Today, ironically, is Mental Heath Awareness Day. I say ironically because I have never been more keenly aware of my mental health than I am right now. For the last couple of months I’ve been in the grips of a pretty severe depression. I’ve always had depression; I just didn’t know that is what it was until I became an adult. I also have anxiety disorder, which I’ve talked about on my podcast before. I’ve been on medication for about six months, and for a time it was working so well I honestly felt like a completely different person. My mind was a lot clearer, my focus and productivity increased, my weight loss accelerated.
And then it all came grinding to a halt. Part of the problem was the change in my work hours. It seems like such a basic thing, especially for me, who for a decade served as what’s called the swing man here at Verstandig Media. What that means is I filled in for all the other air staff. If someone was out sick or on vacation, I covered. So there were weeks in which I’d do mornings two days, middays one day, afternoons one day, and then back to my usual night shift the following day. My only gripe, for the most part, was that when I was doing nights I would get out of work at midnight on Fridays, which gave me a scant two hours to get to the bar and catch my buzz up to my buddies before last call at a quarter to two.
In any case, during my time doing Just A Morning Show, I developed a set of routines, encompassing my meal planning, my sleep schedule, my workouts, the whole nine yards. My life was scheduled, my time carefully allotted, my self-discipline at an all-time peak. And then I was moved to afternoons. As always, the job itself has not been a problem. I love what I do, and my time on the air is an oasis of tranquility in what has become an otherwise very hectic lifestyle.
It’s everything else that is getting away from me. For the first few weeks I just could not wake up. I slept for 10 to 12 hours some days. I was always on time but I had no time for anything else. Excessive sleeping, I would eventually realize, is a symptom of depression. Another symptom is stress eating, which I did in abundance, to the point where my weight began creeping back upwards. Basically I got up, I went to work, I went home, I sat in front of the TV, I ate two dinners, I went to bed. Repeat ad nauseam.
It was a vicious cycle. The more I was incapable of stopping my slide, the more depressed I became, to the point where over the last few weeks I’ve been barely functional. I rarely left my home, I put my friends on hold. One of my closest friends asked me repeatedly to visit. I promised I would when I was feeling better, but I wouldn’t get the chance because a couple of days ago she died.
I had been planning to stop by and say hello while I was in the neighborhood. Instead I learned the night before that she was gone, and I slept until 4 in the afternoon that day. I went to the home of some other friends I had not seen in a long time; it was fun. Good to see them, we had a great dinner, and watched Confess, Fletch. Great movie, really good mystery flick and really funny. I needed a distraction and this was a good one. When I got home I turned on the Phillies game. They were playing the Cardinals in the Wild Card playoff round. The Phillies won, sweeping St. Louis two games to none. They’ll face the Braves in the Divisional Round starting tomorrow. On the way home I stopped at Sheetz for an Arnold Palmer and a Slim Jim. As I was leaving I backed my car into a post. I looked at it when I got home, and there was no damage. It’s an indication of how much I’m struggling right now.
However, and I can’t stress this enough: I love what I do, and I appreciated the human connection with the audience, now more than ever. My friend wouldn’t have wanted me to sit around crying woe is me. I know that. She would have wanted me to get on top of this thing, and whoop it. And I’m trying my hardest to do that. But knowing I missed my last chance to see her really hurts. It hurts bad. I know she was waiting for me to pull out of it, always supportive, always encouraging. A better friend, perhaps, than I deserved.
I feel deep down that things are going to get better. I just have to keep fighting until they do. But sometimes I feel so worn out. I want to sleep for a week, and I might just do that at some point. I have to give myself permission each day to tend to my own needs. It’s astonishing to me how easy it is to neglect oneself; it’s like the culture encourages it. People have gotten more open about mental health struggles, but there’s still a long way to go.
So if I might make a suggestion to you in closing: cherish the people you love, because life is short, and life is fleeting, and they could be gone tomorrow. You could be gone tomorrow, and honestly we will all be gone eventually. To me that last part isn’t just morbidity, it’s hopeful. Without death, life would have no meaning. But death comes without warning sometimes, so while you’re here, live.
I haven’t been living for a while now. I hope to start again soon.
