I'm not okay.

Sometimes we have to admit that. Not to others, although that's fine--but to ourselves. Pretending you're okay is not okay. Being not okay is okay, which doesn't mean you should want to stay that way.

On April Fourth my teenage nephew killed himself. My post about it is here:

https://markrhunter.blogspot.com/2023/04/rest-in-peace-christian.html

There, now I don't have to go through writing that again. (Meanwhile, about a week later an apartment complex in a neighboring town was shot up by a man who used to be married to my ex-wife. I never particularly cared for him, but my daughters are good friends of his kids, and they're wonderful people. This helped no one's stress level.)

Christian's. A 16 year old with a lot going for him.

I didn't see Christian as often as I would have liked, which is no one's fault but my own. Still, it hit me as hard as my brother's death two years ago. Has it been two years? I'm not over that, either, although I told myself I was.

The reason I'm writing this is because my next blog--unless something else happens--will likely be another humor attempt to cheer up everyone's lives a little, as I'm wont to do. Yes, I did use that word correctly, look it up. I do this because so many of us are going through difficult times, and could use the cheering up. Making people laugh, or at least smile, lightens my own day. Since I suffer from depression and anxiety myself, what helps others helps me.

But that doesn't mean I'm all right.

 

 

Remember Robin Williams? Funniest guy alive, everything to live for. Killed himself.

Please try to remember that even if someone seems fine--even if they insist they're fine--you don't know what's going on underneath. You don't know what the person next to you is going through. Maybe they don't know. My wife always figures out I'm having a bad day before I do.

So support mental health awareness, fight the stigma, and ... laugh a lot. Keep your spirits up. Get help if needed. The world may seem a hard and depressing place, but it does you no good to dwell on it. Worst case scenario, I'll be there to make you smile ... or at least try to.

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

 One stressful thing about being a dispatcher is that when the phone rings it could be anything. Many of us play Dispatch Bingo. A UFO report? A herd of cattle blocking the roadway? Lunch, interrupted? A couple arguing over who gets custody of their dog? That's a row--bingo!

For some dispatchers this is one of the perks of the job: the challenge and variety. For others, not so much.

Years ago the business line rang and, in a calm voice, a man gave me his name and home address, so we could notify his family. Then he gave me the location where we could find his body. Then he hung up.

Often, when a suicidal person reaches out, it's a cry for help. Not this time. When our units arrived they could only confirm my certainty: Immediately after hanging up the phone, he shot himself. I was the last person he ever spoke to.

It messed me up.

Word got around, and my boss called to check on me. I told him I would be okay, which was true in the long run. I don't know if I told him that in the short run I wasn't okay at all, but my wife was with me, and I hung in there.

I've served in three branches of the emergency services: EMS, Fire, and 911 Dispatch. If anyone mentions PTSD or critical incident stress, I immediately flash back to one particular call in each of those three areas. But a lot of time has passed since those incidents, and although they still dwell in the dark corners of my brain, they don't control my life.

Usually.


Earlier this year we received a report of a person threatening to kill themself with a gun. I didn't take that call, but the moment I heard the details my body chilled, I could barely breath, and my mind went numb. That suicide from so long ago crashed out of the cage I'd trapped it in and rampaged through my head.

It turns out the person in this case did not have a gun, and the whole thing ended peacefully. Still, it was a wake up call. A jangling alarm that took about five years off my life ... and after three decades at this job, I've already lost enough. It's one of the reasons why I've been pushing my writing career: Not only because I have a lot of stories to tell, but because I'd like to spend my time writing them instead of screaming into a pillow after work every morning.


(This is one time in this blog when I exaggerate: No, I don't scream into a pillow after work. I kiss my wife, hug the dog, and hit the bed, where I usually get a good eight hours of sleep in between the weird dreams.)

I'm not writing this to get sympathy for me. I just wanted to remind everyone that the person you think is strong and "normal" may be battling monsters inside. In fact, they may be the most cheerful people you know, always with a smile and a joke. But the effects of stress are real, and the challenge of maintaining our mental health is a stigma that still remains, even today.


