What We Feel, But Do Not Tell

I started this life-change by sending an open, very honest email to just about everyone whose email address I had in my gmail account.  At the time, that level of honesty was only shared with very few family and friends, and even then it was half-truths. I did not fully state the bad shape I was in mentally and physically.  I kept that hidden because it was embarrassing and I feared what others would think if they knew the whole story.

In actuality, this started long before that email.  This started long before I auditioned for Biggest Loser.  This started years ago, and only became public because of other life-changing experiences. 

In high school I suffered through a couple of "funks" in which I felt like I did not belong. Not ground breaking news for anyone that has attended high school, but it is not talked about by most people. The idea of feeling like shit for not fitting in, or not belonging was mocked by the "popular" kids.  I think I was part of the "popular" kids, but always felt like I was not doing, or saying what was "expected."  I felt I did not deserve my friends. I felt like I was not a good person. I did not meet some mythical standard.  Fear overwhelmed me.  (Special Thanks to Colin Rush. You know why!)

In college, more of the same, but not with the "popular" kids. Because who the hell knows what's popular in college?  You find people that have the same interests and values and form some unbreakable bonds.  I still had my "funks" where I felt like if I said the wrong things, or behaved the wrong way, I would be cast aside.  Although these "funks" were fewer and further between, they were still present.  After college, I moved back to the Seattle area, I suffered more and more from the feeling that I was not meeting standard.

"Funk, bad stretch, rough time, moody."  I hid behind these phrases for years.  They did not do it justice.  I was not doing myself justice.  I was suffering from depression. I felt it, but did not talk about it.  I knew it, but I didn't know it.  I am not trying to write in hyperbole.  It is hard to express how low I had sunk.

In the summer of 2006, I had a stretch in which I did not get off my couch for 13 days.  I didn't have the energy.  In order to be social, I would need to put on the "Ryan Show."  I would need to turn myself on, and behave like the Ryan people wanted, or how I perceived they wanted.  No one knew, because I would show up and be the person they had known for years. It was exhausting.  I would come home and collapse.  I decided that staying home was easier.  I convinced myself that people didn't really want to see me anyway.  Why would they?  I was not living up to standard.

In those 13 days, I sunk to my lowest.  I believed that no one really wanted to see me, know me, or be around me.  If they said, or did anything to the contrary, it was because they felt pity for me.  I had a plan to end the "Show" and to allow everyone off the hook for having to deal with me.  I would tell my family I was going to Oregon for the week.  I would tell my friends that I was going on a family trip.  That way no one would come look for me.  I had enough pain killers and muscle relaxers from my last lumbar injury to kill a horse.  I would just take a bath, and take the pills with a bottle of vodka.  I would not be saying goodbye to a cruel world.  I would be saying to goodbye to the false reality I had built around myself.

I stood in my bathroom, pills on the counter.  I did not intend to look, but I caught myself in the eyes in the mirror.  I saw the fear behind them.  I started to cry.  I called two people.  I could not form words. Only tears.  They did not know what to do. They just told me they loved me.  I believed them.  Not because of pity.  I believed the words.  I believed the feeling.  Thank you.

I have been in counseling off and on for nine years.  Who wants to admit that?  Most of us need it, but we do not say it.  If you hear one of your friends say they are in a funk, having a bad stretch, been moody lately, or going through rough times, please talk to them more.  Call them, stop by, take them to lunch.  Be their phone call when they can't form words.