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Depression.
This word never really meant much to me. It was a silly word adolescent Matthew used to describe how he felt when he didn't get what he wanted for Christmas or when none of his friends were around to hang out on the weekends. I stress, adolescent Matthew. This word has drastically changed my life the last 2 years in too many ways to list just in this blog post.
For those of you who know me very well you know, first, I'm a pretty optimistic, happy-go-lucky guy, I like to fly by the seat of my pants and I go where the wind takes me. I also don't get, nor do I like to get serious often. So like in person I like to announce it: here I am. Serious.
2 years ago the wind blew me straight through a loop where one of my biggest childhood role models at the center. On a car ride from the airport home, after my mother and I had finished my summer college road-trip, my mother received a call from her sister. This is not unusual by any means, my mom has 3 sisters that live an hour away from each other, they talked a lot. But the tone she took on the phone was not one of casual Sunday chat like I was used to hearing. It had a certain gravitas to it that as a fairly sheltered junior in High School I was not accustomed to. After she got off the phone, we drove in silence for what felt like 100 miles before I simply asked "What was that all about?" Her response was staggered as if she was not really sure ho to approach me with the news. She eventually managed to convey to me the main message of the phone call. My grandfather, Pa as we all called him, the man who used to play with whoopee cushions and joke books, was diagnosed with depression. When I got home, still not sure even what that meant, I looked up depression on several websites, what I found was less than reassuring for my 72 year old role model. What I saw described a dark hole that once fallen into could rarely be escaped. That slowly dragged you down until you decided it's not worth it any more, that the odds are stacked to high against you and that you are not worth it.
No.
This was not how my grandfather was going to live out the rest of his days. He still had my grandma, my aunts, my mom, my cousins and me. He was a baseball coach at the University of New Hampshire, he was the athletic director of several schools up and down New England, this was not going to happen, not to him. So I started writing. I don't consider myself a good writer and as you all know I am usually not very inspired, this was the first time in my life I was inspired to write. So I did, I wrote, a lot, about a lot. Then I put it in an envelope and sent it to my grandfather. Since then I have continued to keep in touch more than my family pushes for, like holidays and long weekends.
Now I wish this was the end of my blog post, that I have kept in touch and he's doing better and I proved you can beat depression. Unfortunately this is not the end.
Recently I have spent quite a few nights staring at the ceiling thinking about two other people I know who I have recently discovered also bear that burden. For their sake they are going down as Chris and Michael. I learned about Chris first, we were friends for about a year before I heard about his situation from another friend in our friend group. At that point I had know Chris long enough to know he went through what I called "Slumps" where he would just be distant and bury himself. But it was different, you can't send friends letters and hug and kiss them at holidays, friends are there, in your life, everyday. With Chris at first I really didn't know how to handle it, and as a result I think I became distant, the opposite of what needed to happen. So like I do for so many other things in my life, I but on a smile and tried to joke my way through it. I still hung out, chilled, wrote music and gamed with Chris, the whole time trying to make light of everything. And I think , at least I hope, it was working.
Michael on the other hand I just learned about recently, and honestly it caught me a little off guard. Michael is a strong person, he is open to his own emotions and very in touch with other people's, something I envy greatly about him. Hearing him tell me out of the blue was a little concerning at first. I coaxed it out of him, I could tell something was up so I figured it was a small trifle I could work through with him like I had before. And now as guilty as I feel for making him tell me, I feel an even greater responsibility to Michael to help him.
Now do not misunderstand me. People dealing with depression are not animals with a limp, they are not completely dependent on us so I don't expect either of them to react particularly well to this post. I just really need to tell someone about this. See, I'm not very good at putting my deepest feelings into words mainly because I feel things stronger than I can particularly explain them. So to Pa, Chris and Michael, really the only thing I want you to get out of this is that you will not be depressed forever. I simply won't allow it. My resolve is to to great to allow my friends, my FAMILY, to deal with this alone. I will always be there for you. By email, my text, by gift, by Hallmark card, by Skype and my late night talks on campus. There is too much sadness in the world that I can do nothing about, I have been too blessed in this life to not pay it forward.
To Pa, Chris and Michael,
Love you.
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