve been able to maintain despite being depressed, working through the medication, and hardly exercising.  I know it can’t stay this way forever.  I know I need to build my cardio/endurance back up because being this depressed and medicated has left me feeling rather lazy.  So, in summary I’m going to slowly get myself out of this funk and open up.