Mental Health Awareness Month: Life in a Pit

For a good part of my teenage life, I was on solid ground. I could slip my shoes off and run my feet along soft, green blades of grass. I could raise my head and feel the warmth of the sun.

I could spread my arms wide, twirl, dance.

I had friends. I had dreams. I had hope for a future. I had the drive to put one foot in front of the other every day.

Then small rocks started to appear on my once green pasture. The more I walked, the more rocks appears. Over time the pebble size rocks are now stones.

Life is foreign.

I discover my mom is having an affair, so my step father doesn't pay the electric bill in the dead of winter. We open the stove to heat the house. At night I hear muffled phone calls between them. My step dad was away at sea, my mom was working crazy hours.

When my step dad returns, they mention the word divorce.

It wasn’t long I stumbled in the mess of what was becoming my new normal.

I trip over one of the rocks in my once green pasture, somehow falling backwards. As I descend I can see grey clouds moving in, a storm is coming.

When I land I am in sticky,  brown mud, surrounded by tall walls of dirt. As if being in a pit is not bad enough—- rain slowly fills the bottom. Water is rising.

I think about death and dying. Lying back and letting the water fill my nostrils, my lungs, my body—until I fade to black.

Suicidal thoughts, give way to desires, plans, and things I am too afraid to even speak out loud. Scared to confess. Pain I don’t want to acknowledge.

My body reacts. I feel like a knifis is piercing my heart sometimes, unable to breathe, unable to escape.

The doctor says I have anxiety disorder. He gives me a bottle of blue pills. I see a white lady and talk to her about my problems.

For a while I function..

I smile, I graduate high school. I land a fancy job. I smile. I work . I pay bills.

But I am never ever out of the pit. I never again experience the firm, solid ground I once knew as a kid.

After years of never feeling the sun, I lie back into the slow, rising water. I give in. I surrender to the pit.

I survive the attempt on my life. A part of me I fear will never be the same.

In the psych ward, I am surrounded by survivors; other people existing in their own pits, accepting that maybe this is what life will be like for us always. Sometimes we’re out and sometimes we’re in.

I call out to God.. and HE says simple stands STAND. I discover the rising water is shallow.I was never at risk for drowning after all.

I muster all the strength I can— and I decide to not only stand, I decide to fight.  I dig my feet into the muddy sides of the pit walls. I sweat. I grunt. I climb.

I take meds, I talk to a shrink. I tell her secrets I never thought I would. It breaks me but I find a way to start putting myself back again.

When I am finally at the top of the pit - my arms are shaking. My heart is pounding . I’m exhausted. I exhale…. and slowly I feel the warmness of the sun. A feeling I had not felt in so long….

This is where I am most days. Soaking in the sun, my legs dangling over a pit known as major depression and anxiety. Everyday I fight to keep my head above the ledge.

I wonder what it will take to get to the top again—-those green pastures I see in the distance.

Will I ever hoist myself out? Is this what life is like—Fighting against the pit.  Falling in and standing up… Fighting back and climbing up..