Look after yourself. Look after your friends. And if someone says they're having a problem with their emotions or their mental state, take them seriously. Sometimes we make it look way easier than it is.

Now, I'm off to write some humor ... we all have our ways to cope.

 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"

 

 Hi, who wants to talk about something serious?

Fine, you people move on--but just so you know, the rest of us will be having chocolate.

I don't often get serious here, because the world's serious enough--and there are plenty of others out there talking seriously in my stead. I like to get serious with humor, which may offend some people ... but that's okay, because I don't want to hang around people who don't appreciate the principle of "lighten up". Besides, when I extract humor from a situation, it usually cheers up at least me, and sometimes others with me.

Usually.

Now, I've never hidden the fact that during winter I take a little "happy pill" (that's not what the doctor calls it) to get through my Seasonal Affective Disorder. SAD is what normal people get when the days get short and the nights get cold. Abnormal people have a mental condition that allows them to be okay with winter, something experts are still puzzling out.

I wean myself off my happy pill, otherwise known as Sertraline, around early spring, as I did this spring. It has some un-fun side effects, while for some reason I never get the one good side effect: loss of appetite.

You'll remember that this year, 2021, is the year everyone going through 2020 was hoping and praying for.

Well, the joke's on you.

So far this year my brother died--and really, I can just stop right there, can't I? My wife says I still haven't dealt with it, and I'd appreciate if none of you told her she's absolutely right.
 

 The rest is all minor irritation. Still, minor irritations, such as getting sick after over a year of avoiding it, and having that sickness move into a massive sinus infection that I just started my third course of antibiotics to fight, can add up.

Where were we? Oh, yeah. Well, as of this writing Spring never showed up for more than a day. Emily fixed the usual leaky plumbing problems and replaced burned-out kitchen appliances, times two--each. One of Emily's favorite horses at her work had to be put down, and she had to be there for it. My job has been interesting, and not in a good way. And my occasional chronic back pain seems to have become un-occasional, to such an extent that the pain kept me from making any calls with my volunteer fire department this year. My book sales, like those of most authors, have tanked.

And my brother died. With the weather allegedly soon to be better and the pandemic slightly better (oh, and add pandemic to the list), a memorial gathering for my brother Jeff is coming up. Here's the info on that, for those who knew him:

https://www.facebook.com/events/303626244615814

Because info is good, and so is remembering. However, I never considered that three months after he died, just talking about a get-together would stir it all up again.

So ... depression and anxiety became a thing.

I finally accepted it after I put aside my writing business efforts, to start work on a new novel. Promotion, selling, and submitting are all part of being a working writer. But when I'm down, the only thing that really perks me up is the writing, itself.

But it didn't work this time. And I'm 20,000 words in.

So, as of yesterday, I went back on the happy pill. I also started using a multi-spectrum light again, because Mother Nature isn't cooperating, and I'm otherwise dealing as best I can. (No, I'm not suicidal. Homicidal? Well, I did feel an urge recently to run down a woman walking in the middle of the street when there was a sidewalk RIGHT THERE ... but I saw she was walking a dog, and I can't hurt a dog.)

Dogs--the best depression medicine.

 

Now, other than to apologize for being so antisocial and overall grouchy this year, writing this all down is mostly a public service announcement:

People get depressed. It's a real thing. It's usually not their fault, and there's help available to work through it. It's nothing to be ashamed of, and it's nothing to shun people over. I had high blood pressure and high cholesterol, and I fought that with meds and lifestyle changes. I have chronic back pain, and I treat it with cold, heat, and a wonderful but sadistic chiropractor. I have depression, and I treat it with medication, light therapy, the dog, comedy shows, writing, sleep, and chocolate.

That's what I call a well-rounded treatment regimen.

So to sum it all up: If you have a problem, get help. If you have a friend or family member who seems fine, remember: Some of the funniest and seemingly most lighthearted people might be struggling with darkness underneath.


 

http://markrhunter.com/
https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO
https://www.barnesandnoble.com/s/"Mark R Hunter"


 

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