I lied today. I missed yet another opportunity of the hundreds that I’ve been given because I lost confidence in myself and my story. I caused damage to not only myself but the millions of others who suffer from mental illness because of a quick conversation that I could’ve easily conducted but I didn’t. Instead of proactively trying to do my part in promoting discussion around the conversation of mental illness and stigma, my tongue tied itself and I found myself bound by my inner demons, unable to speak about what the writing on my arm meant.

As some of the readers out there may know, I have gotten a semi-colon tattoo with the verses Matthew 6:32-34 scripted onto my arm. When I revealed my story of my personal 10+ year struggles with depression and anxiety to one of my closest friends, he directed me to this passage that he had read that morning to try to comfort me. It worked, and continued to work for the next six months. I got these verses tattooed onto my body for the purpose of starting conversations with those wondering what my tattoo means and who may not understand mental illness and the effects of it on different people. I’ve been actively trying to make those around me more comfortable with talking about counselling, depression, BPD, or whatever personal problems they may face. I’ve always been a person that really enjoys opening myself up and providing my story or input, but I usually only open up about myself when somebody else will instigate the conversation first. As such, I have always been reluctant to go out of my way to start conversations in this field.

Yesterday, I was asked what the words inscribed on my bicep meant. It was a complete stranger, someone who I had never talked to before.

Someone to whom I owed nothing, and who owed me even less.

Someone who I would never see again, who regardless of how open I chose to be, would’ve reacted much the same way.

Someone who was genuinely interested in what meaning the ink beneath my skin held.

Someone who was interested in my story before knowing my name, as though a name holds any meaning.

I lied. I told them that it was just simply a bible verse that someone shared with me that I enjoyed. I wasn’t in a rush, and neither were they. I was gifted a picture-perfect moment to share my story and to talk to this gentleman about his beliefs and where he was at, where I was emotionally, and yet I threw it out the window. I made a promise to myself on April 16th, 2016 that I was going to use every opportunity that I was given to further my advocacy for mental health, to start a conversation and shatter the stigma associated with mental illness. Yet here I am, not even two months later, having broken my promise to myself.

This is one of those things that I’ve done that I thoroughly despise myself for, however irrational it may appear to be. My frustration (and honestly self-hatred) with myself personally expands throughout many different compartments of my life as a direct result of a chemical imbalance within my brain that is entirely out of my control. It doesn’t feel fair,

Life feels like drowning. Life feels like burning. Life feels like falling. Life feels like fucking forever. My reliance on a simple pill to make myself feel the way that I think I deserve to feel carries a sense of a self-defeating, enigmatic puzzle with edges that don’t fit, as though the pieces were from 10,000 different boxes. Week one I’m doing fine. Weeks come and go and I’m still doing well, until the fall happens and getting back up feels like an impossibility. My ability to write a decent entry of my blog increases, but everything else takes a step backwards, and what is the trigger for feeling this way? Change in environment or change in my diet? Nope. There is no direct cause or switch for feeling this way. I’ve been blessed with so many things to the point that I feel completely undeserving of it all, and I always have been. I have no right to feel this way, and yet I do. I have been given talents and opportunities that some people could only dream of possessing, yet some days I completely fail to acknowledge what I have been gifted. It’s a selfish, irrational, downright ridiculous way to think and feel, and yet it’s the way I am. And it cannot be changed.

When I don’t feel like living for myself, I try to find those things in my life that are worth living for. My family back home, my closest friends, sports, my team, my passions. I think it’s a healthy image to hold for those who may be struggling with similar problems in relation to their mental state: when you can’t live for yourself, live for those things that you’re passionate about. The people that you feel deserve the best in the world, live for them. Live for the moments that you get to spend with those that care about you; make damn sure that you’re lifting up and serving those around you if you’re unable to lift or serve yourself.

The past few months I think I’ve finally figured out something that I can live for, and something that will give me direction. It’s this blog, it’s working in the field of mental health, it’s serving others, and for the first time in 5 years, I’m genuinely excited about something in my life that I wish to fulfill.

“Mental pain is less dramatic than physical pain, but it is more common and also more hard to bear. The frequent attempt to conceal mental pain increases the burden: it is easier to say “My tooth is aching” than to say “My heart is broken.”

-C.S Lewis

Let’s talk,

Garrett Suderman

sudermangblog@gmail.com